Serendipity (Veldora x TBATE)

Facing the retainer, Arthur felt like he was staring death in the face for the umpteenth time. His grip tightened on the hilt of Dawn's Ballad, and his breathing slowed as the icy air of the freezing forest burned his lungs. Every instinct screamed at him to run, but there was no escape now. The creature before him had long since abandoned any semblance of humanity—or rationality for it looked anything but human. The retainer had morphed into something so grotesque and unnatural that it was impossible to recognize her as a conscious, intellectual being. 

Her movements were erratic, each twitch and spasm radiating a sinister, predatory intent. Arthur dodged to the left, his boots sliding over frost-covered earth, as the retainer hurled a pulsating ball of acid at him. It ruptured midair, spraying a torrent of toxic, corrosive liquid that hissed and burned through the dense canopy of the forest, leaving behind a pungent cloud of smoke and melted foliage. 

"I am Retainer Jagrette," she rasped, her voice like grinding stones as she clenched the mangled, bleeding remnants of her disfigured face. Her jagged teeth glistened, and her hollow eyes bore into him with unrelenting malice. "And I will be the agent of your unmaking." 

Arthur grimaced. "No way. You're fucking creepy," he retorted, his voice steadier than he felt. But there was no time for fear. With a sharp inhale, he gripped Dawn's Ballad tighter and allowed the familiar hum of lightning and ice mana to course through it. The blade glowed faintly, crackling with energy as frost gathered at the edges. 

I have no choice. The thought cut through the haze of panic clouding his mind. Digging deep into his memory, Arthur recalled the fragmented remnants of a technique he'd learned in Epheotus. It was far from perfect, and his body would pay for the strain, but there wasn't an option. 

Hesitation is defeat. 

He took a single step. One excruciating, bone-shattering step that propelled him forward with blinding speed, the sheer force tearing through his muscles like hot iron. In an instant, Arthur was in front of Jagrette, close enough to see the viscous acid dripping from her claws. 

The acidic spray burned his exposed skin, raising angry red welts as he ignored the searing pain and swung his blade. The sword glimmered with an intense, explosive mixture of ice and lightning mana, its strike aimed directly at Jagrette's neck. 

But her reflexes were monstrous. With a guttural snarl, she conjured a dense cluster of solidified acid, the jagged mass absorbing the blow with a sickening crack. 

"I don't think so, boy," she hissed, her lips peeling back in a grotesque mockery of a smile. "I'm done playing. You die here, now." 

Arthur's teeth clenched as the acid hissed against his skin, threatening to eat through his resolve. Before he could retreat, a shadow loomed above them. Sylvie. His bond's gleaming silver scales caught the faint light as she dove from above, her form twisting elegantly before slamming into the ground beside Jagrette with cataclysmic force. The collision sent shockwaves rippling outward, a deafening explosion of retainer and asuran mana carving a crater into the frozen earth. 

Arthur's lips curled into a defiant snarl. "Not today, bitch." 

Jagrette stumbled but recovered quickly, her claws swiping dangerously close to Sylvie. Before she could launch another attack, Arthur dropped to his knees, ignoring the protest of his battered body. His palm slammed against the frozen ground as he channeled his remaining mana into a single, desperate act. 

A massive spear of ice erupted beneath Jagrette's feet, the sheer force of its creation shaking the earth. She screeched as the jagged pillar impaled her torso, her acidic blood splattering in all directions. Arthur gritted his teeth, pushing every ounce of his strength and mana into the growing structure. 

"Perish!" he roared. His vision blurred, and Sylvie's voice in his mind was drowned out by his own anguish. The spear climbed higher and higher, its point sharpening until it finally pierced through Jagrette entirely. 

The retainer's shriek tapered into a choking gasp. Her movements slowed, then stopped. Arthur held his breath, waiting. The forest seemed to hold its breath with him. 

Finally, he felt it—the subtle shift in the air, the absence of her suffocating malice. 

Jagrette ceased to breathe. 

Arthur slumped forward, his body trembling as he struggled to remain upright. The cold ground beneath him felt distant, but Sylvie was there, her warmth and presence grounding him. He closed his eyes, letting out a shaky breath. 

It was over. At least, for now. 

~🐉~ 

"Everything feels… amiss," General Aldir muttered, his voice carrying softly over the chaotic winds around us. 

He stood in defiance atop his rapier, the blade suspended impossibly in the air as though the world itself bowed to his will. His face was battered, bruises marring his once-pristine albeit wrinkled features, but his calm, unshakable demeanor never wavered. Even as blood trickled down his temple, his eyes were steady, piercing, and resolute. 

I leaned back slightly, brushing an errant strand of my hair out of my face. 

"Oh? So, you're in doubt, then?" My tone was casual, almost playful, yet laced with an edge sharp enough to cut. "I figured you weren't completely blind with faith. Misguided, maybe. Stubborn, certainly. But not stupid." 

Aldir's lips curled into the faintest hint of a smirk. "Not doubt, Veldora," he replied, his tone even and deliberate. "This feeling… it isn't hesitation. It's something else entirely." 

He paused, his gaze distant for a moment as though he were reflecting on some private revelation. "Is it obedience? Conformity? No, it's internalization. I've learned to push aside my own desires, my very sense of self, to make room for my lord's will. For me, that is my purpose." 

I scoffed lightly, shaking my head. "Purpose, huh? Sounds like a fancy excuse for throwing your life away." 

"Perhaps," Aldir admitted as he once again raised his rapier, leveling it in my direction. The weapon gleamed unnaturally in the fading light, imbued with the overwhelming mana of a man who refused to falter. "But if sacrificing my life means that his vision endures, then it is a purpose worth dying for." 

"You're going to die, you know. I'll kill you," I said matter-of-factly, my tone devoid of malice or pity. 

"That's fine, too," he replied simply, his words carrying a weight that felt entirely unshakable. 

"You're insane." 

"I'm flattered." 

"You think I'm soft, don't you?" I asked, my tone sharpening. "That's why you're dragging this out. You think I'll hesitate." 

"Quite the opposite," Aldir countered with a faint shake of his head. "I know exactly what you're capable of. If anything, I'm betting on your strength." 

"You're a strange one." 

"Strange I may be," he said, meeting my gaze without a hint of fear. "But stranger you are." 

For the briefest of moments, my calm façade faltered. I fell silent, unable to suppress the flicker of unease that crept into my chest. Why did I care? Another death—one more life extinguished by my hands. It shouldn't have mattered. Yet, it did. I exhaled slowly, forcing myself to speak, though the words felt heavier than they should have. 

"I don't understand you," I muttered. "But I'll end this." 

"Before you do," Aldir interrupted, his voice cutting through the tension like a blade, "if you wish to know about Lady Victoria… she isn't doing well. Her interactions with you have displeased my lord." 

His words struck me harder than they should have, and I felt my expression harden. My voice dropped, low and dangerous. "Then he'll die, too." 

"See to it yourself," Aldir said, his tone unwavering. "But know this—I've already achieved my purpose. Testing your resolve regarding the young lady was all I needed to accomplish." 

"Enough," I growled, my patience wearing thin. "Rest now." 

Divide. 

I raised my hand, dragging elongated, draconic claws through the very fabric of reality. The air itself seemed to scream as a thin, razor-sharp void split the space before me, severing Aldir's body cleanly in two. The halves of his form fell away, tumbling toward the earth far below. The void dissipated as quickly as it had appeared, leaving behind only an unnatural silence, punctuated moments later by a resounding sonic boom that reverberated across the battlefield. 

It should have been over. But then, I heard it—a low, screeching noise, like the wail of something unnatural. My eyes widened as Aldir's bisected body began to glow, radiant with an intensity that made the very air vibrate. 

"You've got to be kidding me," I muttered under my breath. The glow intensified, coalescing into a dense, white-hot orb of pure mana. I realized the truth instantly—Aldir had turned his own body into a catalyst for a devastating spell. The mana compressed further, particles rupturing as they cascaded into a chain reaction. The air became saturated with volatile energy, and I knew the ensuing explosion would be catastrophic. 

I didn't have time to admire his ingenuity. With a single beat of my wings, I propelled myself forward, scanning the area frantically. My Universal Sense picked up faint heat signatures scattered across the forest below—survivors. Without hesitation, I enveloped them in protective barriers and shot skyward, grabbing Arthur and Sylvie as I ascended. Sylvie shifted into her smaller fox form, curling into my grasp as I held her tightly. 

"We need to move. Now!" I shouted over the roaring winds. The explosion was seconds away from detonation, its energy building to a critical point. Accelerating as fast as I could, I pushed my thoughts into overdrive, calculating trajectories and escape routes with precision. 

The ground beneath us shattered as the explosion erupted, a blinding flash of light consuming everything in its path. The deafening roar followed, tearing through the atmosphere with a force that sent shockwaves rippling outward. I outran it—of course, it's me—but the devastation was incomprehensible. A twelfth of the continent, maybe more, had been reduced to ash and ruin. 

And I can tell that the spell would've been stronger and destructive had Aldir been able to cast it without concealment. 

As the light finally dimmed, I slowed my ascent, surveying the aftermath from thousands of meters above. The once-vibrant and snowy landscape was now a smoldering wasteland, its edges glowing faintly with residual heat. Arthur, battered and exhausted, broke the silence. 

"So not even you can stop something like that, huh?" he asked. 

I glanced at him briefly, my expression neutral. "Containing it would've only made it worse," I replied flatly. "That spell feeds on volatile energy. My power is far too unstable for containment." 

"But would it have hurt you?" 

"Ridiculous," I said with a faint and confident smirk. "That ain't enough to scratch me." 

Arthur smiled faintly, though I couldn't fathom why. He leaned back, resting against the barrier I'd created. Below us, the survivors huddled together in the floating bubble I encased them in, trembling in silence. The weight of the day settled heavily on my shoulders as I turned my gaze toward the horizon. 

What a day indeed. 

——— 

The days that followed Aldir's catastrophic gambit were drenched in tedium. Despite my almightiness, it seemed no one in Dicathen's council chambers was capable of understanding a very simple fact: they had no authority over me.  

They swore on that fact, actually. 

And yet, here I was. 

Seated at the head of a vast, crescent-shaped table, I twirled a strand of my hair idly between black-nailed fingers while the council members yammered on about the fallout of the destroyed landmass. Behind me, towering stained-glass windows refracted golden sunlight across the chamber, painting an ironic backdrop of serenity to the chaos unfolding within. The room reeked of desperation disguised as decorum, with the councilors speaking in carefully measured tones, no doubt rehearsed before I arrived. 

I half-listened, letting their voices blur together into a dull hum. Their words were predictable—grievances over territory lost, economies shattered, and populations displaced. The loss of important mages, too. They gestured frequently to the massive map etched into the obsidian table's surface, a dynamic projection of Dicathen's continental state. 

"A twelfth of our territory, Grand Marshal Veldora," one of them, a portly silver-haired elf named Alduin, intoned with exaggerated gravity. His silk-lined robes strained at the seams as he leaned forward, fingers tracing the devastated region. "An entire region reduced to ash. Crops destroyed. Entire towns obliterated. The death toll—" 

"—was minimal, considering the circumstances," I interrupted, lazily flicking a finger in his direction. My voice was calm but carried an undeniable intent that silenced the room instantly. "You should be thanking me for that." 

To his credit, Alduin didn't flinch. He straightened, wiping a bead of sweat from his brow with a handkerchief. "We… do acknowledge your efforts, Grand Marshal. Truly. However, the aftermath—" 

"Is something you can deal with yourselves," I said, cutting him off again. I shifted in my seat, resting my chin on my hand. "Your logistics, your borders, your economies—none of it concerns me." 

Another councilor, the queen of the elves, with sharp features and a perpetually stoic expression, chimed in. "With respect, Lord Veldora, your actions directly caused this catastrophe. Surely you understand why we—" 

"My actions," I said, my tone sharpening ever so slightly, "saved your continent from complete annihilation. Aldir's gambit would have consumed far more than just that region if I hadn't intervened." I leaned forward, my golden eyes locking onto hers. "Perhaps you'd prefer to have been among the ash?" 

Her lips pressed into a thin line, but she wisely held her tongue. 

The human king and queen began murmuring among themselves, their voices low and urgent. I resisted the urge to sigh. This dance of mortal bureaucracy was tiresome, but I endured it for one reason: Dicathen had grown on me. Over the short time I had spent here, I'd come to appreciate the delicate chaos of its people, their fleeting lives and boundless aspirations. Though I would never admit it aloud, I felt a vague sense of responsibility toward this continent—a strange attachment born not of necessity, but of choice. 

I wonder if this is something Virion saw in me, but still, that didn't mean I enjoyed being lectured by its bureaucrats. 

The monotony of these meetings continued for days. Each session bled into the next, the same arguments recycled with slightly different phrasing. Between the council chambers and the public appeals, my patience wore thin. The mortals seemed to forget who they were addressing, treating me as though I were some subordinate to be reprimanded or cajoled. 

It was almost amusing—almost. 

When I wasn't fielding their grievances, I found myself wandering through the sprawling streets of Xyrus City. Its streets were lined with buildings crafted from white stone and enchanted glass, their surfaces shimmering faintly with protective wards. 

Yet, despite its beauty, I felt as empty as I was back when I was sealed. Without Victoria's biting remarks to liven the air, without Aldir's awful insistence, the days seemed to drag endlessly. I caught myself glancing at the horizon more often than I cared to admit, wondering if Victoria would return—or if Aldir's final moments had truly marked the end of our shared history. 

Victoria isn't doing well as Aldir said, but I don't even know if I can trust what he said. 

I wouldn't call it grief, exactly. My emotions rarely ran deep enough to warrant such a term. But there was a lingering ache, a faint disturbance on the surface of my otherwise unshakable composure. I missed their presence, as one might miss the faint melody of a wind chime after it had been taken by the storm. 

One evening, as I stood on a balcony overlooking the city, Arthur approached. He was quiet at first, leaning against the railing and staring out at the distant horizon. The sun dipped low, casting the sky in shades of amber and crimson. 

"They don't deserve your patience, you know," he said finally, his voice low but firm. "The council. They'll keep pushing, keep testing your boundaries, until you put them in their place." 

"I know," I replied simply. 

"Then why do you let them?" 

I didn't answer immediately. Instead, I reached out with my senses, feeling the pulse of Dicathen's mana beneath my feet, the heartbeat of a continent that had endured countless ages of strife and renewal. "Because this place is fragile," I said at last. "Everything here is fleeting. But their fragility gives them value." 

Arthur frowned, his brow furrowing as he considered my words. "You're softer than you used to be." 

"Perhaps," I admitted with a faint smile. "Or perhaps I've simply learned to see the world differently." 

He didn't press further, and we stood in silence as the first stars began to pierce the twilight sky. 

The days continued in much the same fashion, each one blending into the next. Yet, amidst the monotony, I found small moments of clarity—reminders of why I had chosen to remain tethered to this world. Dicathen's people, for all their flaws, were endlessly fascinating in their resilience. 

They were faced with a far they can scarcely beat without my help, but they make efforts in trying to enjoy what little time they have left. And though I could never truly be one of them, I found a strange comfort in watching their stories unfold.