John furrowed his brows and gave Oberon a sharp look. "What are you talking about?" he asked with a deep tone, his eyes flashing with a mixture of confusion and anger.
Oberon, however, remained unfazed. He locked his gaze onto John's heterochromatic eyes, his own eyes piercing and cold. "There's no use hiding it," he said calmly. "I will ask the same questions to the real John once you're gone, and by my calculations, that should be about another two minutes."
John gritted his teeth and shook his head. "As I've said, I am John," he groaned, clutching his head in pain.
Oberon raised an eyebrow skeptically. "And you expect me to believe you?" he asked, his voice dripping with sarcasm.
"I don't particularly care if you believe me or not," John replied, his voice strained. "As you've said, I'll be gone in about a minute or so."
Oberon sighed and shook his head. "So you refuse to listen," he said, his eyes scanning John's face. "Very well."
{memories of Gargantua} Oberon whispered Without warning, and placed his hands on John's head, causing him to tense up. "I wouldn't do that if I were you," John warned, his voice low and menacing.
But it was too late. Two black magic circles appeared on Oberon's palms, which he pressed onto John's head. As the circles activated, Oberon's eyes rolled back into his head, leaving only the white cornea visible on the outside.
Fifteen seconds had passed since the old man had activated the magic circle, and then suddenly, Oberon let out a bloodcurdling scream. "Gaaaaaah- huff-huff-huff-huff, what the hell are you?" he cried out as he fell backward onto his butt.
At that moment, all the magic circles that had been keeping John restrained started to break apart, the sound of their destruction echoing in the air. *crack crack*, Oberon desperately tried to stop the spells from breaking, but it was no use. The chaos energy that surrounded John had already started lashing out and destroying the spells entirely.
As John rose to his feet, he let out a groan, popping his joints that had been forced into an uncomfortable position. *crack crack* Pain shot through his body, but he ignored it, slowly walking towards Oberon. "How many times do I have to explain it to you? I am John!" he roared, sending out a shockwave that sent the old man flying straight into Nicholas, who had jumped in an attempt to catch him. *bam*
"Oberon, are you okay?" Nicholas asked, setting the old man down on the ground.
Oberon coughed up some blood but managed to nod weakly. "Yeah, I'm fine. How's Dante?" he asked, his voice strained.
Nicholas leaned forward, ready to voice his thoughts, when a piercing scream shattered the silence. His head swiveled towards the source of the noise, and his heart thudded as he saw John doubled over, clutching his head in agony. The anguished cry echoed through the frozen landscape, sending shivers down Nicholas's spine.
"Aghhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh!" John's cries reverberated through the air.
Nicholas's concern grew as he turned to Oberon, his eyes wide with worry. "What's going on?" he asked his voice tight with tension.
Oberon shook his head, coughing slightly as he tried to speak. "Cough-cough. Honestly, I haven't the slightest clue," he replied, his brows furrowed as he watched John's writhing figure with a frown.
The screaming continued, rising in intensity and volume until it seemed to reach a crescendo. "GAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAH!" John's body stiffened, and then, with a suddenness that took Nicholas's breath away, he went limp.
For a few long moments, the only sound was the eerie whistling of the wind, as John's soulless eyes stared blankly up at the sky. And then, with a dull thud, his body fell to the snow, as lifeless as a rag doll.
Oberon nodded, his eyes scanning the scene before him. He turned to Nicholas, his voice low and urgent. "Nicholas, you go check on John. I'll talk to Dante here."
With a nod, Nicholas headed off towards where John lay, his heart heavy with concern. He stole a glance over his shoulder, watching as Oberon made his way towards Dante, who was perched atop a large boulder, chugging healing potions like they were beer.
"Take your time," Nicholas called out, his voice tinged with bitterness. "Because it seems like Beaumont has brought quite a lot of support to wrap this whole thing up."
As he spoke, he caught sight of the massive army that was coming up behind them, with Sir Beaumont and his war-horse at the helm of it. Despite his unease, Nicholas couldn't help but feel a small surge of satisfaction at the sight of the two legions.
"It seems like things worked out better than I had imagined they would," Dante said, as he scooted slowly towards Oberon.
"Really?" Oberon asked, a note of skepticism creeping into his voice. "What did you see as the conclusion to this battle?"
Dante shrugged, taking another long swig from the potion bottle. "Well, there was a lot of uncertainty at the start, to be fully honest. I couldn't be sure how things would turn out when fighting someone of Artooxares's level. So, I imagined the worst, with both of us taking each other out," he said, his voice laced with a bitter laugh.
Oberon was about to respond when a sudden shout from Nicholas interrupted their conversation. "THE KID IS OUT COLD, LET'S FALL BACK TO THE DUCHY ESTATE AND GET HIM TO A DOCTOR BEFORE WE DO ANYTHING ELSE. BEAUMONT CAN HANDLE THE REST." Oberon nodded in agreement, his concern for the young prince growing.
Dante stood up slowly and approached Oberon with a smile. "Well, sir, what do you say we return to the castle now?" Oberon agreed, relieved to be leaving the battlefield.
"BEAUMONT!" Dante's voice echoed across the battlefield, and a concerned look appeared on Sir Beaumont's face. However, he remained focused on his duties. "YES, MY LORD?" he shouted back.
"WE ARE RETURNING TO THE ESTATE. THE PRINCE NEEDS URGENT CARE," Dante yelled, mounting his wyvern. "BRING THE LEGATES WITH YOU WHEN YOU COME. AS FOR THE SOLDIERS, IF THEY SURRENDER, HANDCUFF THEM AND BRING THEM IN. IF THEY RESIST, DO AS YOU PLEASE."
"UNDERSTOOD, SIR. I HOPE YOU HAVE A SAFE TRIP HOME," Beaumont replied with a frown, saluting before marching off with the two legates by his side.
Dante motioned for Oberon to mount the wyvern with him, but Oberon hesitated. "I will meet you at the castle. I'd rather not get on him again," he said, shuddering at the memory of his previous journey on the wyvern's back.
"As you wish," Dante replied after a moment of silence. "Come on, Stormwing. It's time to go home." Nicholas had already climbed onto the wyvern, carrying the unconscious John with him.
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"Did he just use ancient giant magic?" Pallas asked Kostas, his confusion apparent.
"I thought that knowledge had been lost after the 100-year war," Kostas thought to himself, lost in contemplation.
"Our ancestors too left us similar information…" Pallas added as if seeking confirmation.
"We must ask John to inquire about this magic from the old man," the dragon lord continued, determined to unravel the mystery.
"He needs to wake up first for that to happen," Kostas replied, his voice grave.
"True, but the chaos is retreating for now. So, he should wake up soon, right?" Pallas inquired.
"Hard to say… there is a price for everything, and for what his body has just been through, there will likely be a great cost," Kostas explained, his eyes fixated on the sea of pitch darkness that was retreating from John's consciousness.
"Let's wait for him to wake up. There is little we can do to help him right now, other than figuring out ways to get him stronger," Kostas advised.
Pallas nodded with a concerned expression on his face"Yeah, let us do that."
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Half a day had passed since the fierce battle had come to a close. The group had returned to the palace, weary and battered from the fight. In John's room, Oberon sat by his unconscious grandson's side, watching him with a heavy heart. John lay motionless on the bed, his breathing shallow and uneven. The room was quiet, save for the sound of the doctor examining him.
"What do you say? What has gone wrong with him?" Oberon asked, his voice strained with worry.
The doctor looked up from his examination, his expression troubled. "This is the first time I have seen something like this. His body is fully non-responsive. He seems to be in a vegetative state and those black markings on his left arm… I have never seen anything like them before." He paused, studying the black streaks that had appeared on John's arm, all converging at the center of his palm.
"How can we help him?" Oberon asked, his grip on John's arm tightening.
"The best thing we can do right now is wait for his conscience to recover. Whatever has happened has placed a great burden on both his mind and body. We have no other choice but to wait," the doctor said, shaking his head slightly.
"I see," Oberon said, his face falling.
"In the meantime, I think I should see how His Dukal Highness is recovering. He should be awake by now," the doctor said, patting Oberon on the back.
"Right, please go ahead and do that," Oberon said, nodding slightly.
"I shall be seeing you then," the doctor said, leaving the room.
Oberon sat there for a while, watching John's still form, tears welling up in his eyes. "John, what have you done?" he murmured to himself