It was a fire... a fire which consumed everything, consumed everyone. It effortlessly ate through the flesh of the platform like it had a bottomless stomach, its scorching-hot teeth chewing through the bodies of each soul he and his comrades claimed today. Their pain-filled faces melting in the fire, faces which resembled...
them.
As Raphael reached that thought, his body became immobilized in fright. His eyes widened into near-perfect circles, his hands clenched tight and shook, his breathing fast and shuddering between his clamped-together teeth, his body drenched in a cold sweat. He saw it again and again, those very memories repeating in his mind.
Yes, the sight of Lumbridge swathed in crimson flames, the screams he could still so vividly recollect. He nearly keeled over, his stomach so thoroughly sickened by the thought that he could feel its contents now burning the back of his throat. He covered his mouth with his hand in a meaningless defense against this, hanging over the ship's railing. Sweat profusely pumped out from his glands, his heartbeat racing out of his chest, his breathing accelerated out-of-control.
At the suffering prince's side was Lamia, watching him with a heavy, grievous heart as he fell to his knees. "Shh, shh..." she quietly whispered to him, resting her head on top of his as she enshrouded him. "Be at peace,
Paladrágemmir.
All is well."
Her words calmed him, the crimson flames burning in his vision fading away, returning him to this world. He took one sharp gasp as if just awakening from a night terror, putting his hand over his sweat-soaked face. Others had taken noticed of his plight, namely Daevarro. "...Raphael, are you—?"
"—I'm fine," Raphael very swiftly answered, quickly scurrying away from sight. He simply desired to be alone, not wanting to display weakness or trouble his allies. But this shield was paper-thin, for everyone knew that Raphael was... simply not the same after the fall of Lumbridge. They watched helplessly as he disappeared, concerned deeply for the leader and friend.
Raphael cursed himself for displaying his weakness so publicly. But it was all he could think about whenever he saw a flame, even one as small as a candle's. He remained in solitude for the remainder of the ship ride, a ship which left behind the burning wreckage of the platform like a terrible memory.
They sailed forth and returned to that cesspit of crime and sin, where surely a most heated conversation was to unravel... or worse. Neeson, having been sitting on the same barrel, in the same exact position, heard wood creaking and the waters rustling as they cowered in the ship's wake. It wasn't too much longer before that that the ship finally came to rest, the enthusiastic captain Thaumas briskly tossing anchor over the side of
Eternal God King of the West, Glorious Silas Alverra
.
Old man Neeson's eyes cracked ajar, his callous, icy-blue irises slowly crawling up the wooden construction. Those with familiar faces began to disembark, and many of those faces were dreary and heavy. A negative atmosphere was bred, conceived by mother wrath and father dismay. Indeed, their hands were wiped with an irony stench they could never wash away.
They were haggard and brutalized from the battle, still struggling with the wounds of battle as Telvern was still out-of-commission. But this was no time to rest, for vengeance was still to be sought. Shinon himself was awake and alert, informed of what transpired. And no matter their words, he was truly enraged by the happening.
No longer wasting time, they bid farewell to the captain Thaumas. They sharpened their eyes upon that castle, its ominous appearance accentuated by the darkness and nigh-red sky of dusk. The group relentlessly relentlessly pursued their destination, quickly returning to that long, stone bridge which ascended over a river smothered in garbage and disgust.
They began to cross this bridge, but then, they began to find themselves surrounded. So crowded was it that the group had to be reduced to single-file in order to pass. This crowd bore quite the cast: muscular, scar-faced barbarians sporting unwieldy pieces of metalcraft more appropriately labelled hunks of iron, long-coated thugs of a lesser caliber with more tame, easy-to-wield weapons, rat-faced scavengers clearly there for the sole purpose of looting the dead than actually fighting. All kinds of characters packed the bridge, even a boorish-looking god with only a loincloth and a massive iron club to his name. Everyone, from every walk of life, assembled here, ready to set themselves for life in this suicide mission.
Raphael bravely led the group through the crowd of exotic people, each of them staring and judging them with their harsh glowing eyes. Some licked their lips like hungry dogs and wickedly snickered at their sight, practically tasting the coin they're going to collect off of their corpses. Others outright bursted into laughter, chugging down a canister of ale as they found actual humans among the fold. Surely it had to be a joke of some kind, deeming no human worthy of lifting a weapon.
Raphael's left foot settled down upon the first stonebrink in the courtyard, finding he and his allies further enshrouded in a colosseum of shady individuals. But he stared forward, finding ahead of them was...
him.
He who proclaims himself "King of the West" resided at the center-back of the courtyard, his brutish guard Verinn alongside him.
A single applause rang throughout the courtyard like a death knell. "Ah, Barn, I see you've brought me back victory," the source of the applause, Silas Alverra, pointed out, smiling. "Good, good... It would be quite awkward if I had to explain to your new army that you died bravely in battle and all of my promises were for naught."
In fury over the monstrous act they had to commit upon their own, Shinon pulled out his bow the moment he got sight on Silas. He angrily drew back an arrow, a hostile act which Silas's guard Verinn quickly acted against. She stepped in front of her lord, readying her claymore for battle. The archer's aggressive act also made his comrades react, trying to talk him down.
"Hotshot, the hell ya doing!?" Calvin shouted from across the courtyard.
"Cut the crap," demanded Shinon, his eyes glaring menacingly at he who proclaimed himself king. "You lied to us, you bastard. You didn't send us to kill slavers, you sent us to kill humans! Humans, leading a rebellion against you!"
A human challenged a god, and Silas Alverra at that, the crowd watched this like it were a spectacle. Silas then stepped out from behind his protective shield, allowing himself to be exposed. "...Oh? Is that right?" calmly replied Silas Alverra. "How curious, it would seem I've been handed some... misinformation. It's an unfortunate occurrence, but it does happen from time-to-time."
Silas then held his arms out to his sides, intentionally opened himself up to Shinon. "Well, go on then," the king then tempted, grinning with sinister confidence. "I should think that even a lowbreed like you can deliver a kill-shot from this distance, yes?"
A few members of the crowd couldn't help but to chuckle at Silas's comment, among them were some who believed even that was an impossibility. Raphael's eyes glared sharply upon the out-of-line Shinon. "
Enough,
" the prince irefully commanded. "Put it down now. We need him."
Silas's cold glowing eyes watching then as Shinon's face sneered. "Tch..." the archer scoffed in frustration, mustering all of his strength to pull his bow down.
The self-proclaimed king snickered lowly, hearing the choice of dialogue from Raphael. "That's right, Barn. You do need me." then replied Silas, empowered.
The old god then began walking back to his previous position, back to the side of his guard. "But what does any of this even matter anyway? I am a god of my word. You helped me, so now I shall help you. Look around you, this is but a meager sampling of the army you shall have at your back as you storm Governanti. What does it matter if you had to kill off a few of your ilk to acquire it? In the end, does the few you
could
have saved truly outweigh the many you
will
save?"
"What you did was wrong," the Lamian Kereske came forward. "You tricked us."
""Tricked"?" Silas then quoted curiously, then disagreeing with a shake of his head. "No, I did not 'trick' you. I have recently acquired some new slaves, quite well-trained and learned are they, with all of their education in Yanille. This acquisition did, in fact, ignite the ire of several folk, and they did threaten my people and my city, as they often tend to. That platform they had out there
was
a station to spy upon me, perhaps you might have learned of that fact as you were butchering them. And about them being slavers? That was entirely your conclusion, not mine. Everything I told you was the truth, not a trick. Perhaps I...
may
have left out some information, but the blame is yours alone to shoulder. You did not ask the right questions, not the who or why, only the what and where. You simply obeyed my command and did my bidding like dogs, as I expect of your kind."
"It's not right to manipulate us the way you did... No, we wouldn't have agreed to this if you told us the truth!"
"I did told you that there would be humans there, didn't I? Yet you proceeded steadfastly anyway. But here you are, taking issue with it now after the fact. Do these results not satisfy you, lowbreed? Is this not what you wanted?"
"Not like this..."
In the back of the group, there was one soul so thoroughly sickened with this scene. His name was Daevarro, a young man who felt a powerful, seething rage gain ground inside of him. An overwhelming resentment, born from these words which Silas spewed. His lips rose as high as his gums, his eyes became like deadly weapons, and his fingers locked tight.
"You...!" the dark-robed young man uttered with indignation.
He took one step forward, overcoming his previous weakness as he reached his hand for his dagger. His fingers wrapped viciously around its terribly tattered cloth-wrapped handle, but his wrist would find then a shackle placed around it. His gaze broken from the self-proclaimed king, turning to the source of this bind.
His glowing hazel eyes find then the assassin Libitina standing there, trying to stop him before he got himself killed. "Be at peace,
Dimri,
" she quietly advised him, calmly solemn. "This is not you, you are not that sort of person. Come, calm yourself... This is not the time nor place for violence."
"Boss's right, shady," entered Calvin in an equally silent voice, concurring with Libitina. "I know it ain't the kinda deal y'were lookin' fer, but... it's the one ya got."
Dissatisfied, the furious young man tried his very best to regain himself. His body language ached and quivered as he wrestled with this sudden hostility and all-out thirst for blood, to seek vengeance upon he who deceived them. He breathed, in and out, in and out, trying to get a hold of himself. It was a struggle, but slowly the battle became his to win.
All the while, Silas Alverra seemed to have proven himself victorious in this duel of right and wrong as all fell quiet. His keen, frigid gaze cast down upon the silver-headed prince, the young Barn who kept his head low this whole time. A curious position to hold one's self, Silas thought, raising his silvery-white eyebrow.
"Come, lift yourself to me, Barn," he who claimed the world implored. "Go on, I'm certain you've something upon your mind."
All of those excuses he made, slithering out of the blame like the snake he truly was... Raphael felt only bitterness and rancor in this instant. "Once I kill Balor, take his crown, and situate Governanti..." Raphael uttered in anger, his voice gradually rising. His head then slowly lifted, his eyes furiously shining with an intense, purple light as they precisely beamed into Silas's face. "...I'm coming back for you."
His internal enmity towards Silas displayed quite vividly, shaking with such ire and hatred towards him that even his Solasúian lineage was revealed. Nothing short of absolute malice clung to Raphael now, glaring at nothing or nobody else but the transgressor, Silas Alverra.
"Oooooooooo," the crowd howled in reaction, quite the energy surging throughout its core. Indeed, there was a sense of excitement and expectation for what was about to go down. Their bloodlust revealed through their faces, for no man had threatened Silas and lived to tell of it. They knew exactly where this was to go, everyone grinning widely and chuckling wickedly.
Taking Raphael's threat quite seriously, Silas's guard Verinn took to a combative stance. "Do not threaten L—!" she enforced.
As the knight Verinn raised her claymore, the steely eyes of Silas Alverra immediately bolted in her direction. "—Disarm, you incompetent cur," he fiercely commanded. "I did not order you to turn your blade against him."
Verinn sighed and undid her ready-to-go stance, withdrawing her claymore back into its scabbard. Silas then closed his eyes and let out a grin, rather amused and unfazed by the heat and spite clearly emanating from Raphael's voice and eyes. "Oh, how adorable," the self-proclaimed king said as he began to laugh. "The fledging Barn means to shake my boots!"
But when the amusement dwindled, an angry, callous old god was revealed. Silas's icy-cold stare pierced straight into Raphael, but just as Silas himself, Raphael was not opposed or suppressed. That was when his boots began to lift, the self-proclaimed king proceeding towards Raphael, an act which made every soul around them shake with anticipation.
But even with that possible future ahead, the silver-haired prince was without fret, standing strongly where he stood. Silas finally came to a stop just before Raphael, standing face-to-face, staring eye-to-eye. "I've stood before countless others, including the likes of the Hero King Dias Pallas Barn himself when I seized control of this land I promised him," the self-proclaimed king said with an unfaltering, malicious tone. "All of them produced the very same words, the very same threats as you. Yet, here I stand, outliving each and every single one of them. Now, indulge me, Barn... How are you any different from the rest of them?"
"I've dealt with people like you all of my life. You manipulate people, twist their wrist around to get them to fight your battles for you. And when you're done with them, you betray them, kill them. You don't have the courage to stab them in the front, so you stab them in the back like a coward. I've had enough of your kind, so when I'm done with this life, there won't be anymore of you left to live." Raphael boldly vowed.
That was when Silas broke up, utterly entertained by Raphael's threat as though he were some sort of jester telling jokes. An old, raspy laughter emitting from his lungs, a feeling which resonated with others throughout the courtyard. "Ah, Barns! You're truly all the same, aren't you?" the self-proclaimed king commented when his laughter permitted him a moment to breathe. "Always so self-righteous and grandstanding! Always so undeterred to freely speak your mind, no matter your position..."
Silas's laughter ceased, unveiling an apathetic, dominating look beneath it all. Raphael's words only honed the self-proclaimed king's eyes like a whetstone, cold steel which plunged straight into the prince. "But you'd best control your tongue," then angrily advised, almost commanded, Silas Alverra. "If not for the prosperous opportunity your cause presents to my people, I'd rip the blade out from my daughter's scabbard and slice that head of yours right off of your shoulders myself."
Silas's body language then lightened up to a degree, spanning his arms out to his sides. "But I quite scorn the idea of taking food from the mouths of my people, and executing you would do precisely that! Futhermore, I find my curiosity... piqued. If I didn't know any better, I would say I'm intrigued by you. Rather, I'm interested to see if there's more to a Barn than just empty threats. Consider yourself fortunate for these circumstances."
"Are we done then?"
"Yes, I would say so," the self-proclaimed king answered. "I've spread word of your request for reinforcements all across my country. I imagine many will assemble here in the next few days to oblige your call. In the meantime, you may wish to scour my city's marketplace for equipment for your battle. Unlike Governanti, I think you'll find that my city offers an impressive sprawl of weaponry, hand-forged and quite reliable. As for sleeping arrangements, pick whichever tavern you fancy and I'll take care of the rest."
Hearing these final words delivered to him, Raphael then turned away from his pain, the source of his maddening anguish. He and his comrades took one step away from Silas, then another, the crowd of assembled gods then turned to Silas as his frozen stare fixated on a certain member of their following.
"Before you go," Raphael and his group then heard as they walked away, the voice of the self-proclaimed king which stayed their step. "I've one last bit of business that I must attend to."
Everyone turned around to face Silas, dreading just what this 'one last bit of business' entails. Before anyone had even the time to fully turn around, their ears caught the sound of a painful collision. They moved more swiftly, on bated breath as their eyes witnessed in horror a cruel, despicable act.
They saw then as Shinon became the victim of a vicious beatdown, the red-headed archer who wasn't even halfway around by the time Silas began. All he knew at this moment was this tremendous pain in his stomach, barely clinging to consciousness from this one impact. A night sky's worth of stars appeared in his stunned vision, oxygen forced out of his lungs. He clenched onto his abdomen, saliva frothed haplessly from his gaping mouth. He staggered backwards, but a god from the crowd pushed him back into Silas.
This savage attack warranted the response of many in this merged following, feeling a strong conviction to assist their ally. They took a firm grip upon their weapons, ready to jump into the fray for Shinon's sake. But that was when they saw a startling happening, Raphael raising his right hand out to his side as if to call off their efforts.
Some of the members of Raphael's following came to question his judgment. "Raphael!" yelled those among the fold who opposed this.
