The crackling flames of the funeral pyre had barely died down when Vergil found himself lost in contemplation; Elysium, an invincible fortress, fell, its once-mighty walls breached.
What secrets did its shattered remnants harbor?
The village had no books that could shed light on the mysteries that piqued his curiosity, at least not the kind that Vergil deemed useful. His only option now was to seek answers from Darius, the grizzled veteran who had seen countless battles and faced countless dangers. Surely, he must know something.
Darius recounted tales of ancient power struggles, of political factions vying for control. The city had been torn apart by the conflict, a battleground for those who believed in the divine right of kings and those who championed the rule of the strongest. Ultimately, a powerful mage had emerged victorious, unifying the city under his iron fist.
Vergil's brow furrowed. "Is that all?" he asked. He had hoped for deeper lore, more intriguing secrets.
Darius shrugged. "That's all I know."
"Have you ever been to Elysium?" Vergil inquired.
"Not in a long time," Darius replied. "We were self-sufficient and preferred to keep our distance."
Vergil was about to dismiss the matter when a thought struck him. "Elara. I haven't seen her in a while."
Darius's expression softened. "I didn't think you cared."
"Are you going to tell me or not?"
"She's not well," Darius admitted.
The news of her illness was unexpected. But something about Darius's tone made him suspicious. Vergil's keen senses picked up on a subtle inconsistency in Darius's words. While he claimed that Elara was ill, there was an underlying hesitancy in his voice, a hint of something unspoken. If Elara were truly ill, wouldn't she have reached out to Vergil?
He decided to let it go. Whatever Elara was up to, it was clear that she didn't want him to know. For now, he would focus on his own quest, leaving the mystery of Elara's illness for another time.
As Vergil approached his quarters, he spotted Leila waiting impatiently outside. He could immediately sense the storm brewing within her.
"Why was I removed from the team?" Leila demanded, her voice laced with anger.
Vergil feigned innocence. "It wasn't my decision. Darius believes you should stay safe until you're mentally prepared." He tried to mask his amusement with a grin.
Leila's eyes narrowed. "And what do you think?"
"It doesn't matter what I think," Vergil replied, his voice dripping with nonchalance. "Darius is your leader. If you have a problem, you talk to him."
Vergil turned to leave, but Leila's outburst stopped him in his tracks. "No!" she roared, her voice echoing through the quiet corridor.
"No, you won't talk to him?" Vergil asked, feigning surprise. He couldn't help but find her reaction amusing.
"No, I will not sit idly by," Leila declared, her voice filled with defiance. "Please, let me in."
"That's not up to me," Vergil replied, his voice firm. He stepped into his quarters and shut the door, leaving Leila fuming outside.
Leila's anger was a tempest within her. How could Darius do this to her? She felt trapped, powerless to change the situation.
Her mind raced with a whirlwind of doubt and frustration. Was Darius truly convinced that she was weak? Did he see her as a liability? She couldn't allow him to treat her like a child. She needed to confront him, to demand answers.
She searched high and low for Darius, scouring his office and quarters. But he was nowhere to be found. Her heart sank when she realized that Kaito, Zara, and Bain were also missing. Had she been abandoned?
Leila refused to accept such a fate. With renewed determination, she headed towards the training grounds, her instincts telling her that her teammates would be there.
And she was right. A group of fighters, numbering around fifteen to twenty, were engaged in a grueling training session. Leila's arrival caused a brief disruption as heads turned to regard her.
Darius, standing at the forefront, knew exactly why she was there. "Before you say anything," he began, his voice firm, "I feel the need to explain my reasoning."
"The healer has filled me in," Leila replied, her voice filled with a mix of anger and defiance.
Darius scoffed. He knew that the Vergil, a man with a venomous tongue, had likely twisted the truth to suit his own agenda. "He doesn't have your best interests at heart..."
"Please," Leila pleaded, her eyes filled with desperation. "I need this. Bring me back."
Darius hesitated, torn between his concern for Leila's safety and his desire to protect her from harm. He knew that nothing he said would change her mind.
After what felt like an eternity, he finally agreed. Leila's heart soared with relief as she realized that she would be allowed to rejoin the team.
Vergil stepped into the makeshift hospital, his gaze scanning the room. Two men, their faces etched with weariness, stood waiting for him. They were the men he had sent on a perilous quest to find a specific herb. The bags they carried were heavy, but the disappointment in their eyes spoke louder than any words.
"What have you found?" Vergil asked, his voice barely a whisper.
"We found moonflower, nightshade, and thistle," one of the men, a grizzled veteran named Kael, replied.
Vergil's hopes flickered, only to be extinguished by the next words. "But we couldn't find the bloodroot."
The men shook their heads in defeat. "The journey would have been too long, and the risks were too great. The monsters are everywhere, and the city of Shadowspire is more aggressive than ever."
Vergil wasn't surprised. The bloodroot was a rare and elusive herb, and the dangers of the wilderness had likely prevented Kael and his men from reaching its source.
But now, Vergil faced a new challenge. How would he heal Xena's husband? The herb was essential for his recovery, as Vergil was too weak to perform the necessary healing on his own.
The truth about Xena's husband's condition was far more sinister than the ravaged injury. A trace of dark, corrupting energy was slowly draining his life force, a silent, insidious threat.
Vergil's turned his gaze towards the corner where Xena's husband lay unconscious. Xena sat beside him, her presence a constant, unwavering support. She had stepped away from her warrior duties, her focus now solely on her husband's recovery.
Vergil is by no means a comforter. He was uncertain if he could even heal Xena's husband, the specter of death looming ever closer. With no solace to offer, Vergil sought out another patient, a soldier who had sustained severe injuries. The man, his face bandaged and his leg missing, greeted Vergil with a bitter smile.
"Good healer," he said, his voice raspy.
"How are you feeling?" Vergil asked.
"I'm alive," the soldier replied.
Vergil assured the man he was free to go home, and as he spoke, the soldier's battle-worn son stepped into the room. He saluted Vergil with a nod.
"I'm here to escort my father back home."
"Excellent," Vergil said, handing the soldier a remedy he'd concocted.
The night of the impending battle loomed large. Ten men, their numbers bolstered, had taken up positions in strategic locations scattered throughout the battered village. These dilapidated buildings, once homes to families, now served as their hideouts, their walls offering a semblance of protection.
The mission remained unchanged: lure a monstrosity into a secluded spot, where traps would ensnare it. Vergil had emphasized the importance of remaining undetected, of avoiding any confrontation that could ignite the creatures' most violent side. He believed the summoner was gathering data from each attack, refining its tactics, and making the creatures increasingly formidable.
As the sun dipped below the horizon, Vergil, led by Leila and Zara, settled into one of the designated spots. The building, like the others, had been hastily repaired by tireless workers. Zara ascended to the highest point of the building and scanned the horizon, her eyes darting from one darkened silhouette to another.
Yet, despite the desolation of the village, Zara felt a surge of hope. For the first time in what felt like an eternity, she believed that they might actually stand a chance. The meticulous planning, the strategic positioning of their forces, the unwavering determination of her comrades – it all added up to a glimmer of optimism.
Vergil paced back and forth, his shadow dancing across the moonlit floor. The weight of the mission, the secrets he sought – they all weighed heavily upon him.
Leila followed him with her gaze. She had never seen him so consumed, so driven. His restlessness was infectious, a silent energy that filled the room.
"Why do you seem so restless?" she asked.
"Worry about yourself," Vergil replied, his voice laced with a hint of disdain.
Nobody understood him, his true motivations. This mission was as important to him as it was to them, but for a different reason. If he could achieve a significant breakthrough, a monumental discovery, he would have no reason to remain here. The village, the people, they were merely pawns in his grand scheme.
Leila continued to watch him, her eyes filled with concern. But Vergil didn't need her input. His mind was focused on the task at hand, the mission that would determine his fate.
As the moon rose, casting its ethereal glow over the village, the night fell, and the battle loomed closer.