To Heal a Murderer (PeregrineXTShara)

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Zaiabel was silent for a few minutes, considering his answer and trying not to explode at him and ruin the most valuable "game" any Huntress had ever played. You slaughter our people, you killed my entire family, my entire town... for GLORY?! she thought furiously, her face betraying the sheer wealth of her anger. But she did not start into yelling at him, for it would do no good, and would only end this rather beneficial game. Regardless of how angry she was, he still had her in his clutches, and that was not going to change unless she gleaned more information out of him. No, much better to save her anger to force behind the dagger that she would inevitably plunge into his throat.

Now, about his question, that was actually quite difficult. So many of the great legends featured Warlords as antagonists, monsters, and occasionally, even the heroes. The societies of Asuria did not need to create bogeymen to scare little children when real bogeymen regularly attacked a few times in every old man's lifetime.

But still, there were a few less violent fables, not so much legends, but stories. Zaia's own people, the Vor'Teksi, valued moderate living and non-violence. As such, many of their fables relied on such stories of enlightenment, rather than the more entertaining bloodsports. So she settled on one of those.

"While tales of your people, understandably, encompass much of our mythology, there are many tales that don't. Each of the races and towns here has its own legends, its own stories. I do not know them all, but I do remember some Vor'Teksi legends I was told as a child. One that sticks out in my mind is the tale of Xin'kath, a Vor'Teksi shopkeeper who sought Qor'lana, which loosely translated to "enlightenment" in the Common tongue. He first seeks to live his life completely through his heart, so to speak, only listening to his emotions and doing whatever he wishes based on emotion. Unfortunately, he quickly finds himself losing his business, losing his friendships, and almost losing his life. So then he travels the world to speak to the Orliri Logical Masters, a race of people who thrive only on logic. He learns from them for several months and purges his mind of all emotion. But then he walks among the world again, and back to his hometown, and realizes that without emotion, he cannot enjoy music, he cannot laugh with his friends, he cannot feel love for his wife or family, and he finds that such a life is not for him. Eventually, he comes to the conclusion that is the moral of the tale, that a balanced mind, ruled by both logic and emotion, is the ideal state."

It was a rather boring tale, but Zaia cared little if she bored her captor, so long as he was entertained enough to continue the question game. And it was now her turn.

"What exactly is the process for crafting a Binding Gem?" she asked, her voice overflowing with "innocent" curiosity.
 
Nico was glad he had chosen to initiate this game. It kept her cooperative, and it kept her temper in check. She was so afraid of missing an opportunity that her rage, which felt almost strong enough to scorch him, was kept carefully in rein. He cared little for what she thought of him. Her main purpose was to be his healer, whenever he needed it. Anything else that came with that was merely a bonus.

Like the legend she briefly summarized for him. That was an interesting little bonus, and he contemplated it with some measure of surprise. When he had asked for a legend, he had been expecting something about heroic acts of survival, or anything that might one day prove relevant to the survival of the people when the Warlords arrived. He was pleased, but also confused, but the fact that the legend seemed to have little to do with anything. It was the kind of story he could almost imagine being taught himself as a child, although his childhood stories had been filled with much more fancy than that.

He allowed himself a brief moment of distracted pleasure, wondering if the only reason the legend existed was because this Xin'kath had been a real person, whose story was passed on, or if there might be something else behind it, when he was quite firmly distracted by her next question.

Nico laughed, and while his laugh was a childish shriek of delight, Vanhaelsin let out a full-bellied burst of laughter. It vanished as quickly as it came, hardly more than a moment, but it was more than apparent that her "innocent" routine was cutting no ice. That did not mean that he had a reason to not answer. After all, he had chosen an arena to train in where such objects were the easiest to craft, and that world had little to no relation to her own world.

"We have hardly been doing 'exact'," he replied, letting out another snort of laughter. "You don't get to start it only when it is convenient for you."

He stretched an arm across his chest, before dropping it back to the hilt of his sword. "Most of the process revolved around purifying the gem that would contain the magic. I had to get a flower that only grows in the center of a volcano, and drop it into an underground river made entirely from melted ice to create a current of flame in which to smelt the gem from the stone from the stomach of a cocatrice and the heartwood of a tree made entirely from moonstone. And that was just the first step.

"It was quite an entertaining process, all things considered, if rather deadly."

What did he want to ask her now? In all honesty, he had satisfied his most basic curiosity, and was now only going to keep talking to keep himself entertained while they walked. That was the only problem he saw with this competition. It was lonely. Because there could only ever be one winner, there was no chance to create teams and work with someone.

It didn't really matter what he asked. For a moment he tried to forget that she was only a character, and that there was someone behind that face, a real person with thoughts and random concerns, who was just here for the fun of it, and was fuming over the fact that her character had been bound to someone else. He certainly would have.

"How old are you?"
 
Zaiabel cringed at her captor's laugh. Even in the best of the conditions, her social skills left much to be desired. She was not skilled in the arts of deception, or of hiding her emotions. In a sense, these failings were understandable, seeing as she had spent most of the past 23 years studying magic with Master Kilan instead of socializing with other kids her age or having anything remotely resembling a normal childhood. But the Bond between Hael and herself, and it's ability to transmit her emotions, and even an echo of her thoughts and desires, made it impossible to conceal anything. As she heard his laughter, she felt almost naked, her mind spread out for him to see. But her embarrassed cringe lasted only for a moment, no longer than his laughter had. She could not allow herself to be burdened by such frivolous emotions. He was so sure he had her that he would continue this game, and there could still be information gleaned from it.

In that vein, the captured Huntress listened carefully to the Warlord's description. But soon enough, a frown began to cross her face. The first bit of the explanation sounded plausible, for Asuria certainly possessed volcanoes and underwater rivers. Though she did not know of one made entirely from melted ice, she could believe that one might exist. Cockatrices don't have stones in their stomachs. And a tree made from moonstone? What? What's moonstone, and why would trees be made of stone and not wood? It was certainly possible that these were things in her world that she had somehow never heard of in more than two decades of study, but it was far more likely that there was another strange land of the Gods in which this cruel deity had constructed his Gem.

She would have to work to be a little less transparent from now on. But at least this question was simple. "Thirty-six years have passed since my birth," she replied, using the natural slang in Asurian Common to reply. The translation matrix was direct, and would not simplify it to "I'm 36 years old."

Now it was her turn. What could she ask him that would actually help her? After a moment, she settled on a question about her situation, one that would hopefully faze him just a bit.

"I've never healed a Death God before. I do not know your physiology, and healing each species is markedly different. For all I know, you are immune to a mere mortal's abilities. So, what will you do if somehow my magic does not work on you?" she asked curiously, turning to meet his eyes.

Though I still don't understand why such a powerful being even needs me to begin with. Surely he can heal himself, she thought, but she could save that for the next question. He had been vague before, and she wanted a legitimate answer. If Zaia knew why she was needed, then that would be valuable information on how to resist.
 
Thirty six. She was in good shape for someone so old. His parents were about the same age as her. It was a little strange, thinking that in any other situation he would have to treat her with respect. The idea made him snicker mentally. Paying respect to her? Not likely.

As far as her question, he had no real worry. A healing spell was a healing spell, no matter what she may believe. It was just code that put in more hit points, even if the visuals were a little more gruesome than that. But there was no need to let her know that.

"What makes you so sure that I want you along to heal me?" Nico replied, a little bit of vindictive humor staining his tone. He did want her to heal him, but she had seen no evidence of that. All he had her do so far was heal the people he killed. He had been doing that to test her, but she need not know that. "But, either way, if you can't do what I want, I'll kill you," he continued, not even a touch of remorse staining his tone. "You are interesting and all, but there is no reason to haul you around if you can't do anything for me."

He was starting to get bored with the question game. Right now it was his turn to ask, and he found that was a better state in which to leave things. And there was always the chance that, if he asked another question, she might choose to end the game on her own terms. But he doubted that would be the case, somehow. He could sense her desperate desire to know more, to find the "clues" to work her way out of the binding spell.

He'd give her one more question, and then they would focus on walking. They had both unconsciously slowed down when the game had begun; thought tended to do that to walking. But his first priority waited ahead of him, it didn't walk beside him. One more question, and then they would walk.

What was something he wanted to know? He didn't really care all that much about her. After all, it didn't matter whether or not he knew about her. But there was one thing that sparked his curiosity a little bit. She was obviously a skilled healer, and her skill in stealth and archery probably left little to be desired. Yet, by the ranking systems of the tournament, she was completely worthless. How could someone so skilled be so undervalued. Maybe he would try and figure that out.

"Who taught you what you know? Your archery, stealth, and healing?"
 
Aging progressed differently inside the world of Asuria than it did outside in the real world. The average life-expectancy in this backwater fantasy land was around 130, despite the complete and utter lack of modern medicine. It did made a difference if the character was in shape or not, and what kind of food, drink, and physical activity the character engaged in. And of course, like everything inside the world of Asuria, there was a random element to it as well. Quite apart from all of that, elements of Healing magic and Necromancy could be used to prolong the caster's life.

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Zaiabel was surprised by Hael's retort. How had she known that he wanted her there to heal. It was something she had not even questioned. She was silent for a minute or two while she considered it. Well, he had shown enough skill in killing, to the point that it certainly outweighed hers. It did not matter how abhorrent killing was to her, but rather that it was evident he did not need her for this. He had also forced her to revive and heal ten people before killing them again, and somehow, looking bak on it, that whole thing seemed like a sort of test of her endurance, a torturous test, but a test nonetheless.

She chilled at the idea that he would kill her. At 36, she was not eager to die, but perhaps that would be preferable to being forced to help this butcher murder more innocent lives. It was even more sickening that it was supposed to be some kind of game to them. As if just because they were more powerful, they could just play with the lives of mere mortals. Despicable.

But despite her spark of fear, amid her fiery hatred that flared up at his threat, she took a deep breath and answered his question, remembering warmly the old man who had taken her in. "My teacher's name was Master Kilan," she said simply, unwilling to reveal to this Warlord the extent of her teacher's accomplishments. He had been a great Hunter of warlords for many Reaping cycles. To this day he was one of the few mortals that the Death Gods had ever feared. But the name she had told Hael was the first name he had given her, his secret identity rather than his magnificent title. It had been a year ago that he died. Her hatred turned to sadness as she realized just how disappointed he would likely be in her for getting herself captured and used so quickly. And then of course her anger flared up again, evident in her tone as she asked her next question.

"This is all a game to you, Death Gods. So, how does the game work? What are the rules and how do you pick a winner?" she asked, glaring at him with contempt.
 
Master Kilan. The name meant nothing to him, as he had expected, but he stored it away in his memory anyways. He got the impression that this Kilan might be somewhat important, if there had been something about him that had brought him to train Zaia the way he had. But he would have to think a while, to come up with the right question to get as much information out of her as possible.

The game had been a lot more fun with his friends, because they had always taken the questions as moments to boast or make up stories. Nico and Zaia, however, danced around the questions like a couple of dogs circling each other. He was very ready to be done with this game. It was hardly fun anymore.

"That is three questions,' he replied blandly. "And since you did not specify which one you wanted to know, I'll pick the one I answer."

He was silent for a moment, contemplating which one to pick. The first one was certainly out of the question. It was far too broad, so broad that even he did not know how to answer it. With a bit of time he might have been able to take advantage of such a broad question, but it was hardly worth it to him right now. All he wanted to do was get to this city, and return to the game with which he was familiar.

"The last Warlord standing wins," he told her a few moments later, placing a strange twist on the word "wins". It was not precisely a lie, and it would have been impossible to explain to her that every single person in this world was rated with points, marking their value to the game. And, while technically the Warlord with the most points won, there had never been a time where a Warlord who was killed had more points than the last Warlord standing. After all, the death of a Warlord awarded points to the killer, and the more points the defeated had, the more points the victor received. "To win, I am going to have to kill every Warlord who isn't killed by someone else."

And, with that, Nico fell into silence. He picked up the pace, long legs covering the ground, his heavy armor seeming to weigh nothing on his shoulders. He was curious what Zaia would force him to do as she began to wear out. But he had every intention of reaching the city before dark.
 
Zaiabel rolled her eyes as Hael pointed out that she had asked three questions. They were all facets of the same thing. She wanted a detailed explanation of how this insane game worked. But of course, she was unsatisfied with the answer.

So not only is this a bloody game to them, killing us is only a side goal, and it's not even that important?! Why would they slaughter us while they kill each other? Why in all the planes can they not just murder each other without having us mere mortals involved. It is not right! Just because they are gods does not mean they have the right to ruin our lives. How dare they waltz down from Erinada and slaughter us in Asuria. They are gods! Surely they could play their matches someplace else!

Zaia was furious at the injustice of it all, and her hatred and indignation must have been palpable to Hael as well. In any case, he had not asked her another question, and so it seemed obvious that they were ending this question game for now. He had also picked up the pace, and for a moment, Zaia considered lingering in the farthest radius that the spell would let her, just to force him to slow down. But within a few moments, her feet were jogging to catch up to him and stay at his side. The Death God was much taller than she, and she found that she had to walk much more quickly than normal to keep up with his pace. For the first few hours, however, the pace was not bothersome from a physical perspective. Of course it still bothered her that they were traveling to a city to slaughter dozens, maybe even hundreds of people. But gradually, as several hours wore on, Zaia found herself growing weary, and wanting to slow down or take a break. She was by no means out of shape, but she was unaccustomed to the pace. Still, she felt pressed on, and though she was uncomfortable, she could continue, and she took a flask of her water and did just that.

They were half an hour out from Onsif when dusk hit, and a rather tired Zaia glowered up at her Warlord captor.

"Please reconsider this," she pleaded, large gray eyes boring into his very soul. "Those are living beings that you are ready to just slaughter without a second thought, people with lives, jobs, families. Do you Death Gods even understand such things? Do you possess such concepts as love, compassion, mercy? If your purpose is to kill each other, then why must you slaughter us?" she asked as her wide eyes pleaded with her captor.
 
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Despite Zaia's attitude towards him, Nico was not a cruel being. He was a young boy, in one of the greatest games in the world, and he was ecstatic. It had been an interesting little side conversation speaking with Zaia, but now he was drawing close to the part of the game that he loved the most. He was an untouchable being, and now his plan was in place. He had his armor, his weaponry, and his healer. Nothing was going to distract him from his task now.

Zaia's words, however, did temporarily distract him, though. He stared at her for a moment, his eyes wide and incredulous, before he burst out laughing. No, Nico was not cruel, for he did not act to cause her pain. He simply reacted in the only way possible; the only way that he knew how. Laughter was the only answer he had to the most invalid argument he had ever heard. People. She wanted him to not fight, not compete in the tournament towards which he had been striving for the last two years, because they were people.

He couldn't really blame her. She was acting on the only information she had available to her ability to make decisions. His laughter echoed briefly off the branches of the trees, and then died out. He grinned at her broadly, head tilted slightly to the side, his expression honestly and openly amused. "Very good," he told her, another faint chuckle slipping from between his lips. "Now lie down and get some rest. We go in at dawn."

And with that casually harsh remark, Nico walked away, leaning against a tree before sliding to the ground. He had briefly considered going in now, when the city would be winding down after a day's worth of activity. But no. He had been still far too long, and Nico was burning to try out Vanhaelsin against these "great fighters." He would go in after dawn, when there had been time for the whole town to rise and get abuzz. Then he would get the fight he craved.

He had no intention of sleeping tonight, just in case his new companion decided to try anything interesting. But he might, just maybe, pretend to sleep. Just to see what she did. Just to see what her first instinct was when confronted by an opening. Most of him expected her to try and stab him, even though she should know that even a well-placed dagger thrust wouldn't claim his life. A small part wondered if she might not try and run away, try and warn the town that there was a Warlord waiting on their doorstep, a Death God ready to claim their lives. And the last small portion, well, it was prepared for anything she might try and dish out at him. The black tattoo spiraling up his arm, the reminder that the two of them were linked for as long as he played this game, should keep her from doing anything too excessive.
 
Perhaps Nico did not intend to be cruel, but Zaia had no frame of reference to take his crass disregard for life as anything but a malicious insult. But upon seeing that evil mirth in his eyes, her heart nearly gave up fighting with him. And so she attempted little resistance to his orders, and the binding spell's insistence that she carry them out. Within only a few moments, she had found a comfortable place to rest and had lain down. Despite her fatigue from their pace in the past few hours, she was in no mood to sleep, and fully intended to get up again and test the limits of the spell as soon as she was able.

The spell only forced her to remain laying down for about ten minutes, long enough for her breathing to relax and for her to feel slightly rested. As Hael had not specified a length of time for her to continue resting, she was then allowed to rise, but waited until she was quite sure the Death God had fallen asleep.

Then she rose and began working. First she experimented and found the maximum radius she could travel before the spell began to cause her pain. It amounted to about twenty meters, ten more before she collapsed in agony. Clearly, waltzing up to the city to warn the guards was out of the question. The captive Huntress did not even bother to test her ability to murder the Death God, for her head began to burn at the mere thought. Surely the Binding spell, whose orange and gold tattoo encircled her neck like an intricate collar, would not allow her to kill her master.

But she had to determine a way to warn Onsif, if nothing else. Her inability to resist Hael's orders had condemned them to death, and she would never live through that shame, but surely she could at least provide a warning. An idea struck her, and she removed parchment and a quill from her pack.

Death God approaching. Evacuate quickly.

She wrote the shortest message that could explain their position as a warning, and tore the piece from the main strip of parchment. Then, she wrapped the paper around an arrow, secured it with a string, walked to the very edge of her "allotted" distance, and shot the arrow towards the guards at the city gates with as much force as she could muster.
 
The arrow flew straight and true. Little did Zaia know, it almost flew too true. The flight of the arrow was hardly disrupted by the small message wrapped around it, and it embedded itself in the ground only a couple inches to the left of one guard's foot. He let out a surprised yelp, but in the same instant was drawing his own sword and raising it to his lips to sound the alarm. Only the sight of the message tied to the arrow kept him from rousing everyone in the guardhouse.

He unrolled the message carefully, before reading it over. It took him two tries to process the message, but when he did he nearly dropped the small scrap of parchment. Instead eh carefully rolled it back up into a tube and raced away from his post.

The first person he passed received the unwelcome information that they would then have to watch two posts at once, but the guard was in too much of a hurry to listen to any complaints that might have been offered. He barrelled quickly down the stairs, jumping the last several steps in his hurry. Only two minutes after Zaia shot the note towards the city, it was being handed to the captain of the guard by an out of breath watchman.

The captain of the guard read the note as well, but his reaction was significantly more calm than that of his solder.

"How did you get this message?"

"It was on an arrow, Sir," the guard handed over the arrow, which he had thought to pick up only a second before racing off. The captain took the arrow and studied it carefully, before returning his attention to the parchment.

"Should I send out the message to evacuate?" It was clear that childhood stories of the Warlords were dancing through the soldier's head.

"If someone knows that a Death God is approaching, why wouldn't they come to deliver the message?" The guard asked.

The watchman was stumped. He opened his mouth twice, apparently unaware that the question had been primarily rhetorical. When he did finally find some words, the captain waved them off with a flick of the wrist.

"Rouse the men. Double the watch. This is a threat that we have to take seriously, but we aren't about to evacuate the city on the word of a message tied to an arrow. We could come back in a couple of days and find the guard of Carel occupying our city." Carel was a neighboring village, and one that competed heavily with Onsif for the right to the mines that littered the hillside.

"Yes, Sir." The watchman saluted stiffly, before hurrying off to the barracks. There would be more than a healthy taste of fear among the guards tonight. They would remain vigilant as they had never done before, each of them hearing echoes of the voices of their parents and grandparents, telling the stories of the last time the Warlords had touched down from the heavens.

But come dawn the rush of adrenalin would start to fail. Fear will keep you awake while it is strong, but when it fades it leaves you exhausted. The dawn watch would find itself a few members short, for those who had been roused from their beds in the middle of the night would be granted permission to sleep.


Nico's eyes were open when Zaia returned to the clearing. A teasing smile touched his lips.

"I would have waited," he told her as soon as he was certain she knew he was awake. "Until a little closer to morning. Then their vigilance might have actually helped them spot something. Now, they'll just be sleep-deprived."

With a small laugh, Nico rolled over, rolling his shoulders to relieve some of the strain of his armor.
 
Zaia's eyes narrowed as her Warlord captor made it known that he was, in fact, awake. How had he fooled her so damn easily? Either she was an idiot, or … was it at all possible that perhaps Death Gods had some strange power over mere mortals that allowed them to pull strange tricks? Damnit, she should have performed a Clarity spell. How had Master Kilan never mentioned that? He had informed her that they could put a "shadow" over themselves that made them seem like mortal warriors to the untrained eyes, but even in all his years fighting Death Gods, he had never been close enough to one to know that they could pull other minor tricks as well. She had known the spell, but it had not occurred to her to use it. Was that too a part of the control? The thought that she had made such a ridiculous mistake infuriated her. But at least now she would not be fooled again. Of course, now more would die thanks to her lack of knowledge, and the thought threatened to break her heart. She had tried to help and likely only made things worse, but at least she could hope that they would take her warning to heart, as unlikely as that hope was.

"At least they had some warning. They won't be completely surprised," she muttered, her voice coming out as far more meek than intended. Unwilling to sleep, she began to pace around, frustrated and unwilling to let herself rest. Perhaps if she were awake the entire night, she could "accidentally" get herself killed tomorrow and end this living nightmare. In any case, she was sure that she was far too nervous to sleep. The truth was, the encounter in Denir had frightened her. She had replayed it in her mind thousands of times, wondering if there was anything she could have done to change things. Years of training, and this was her reward? Perhaps she had never truly learned Kilan's lessons at all. Or perhaps she had, and if she could be taken so easily, what hope did anyone else have?
 
Nico did not dignify her muttered justification with a response, only settled into a more upright position to wait the night out. Hael would enter into a meditative trance that would allow Nico some rest, without having to actually sleep. It was the main reason that the Death Gods were able to go a week or two without proper rest. He was quickly interrupted by Zaia's pacing, the movement enough to break through his programmed trance. He blinked in irritation, before starting to watch her movement. As long as she continued that, there was no way he was going to get any rest. Surely that wasn't her goal? Even if she had never spent any time with a Warlord, whoever her trainer had been seemed to know enough about them that she would know missing one night of rest would hardly wear him out.

What it might do, on the other hand, would be to wear her out. There was no doubt that he was going to be relying on her, at least in portion, tomorrow. If she was incapacitated, his plans would start to crumble.

Should he order her to rest again? Or even to sleep? There was no telling how exactly she would interpret that, though. Most likely she would be up and pacing again within the half hour. It wasn't really worth it for him to take the time to find the right wording to actually get her to rest for the remainder of the night.

If neither of them were going to be allowed to sleep this night, he would take the time to finalize his orders for Zaia. He knew what he wanted from her, but now that he had gotten a bit of a sample of her base coding it seemed prudent to work with some of his wordings. This spell was very dependent upon vocal cues, and he wanted to make sure that his instructions were clear.

However, Nico found that even an effort as important as that could only keep him interested for a couple of hours. And Zaia was still pacing on and on.

"Quit that pacing," he finally ordered, bringing her to a wrenching halt. "I don't want to order you to rest again, because I know you will find some way to work around it. But if you keep up that blasted pacing I will."
 
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Zaia knew full well that her pacing would do nothing to wear the Warlord out. She had not even expected it to keep him awake. If anything, she was doing it for her own benefit, to try and think, because she was far too wired to sleep, and because a part of her hoped she could stay awake through the night and not be effective for the battle the next day. If this murderer wanted her skills, then she could at least attempt to make sure they were diminished. There was also a sense of self-flagellation for having gotten herself in this mess, both in being captured and in her failed attempt to warn Onsif.

The force that stopped Zaia from her pacing seemed external and internal simultaneously, and it nearly toppled her to the ground. But she caught herself handily enough, and turned to shoot Hael a smoldering glare that seemed to pierce right through his finely crafted armor.

"If you don't like what I do with my time, then perhaps you should just let me go," she fumed through gritted teeth, as she walked towards a nearby tree and leaned on it. She could have resisted the order, but by now she was far too familiar with the pain of resistance, and she was not idiotic enough to waste her strength on something so meaningless.

"You are many things, but I do not think you are stupid. You wrote that Binding spell so that I couldn't kill you, I assume?" the former huntress asked presently, meeting his eyes from her spot at the tree. It was the easiest way to confirm what she already felt inside her mind. Every time she thought of killing him, there was a strange impulse that seemed to reject that notion. It was more than simple logic, almost fear, and it was beyond her ability to fully explain it, but it was annoyingly present. If nothing else, perhaps she could at least come to understand it further.
 
"I don't plan on dying," was Nico's irritatingly vague reply. "And certainly not by your hands."

The Binding Spell was the closest Nico had ever come to a masterpiece. He had been crafting it in his head since the moment of his early defeat in the last battle, when he realized that the only way he was going to be able to defeat the reigning champions was to do something completely unprecedented. Hael was a master of all things close-quarter combat, and none of the other Death Lords playing in the field could match him in that. To get there, he had sacrificed his own ability to mend himself, and to take excessive amounts of damage. But, with the binding spell, and Zaia therefore under his control, he would have the healing abilities of a priest, combined with his own innate skills in combat. He would be, to his own thinking, untouchable.

So long as he kept Zaia under his control. The Binding Spell would be enough, ultimately, but keeping his eye on her constantly was going to be exhausting in its own way. Distracting at the very least. If there was a way to trick or coerce her into behaving he would have taken it in an instant, but her rage against him went far beyond even what he had been expecting. He would have thought such emotions unprecedented. But, perhaps it made for better storytelling.

"Now, sit down until dawn like a good girl." he said condescendingly. "I won't make you sleep. I'll let your own body give that order."
 
Zaia rolled her eyes at the usual vague reply, but she did not press the issue, for she already essentially knew the answer. The query had only been to confirm that knowledge. Clearly, the spell prevented the captive from murdering her captor, though of course, that would not stop her from trying.

When he spoke to her again, the flames of her rage boiled over once more, and despite her resolve to try and act with logic, she briefly considered attempting to resist his order to sit. However, by the time the excruciating pain started, she came back to her senses and sat on the ground, though she could not block the look of agony from crossing her eyes.

"I may not be a god, but I am not a child either, and I will not be treated like one, you disgusting murderer," she fumed from her spot on the ground. "All of you are the same, just vermin who assume that just because you are more powerful than us, you have the right to take our lives. Someday, I will enjoy watching each of your kind die a slow and painful death." Her threat was honest enough, though the Huntress knew she would have to wait until Hael was asleep, truly asleep, to even attempt to carry it out. And even then, she was unsure if she could manage it.

Throughout their long walk, she had replayed that initial battle in her mind, trying to imagine if there was anything she could have done differently. And the truth was, she had found nothing. She had been doing reasonably well until Hael had unsheathed the Binding Gem. Years of training, years of study, to be defeated in her first encounter with a Warlord. It was humiliating, and it made her wonder if she just had the worst luck in the world, or if perhaps she would never truly be strong enough to overcome these creatures.
 
After that brief and rather rude conversation the rest of the night passed uneventfully. If one chose to listen very, very hard it would be just possible to detect the footsteps of the guards on the wall, straining their eyes against the darkness as torches glowed behind their backs. But while Zaia would not fall asleep for a couple of hours yet, desperately straining against the weariness that tried to claim her, Nico quickly fell into the trance-like slumber of the resting Death God, which made the rest of the night pass like the blinking of an eye, and allowed his own mind a brief respite from the strain of the game. He would need to sleep, truly sleep, at some point, but not now. When that time came, he would find a place to sequester himself, and he would have to find the orders that would keep Zaia from attempting to take his life while his mind truly rested.

He awoke instantly when the first traces of morning light began to change the sky from a deep black to the purples, reds, and pinks of the dawn. He paused for a moment, captivated by the beauty of the colored sky. They said, once, such things were a common sight in his own world. He could not believe it, and remained convinced that the directors chose to stain the sky impossible shades of the common colors in order to enhance the effect of the world. Well, Nico was not going to be one to deny the beauty.

From there, the sun made its way to the horizon line quickly, and the moment the glowing orb truly crossed the line of the horizon Zaia was freed from Nico's order to remain seated. For the moment Nico ignored her, his attention on the distant city. He would give it another half-hour, and make sure that the guards had completed their shift change before he launched his attack. Eagerness was building within him, and he knew, were he in his real body, he would hear his heart pounding in the back of his head and feel a twisting in his gut. But Hael remained as calm, deadly, and efficient as ever, wasting no energy on nerves. And, slowly, Nico slid into the right frame of mind.

With Zaia under his control, taking the whole city would be far from impossible. It was no doubt going to be a grand fight, but Nico had a confidence bordering on pure egomania in Hael's ability in close quarters fighting. On top of that, his new armor would protect him from many of the distant attacks, and his own natural resistance to offensive magic would pick up any slack in his defenses. Any wounds he did sustain would be handled by Zaia.

Satisfied that it was nearly time to begin the attack, he turned his attention to his healer. He took a deep breath, and then began to speak as though he was reading a script.

"As soon as we pass beyond a five meter radius of this spot, you are to consider the battle as having begun. Once the battle has begun, any orders I give that act in contradiction to the orders I give you now are to be dismissed until such a time as the battle is over. You will know when the battle is over because I will end the battle with the phrase 'Hael now pronounced that the altercation is complete.' During the battle, your first priority will be protecting yourself. You are to remain out of sight as much as possible, and if anyone or anything is going to injure or kill you, you are to protect yourself by any means necessary.

When I order you to heal me, you are to perform the strongest healing spell on me that will not impact your first priority, and does not waste your energy by healing non-threatening wounds, or the wounds of other people. A non-threatening wound is a wound that, if left completely unattended for weeks, would not prevent me from accomplishing normal travel. You are not to heal any injuries that I give to others. The instructions are now complete, but can be modified at any point until the battle has begun."

Suddenly struck by a bout of inspiration, a small smile spread over Nico's face. "Now tell me the first way you think of to get around these orders, and either allow life-threatening harm to me or yourself to come to pass."
 
Zaia's resolve to stay awake gradually weakened as her body became more and more fatigued. With no way to walk around to keep herself awake, it was only her own stubbornness that kept her awake for so long. But finally, she gave in to the orders of her body, just as Hael had known she would, and slept for the two hours until dawn.

Just before dawn, Zaia awoke slowly, staring up at the sunrise. Her mind continued to dwell on the horrors she'd experienced in Denir. But even there, she had managed to heal some and guide some people to safety. She remembered how Hael had pointed out that if she followed him and saved her strength, she might still be able to save some of his targets, even within the confines of the spell. The thought seemed laughable, but despite her depressed state, it gave her enough hope to want to stand.

However, as she tried to stand and found herself in pain from the spell, she remembered that she was forbidden to move until dawn, and that sliver of hope she had felt turned back to the anger and despair that was becoming her reality. If she could not even move without his permission, then how was she supposed to rescue anyone from their grisly fate? Still, in five more minutes, the sun had risen above the horizon, and she found that she could stand once more.

Breathing deeply to try and dispel a fear she had rarely felt before a battle, she walked to the nearby stream and took a drink, filled her goatskin flask, and washed her face. Then she ate a small breakfast of some stale biscuits that sat in a side pocket of her bag. It even occurred to her to offer to share with her companion, before she quickly dismissed that notion with a laugh. Let the great God find his own damn food, and let him die trying. Well, probably not, but she could dream, right?

She did not greet Hael when she returned, but he did not allow her much time to seethe in his general direction, as he summoned her over through the bond and began stating his instructions. She wanted to look away, to ignore him, to avoid listening, but she was, in a way, captivated. It was as though she had no choice but to listen, to watch his lips and memorize every word. In that moment, she knew that it would be physically impossible for her to forget anything he said. The concentration, forced upon her, just further reminded her of how much she was a slave here. The former huntress visibly tensed when commanded to explain the first loophole she could come up with. How am I supposed to work around him in any way when he can simply order me to tell him my ideas! By the Gods, I despise you, God of Death, she thought angrily, glaring right into his eyes.

Her first instinct would have been to try and injure herself, or wear herself out by using inefficient healing methods, but Hael's instructions prevented that. Another possibility was to simply heal external wounds and not fix something like internal bleeding, should it occur. But by asking for the strongest and most apt spell, Hael was also preventing that, much to Zaia's irritation.

Finally, a more obvious, though less likely, possibility came to mind, and this was the one she chose to reply with, since she did not want to tell him if and when she came up with any better ideas.

"I could try and get myself captured. Even from out of sight,I could make enough noise to attract attention, and reveal that I'm your prisoner and under your control through a Binding Gem. By your instructions, I have to resist if I am to be harmed or killed, but not captured. They could drag me out of range of my ability to heal you, and even past the confines of the binding, though it would be incredibly painful for me," she replied coldly, glowering up into his face. Given her previous attempt to warn Onsif, she doubted if they would believe her anyway. After all, what kind of Death God needed or wanted a mere mortal by his side? And that's assuming anyone were able to find her in the midst of battle, another unlikely possibility, even if she screamed.
 
Nico remained silent for a moment. "Very good," he told her, a look of moderate surprise on his face. Nico has spent a lot of time thinking on his instructions, and while he knew he had missed things, he had to have missed things, he had been hoping that her loopholes would be things so improbable that they might as well have been impossible. Her loophole, however, was entirely probable. He had been so worried about keeping her safe that he had allowed his own defenses to slip. He would have to do something to remove that problem now.

"Very good, indeed." He paused, going almost perfectly still as he thought. He did not like having to make up orders without putting time to consider all the problems that could arise from them, but right now he would have to trust to his own knowledge of the spell, and his past two years of thought on the matter, to direct him.

You are not allowed, through word, action, or inaction, to do anything that would impact your ability to successfully heal me," he eventually concluded. Hopefully that would do.

For a moment he considered questioning her again, getting her to reveal more strategies for which he had not accounted. But the dawn was wearing on, and he had already planned to be on his way to the attack by this point. It was a calculated risk, plunging into battle when he didn't know exactly what his unwilling companion was ready to do, but at the moment it was one he was ready to take. It was time to truly begin the show.

"Lets go," he told her, turning his back and beginning to walk away. As ever, Zaia would be forced to follow.

He worked his way through the trees with care, until the walls of the town were clearly visible, with almost no obstruction. There was no doubt that they were a formidable sight, and if Zaia's message had accomplished one thing, it was that the gates to the city were still closed tight for the night. For a moment Nico studied them, before shrugging it away. In the end, they were made of wood, and would pose no true obstruction to his entry.

True to his orders, once they had exited the five meter radius of the place they had camped, Zaia had settled into something resembling a stealth mode. The eyes of the guard passed over them. It was time to go.

"Ready, love?" he asked. In part it was to infuriate her, and make it all the harder for her to come up with a way to avoid his instructions. But it was, in part, because a great excitement was building within Nico, and at that moment he was honestly fond of Zaia, even for the knowledge that she was just a program that wanted to do everything it could to prevent him from accomplishing his own goals. It had been so long since he had done a team raid, and he hadn't realized how much he missed them until this moment.

But he did not wait for Zaia's response to his query, knowing that he would get nothing other than mutinous silence, or potentially more bitter words. He did not need her words.

And then they were off. Nico charged out of the forest, dual swords drawn, black armor gleaming in the morning sun. His form would draw all eyes, leaving Zaia free to follow through the shadows. A fierce smile crossed his face briefly, before he was all business once more.

The alarm was raised in an instant, and the fighters began to gather on the wall. There was a moment of pure panic, as the news spread that there truly was a Warlord, a God of Death coming for their walls, and that over half of their fighting force was soundly asleep at the moment. But training kicked in, and the arrows began to fly.
 
Zaia's eyes went downcast as her captor commended her, for she found herself ashamed that she had been unable to come up with a less significant point. Now her actions would be even more restricted. She said nothing and merely nodded, her rebellious attitude and righteously infuriated words, silenced, at least for the moment.

At Hael's order, she followed the Warlord out of that five meter radius and immediately cast the best invisibility spell that she knew on herself. No spell could make someone completely invisible, but this one came pretty close, if she kept to the shadows. It was more like she blended in with her surroundings, but her outline could be easily seen in broad daylight. As such, she stayed by the tree-line as she followed towards the city.

Though she seemed perfectly demure and focused, Zaia's mind blazed with questions, riding along with its fury that had become so commonplace. How in all of Asuria could she be expected to attempt to help anyone when she was being forced to remain out of sight? How could she resist when her captor seemed to catch anything she did? She could not even do the respectable thing and die, for she knew that the spell prevented it. Besides, she was not yet ready to end her own life. The fact that she would even consider it would have Master Kilan turning over in his grave. Then again, the fact that she had gotten herself in this situation probably already had him to that point.

Her anger at Hael, her situation, and herself already grew strong, but the Warlord's comment of calling her his "love" did have its intended effect of fanning the flames. I have to calm myself, she thought. Even if I hate my side, I am about to go into an incredibly dangerous situation. Just focus. I know that I can resist the orders if I don't mind a bit of pain. Maybe I can resist long enough to help someone, to do something. Maybe if he gets mortally injured, I can resist saving him long enough to let him die.

It was in that moment, where she breathed and allowed herself to become more calm, that Hael began to attack. And just like that, the battle had truly begun.
 
The archers waited patiently as Hael drew closer at an almost impossibly rapid pace, until a bellow from their captain signaled that they should all release their arrows. For one moment the sky was darkened with the flight of arrows, and they hung suspended in the air, blocking out the sun. Then they began to fall, and Hael's swords were in the air and began to twirl. The arrows scattered down around him, those that would have struck him deflected wide by the wild swinging of his blades. The attack barely even slowed him, and the one arrow that did manage to slip through his defenses and open a gash on his cheek he ignored without so much as a misstep.

The distance between the edge of the forest and the walls of the city grew less and less, and if the number of arrows that were now missing him were any indication of it the people on the wall were starting to have serious concerns for their own well being. They were now destined to be the first line of defense in the attack of a Death God, and all of the horror stories were flooding into their minds. It was no wonder their hands were starting to tremor.

Nico did not slow one bit as Hael crashed into the city gate, his swords swinging and cutting right through the wood. The gate stood for less than three seconds after he began his assault, before crashing to the ground in a cloud of dust and debris. The people waiting on the other side stared at him in utter shock for a moment.

Nico did not give them a chance to recover from their surprise before he plunged into their midst. How he adored close quarters combat. His enemies did not dare fire at him from a distance out of fear of hitting one of their own. Or, at least, out of programming that made them go out of their way to avoid harming another character that had been marked as their ally. That programming was what kept them from seeing it was far better to take the shot and have even a small chance of hitting him, because if anyone got within his range they would die just as surely from his blade as they would from an arrow through the neck.

But that programming was what made the game real, made it exciting. Without it, the story that Nico and the other players told wouldn't attract the attention of the billions of people it did. And Nico was going to fully play on that dynamic to the best of his ability. He was an actor, and, right now, he was center stage.

Nico made sure to play his role to the absolute best of Hael's ability. He was flashy, needlessly violent and cruel, dancing among the people like a dark god and leaving a swath of blood in his wake. But the people were acceptable fighters, and the injuries on his body were starting to build. He could see the anticipation in their attitudes, in their rushed attacks as they plunged towards him without heed. They thought he was falling.

They were wrong.

"Heal me."
 
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