I stood my ground glaring at the man that taught me so much about the world and believed that family was the most important thing in life.
It felt like the ale I had drank earlier was crawling its way back up my throat that was followed by a burning sensation in my heart at realizing He had been alive all along.
That day began to play out in an endless cycle of hungry flames heightened by final gasps of air fighting against clenched teeth.
The image of mother and father skewered like pieces of freshly grilled meat through the chest by a long thin yet durable blade that cut everything it touched with ease.
Mother's lifeless face gazing at my outstretched hand that crumbled under heavy boots.
I gripped my father's wrist when he placed it on my shoulder attempting to settle the involuntary shiver. "Don't," I pushed it to the side, "touch me!"
"As you wish," he spoke after a moment.
Father made himself somewhat comfortable with his back against the nearest wall and began to answer my question.
He sighed with arms crossed over his chest, "There is so much I could tell you but not in a small amount of time. I could tell you the things I had done trying to earn a place among the Eyes of Khokbus or the secrets I've uncovered hidden in the world's dark heart."
He shook his head, "All that however will force themselves onto you sooner or later so I won't bore you with that."
Father proceeded to tell me that the Eyes of Khokbus were the ones responsible for that night but were just a small cog in a much bigger scheme.
He proceeded to explain the battle he and mother fought trying to reach the library upon hearing my faint screams only to discover I had been captured.
He described the anger that burned in his chest upon seeing me in such a way and the bloodbath that followed resulting in several underlings laying in pools of red.
My ears perked when he began to describe the appearance of the one who carried the blade I saw pierced through their bodies.
Cold brown eyes tucked in shallow sockets adorned in a flowing crown of ebony braided with small beads.
[(The one who gave the others orders to keep me alive!)]
His attire resembled that of a common person trying to make a living like the rest of the others giving his opponents false bravado before being dealt with.
A robe of chainmail dyed in bright turquoise hung gracefully around his hips with the front center stopping just above the knees while a pair of cloth obsidian pants were strapped by leather knee high greeves.
I thought his clothing was so unusual that at first gave the impression of some envoy from a far away kingdom.
The weapon he carried furthered that suspicion while giving the impression it was slow to wield but that idea was soon discarded.
That man was responsible for several of the scars including the one over my eye.
Putting the man's image aside for now, I listened to my father explain the ritual written in his journal but in more detail than its counterpart.
It consisted of three things being used that if successful would allow the one performing it to temporarily place their very soul within another allowing the body to die.
The aforementioned body would then be used to place the displaced soul back where it belonged if the allotted time has not been fully used.
Furthermore if the heart had been pierced or outright torn out then a sigil painted with the deceased person's blood was used as a substitute.
In a way it reminded me of the blood pacts usually used to bind familiars to their masters.
Solomon played a part in the ritual by acting as the tether for father's soul so it wouldn't be confiscated by the Ferryman nor attach itself to the wrong body.
Like necromancy, such rituals were seen as impurities by many mages mainly due to their progenitors.
Daemon usually use rituals like this when bargaining with witless idiots aiming to gain power quickly or bring ruin to their enemies in exchange for their soul, of course.
Solomon acted as a tutor when it came to explaining the common techniques most daemon tended to use during mother's lecture on the subject.
The arcane knowledge that daemon wielded was of darkness making many speculate that all forbidden magic originated from them.
[(Why?)]
Father finished his tale of that night, "It was the only way to protect you and Veronica from the choices we made."
I pounced upon my father like a wild animal placing a blade against his throat cutting short his venomous words.
He was caught off guard by the suddenness of the attack but soon retained himself enough to try a counter only to discover shadowy limbs binding him to the wall without any thought of release.
It was common knowledge that if a sword wielder couldn't make use of their hands then they would be rendered useless in battle though my father was different from most swordsmen I've fought.
I knew that he would try wrenching the blade from my grasp the moment I'd let my guard down in no time so I acted beforehand.
We gazed at one another for several long moments as the faint coppery smell of blood tainted the surrounding air.
"To protect us," I repeated the words, allowing my anger to poison the words.
I gritted my teeth, "In what way did you protect us, Father?! I was sent to a living hell and forced to take lives for no real motive except survival. Forced to do things that plunged my being into darkness devoid of any light."
Tears burned my cheeks, "The unbearable hatred I bore toward Uncle and Veronica for their part in my suffering unknowing the torture they faced in my absence. The cold lone nights spent screaming my name that Veronica had to endure while mother lays beside us alone for the eternal slumber that looms."
Father just watched as my shoulders shuttered from the cascading tears accumulated over past weeks of sorrow.
I felt him place a hand on my shoulder despite the closeness of my blade and pull me into his arms to comfort me like a newborn babe again.
The blade moved a little making a small shallow cut on his neck though his face didn't change as we crumbled to the floor where he held me as my mind gave into forgotten grief.
My mind was a continuous spiral revolving between anger for this farce and tearful joy at knowing he was alive.
A metallic clatter boomed over the stone walls as the blade fell free leaving the two of us shrouded in soft tears.
After a few moments, father helped me to my feet and gazed into my eyes with a hand on my cheek. "You deserve to know the truth," he sighed before turning toward mother's coffin, "your hatred has been misplaced."
"Your uncle was just doing as I had asked," his words felt like ice.
I shook my head, unable to understand his words, "What do you mean?"
Father turned to face me once more with a self disgusted gaze that looked past me. "Though I'm not proud of it," he looked over his shoulder expecting mother to emerge before continuing, "I am the one who told Tiberius to place you in that hell."
I lunged forward pulling Poena from the shadows as I roared, "BASTARD!!"
A faint glimmer was the only warning to maneuver the flat side of Poena against my forearm in time to block the large butcher's blade.
My feet slid seamlessly across the stone floor trying to resist the overwhelming force that delivered the blow only to give in when a large clawed hand wrapped itself around my head.
Gathered breath rushed from my lungs when my feet left the ground and I was driven hard into the floor sending Poena skidding from my grasp.
Dazed, I looked into the menacing familiar eyes as they towered above me ready to cleave my neck.
I tried gathering shadows in my frantically searching hand driven by anger at the sight of my father standing nonchalantly beside mother's tomb only to feel needle-like fangs dig deep into my forearm.
Solomon moved his head closer to mine so that his eyes were the only things I saw. "Enough," he hissed, "your father had his reasons."
At that, Solomon released his grasp of me and stood to the side with an inviting hand toward me just like after our countless mock battles.
I swatted his hand to the side and slowly got to my feet before making the short distance to retrieve Poena who's crystal eyes burned red with anger waiting to unleash it upon the world.
I saw smooth invisible scales begin to coil around me like before when fighting the deranged Vaniel woman.
My body tingled with electricity while shifting between the two as a faint hiss sounded in my ears.
It was so tempting to unleash all this fury upon them but I put all that raw emotion away knowing that enough disrespect was shown toward my mother.
"To hell with his reasons," I growled making my way to the exit.
Father's voice boomed, "Wait Einor!!"
Against my better judgment, I did as he wanted and turned to face him one last time.
He spoke in a soft sorrowful voice, "I want you to know that you were not alone during that time. I watched every single battle you were forced to fight praying you would live another day."
He took a step closer, "Unlike your sister, I stayed beside your side knowing you'd be all alone in the world. I was watching you every step you took to become the man that I see before me now and I couldn't be more proud."
He fell silent for a moment as if searching for words but I cut him off, "Save your attempts to apologize for Veronica. She has suffered most in this decision more than I ever could."
My words were like poison that threw him off guard. Sighing, "Most of my wounds are physical which healed with time while her's burrowed deep into the mind. Loneliness is the cruelest weapon one could use and she took the full brunt of it losing not only her parents but her brother as well."
"I will not tell her that you're alive even though she deserves to know the truth," I turned and left my father to think on my words.
Outside, I took a moment to steady my heart that continued to beat rapidly with enough force to burst free, staining the stone burrow.
Cold droplets trailed my face as the sky above was a cruel gray adding on to the feeling of betrayal running its course through my psych mingling with held rage.
My legs wobbled, threatening to succumb to the weight being held in the absence of consciousness forming the structure.
I turned my gaze to the old oak before me admiring how it stood majestically among the impurities plaguing these hallowed grounds.
I imagined that the tree was my mother who always looked so beautiful and strong willed no matter what she did.
[(The black bird sings in the dead of night.)]
I began to internally sing the lullaby as I placed my hand flushed against the cold stone and began my ascent.
Black flames erupted from my palm dispersing across the circling stone until everything was a quilt of flowing flame in my wake that surrounded the tree in all its unblemished beauty.
Moss and other disrepair burned away until warmed rock was left behind as leveled ground reached my head.
I smiled at the small number of armed knights waiting for me to take the final step though my eyes instantly fell upon Freya who stood at their center with eyes filled with mixed emotion.
Veronica pushed her way past the throng of knights just as the flames began to spew upward casting shadows upon the ground.
Freya took a step forward and spoke with an authoritative voice, "You were warned not to come here and yet here you are burning the burrow constructed for your parents. Just how far are you willing to fall, Einor?"
I didn't say anything as shouts began to ring out when sudden bursts of air boomed over us accompanied by a ferocious roar that shook flesh and all.
Eyes looked upward to see a large black dragon hovering mid air with flickering flames booming between serrated fangs ready to fry any who dared to stand against me.
Each brave knight took an involuntary step backward as four large clawed feet rooted themselves beside me leaving Freya and Veronica to stand alone.
Veronica gazed with pleading eyes not to cause any more misfortune than what had already occured while Freya held a cold unyielding gaze.
Ignoring them, I climbed onto Orion's broad back just behind massive wings that began to lift his bulky body back into the air.
"Creideamh," I muttered under his beating wings.
Bloodied knuckles hammered against the stone wall I've been punching ever since returning to Siegfried despite Orion's constant pleas to stop.
When my knuckles could not feel the pain anymore, I began to strike my head against the wall as if I were a horned monstrosity only to switch between the two when a large gash began to ooze red liquid.
Warm tears waded against the river of blood down my cheeks before splattering the floor with a small silent boom.
Images of that night continued their torturous repeat riding the tails of flickering flame before being replaced by His olden face and the truth finally spoken adding onto the pain.
I slid down the wall until it supported the full length of my back and placed my hand on a raised knee allowing the blood to drip downward.
[(I can't be like him.)]
The smooth marbled handle of a misericorde filled my palm as the black blade formed from converging shadows.
My father preached that family is everything only to falsify his death to save himself and send me to that hell while forcing Veronica to live her own slice alone in the world.
Such teachings have driven me in many ways over the years bringing new breath in exhausted lungs and rejuvenated tired limbs for foolish ideas.
Ideas that he himself seemed to not believe in the end poisoning the afterthought.
I would rather end the cycle here and now then allow it to run its course once more.
"What a sight," a mocking tone somewhat cleared the congregated clouds enough for Tartarus' figure to be seen.
His sickly pale scales glimmered like a river of stones in the torchlight before disappearing inside the black cloth shirt. He made his way over and sat next to me, "It's funny seeing you give up to such mundane matters."
I glared at the old Infernal as he gave a sly smile, "We're connected by souls, or have you forgotten? Either way, I know about the altercation you faced in that burrow and the saddening truth you discovered."
I turned my gaze back to the blade and whispered, "What do you want?"
"Nothing really," Tartarus chimed as a winged serpent slithered around his arm, "just to see why such truths drive you to give up. It's unnatural to see such a pitiful state of a man who's overcome many things without fear of dying."
I chuckled as he continued, "Laugh all you want but deep inside you know I'm telling the truth. Tell me, how many people have sent a bargaining Infernal away during a time of crisis like you did during the battle in Vusta? How many have truly fought for their soul against an ancient Ent spirit and an Infernal Lord's soul?"
"Better yet," he paused until my curiosity got the better of me, "how many can say they've came back from death multiple times?"
I shook my head gazing back at the blade, "Dumb luck, all it is. That and I'm too stubborn to fall in line."
I sighed, "What if I end up being just like him? What if Nyxis and I or Ashe and I have children? What if I put them through the same thing? That's what I'm afraid of most more so now when involving Orion and Isho. It would be better to…"
Tartarus boomed with laughter, "You sound like me when I first began my reign long ago."
I watched as he stood and made his way to the doorway that lead into the outer hall where he stopped.
Without turning to face me, "Let me give you a piece of advice a close friend once gave me. Learn from your predecessor's mistakes and make it your strength."
He left after saying his piece leaving me alone with the smooth handled liberation still clutched tightly.
I couldn't help but chuckle at his words that harbored undeniable truth like the fangs of a serpent dripping with venom elevating clouded thoughts slowly as blood continued to seep down into my eyes.
In honesty, I didn't know anyone overcoming the feats Tartarus had mentioned except in stories.
I personally think most things were chalked up by dumb luck like being answered by Erebus in that cell holding the latest victim of my defiance toward Alabasta.
Sighing, I stood and wiped myself free from blood before heading upstairs to face the fast approaching future.
[(Make his mistakes into my strength.)]