Music is Moonlit Night from the Death Parade OST, composed by Yuuki Hayashi. It's quiet, but lately I find myself writing epic battle scenes to the sound of subtle music. Somehow peaceful music makes destruction seem...beautiful. Anyway, Play it!

******

I manage to hunt down two more infected. All of them Seers. Each time, I make sure that the people around me are all Lorelays, that they have knowledge of the Deathslayer. Each time, I do not hesitate as I send my shadows forth to give the infected a quick, clean death. I can't afford to use Miraterciel; I can still feel it whining in pain from the first kill.

Monsters they have become, but even they deserve a solace of some sort.

After all, Abner had once shown me the peace in the aftermath of slaying an infected, back in the forest. I don't feel any remorse for taking away their lives—I can't afford to. The old me would have balked at the ice I'm showing in the heat of battle. The old me would have chided myself for even thinking this way.

I've only been here for a few days, yet that old me is gone.

I've changed, Gilbert, I suddenly think as I summon a wave of shadows to smother the flames devouring a house. I don't know if you will approve, but I've changed.

The flames fight so hard against the shadows, refusing to be put out. It takes all of my willpower for my shadows to completely overpower the fire.

I wipe beads of sweat trickling down my forehead and scan my surroundings. Heat continues to prickle my neck, ash lingering on my tongue. That was just one house, and it already sapped so much of energy to put it out. So much power, and yet I can barely do anything about this.

Frustration wells within me. What good am I as a Champion if I can't even help the people who look to me for help?

For what purpose am I the Deathslayer, if I can't wield Miraterciel properly and my shadows are barely enough to fight the flames?

The only solace I have I is that my shadows tell me that most of the village folk have evacuated. The ones that aren't dead yet, of course. It must be Sir Kendrick and Everest. I know them enough to understand that they would have organised escape the moment chaos ignited. Not for the first time while I've been running around the entire area, I wonder how this fire could have spread so quickly in such a short time.

Most importantly, why this had happened.

However, I do already have a rough idea of how and why this had happened.

"What a remarkable display of power," someone says behind me.

I freeze in my tracks. Fire continues to rage around me. I barely register the heat as a prickling sensation ghosting my skin.

"And to think that you've already so much skill over the shadows, when you've barely received your magic a few days ago."

"To be fair, I had prior experience," I say, attempting to project coolness. But my words resemble croaks instead.

"True, true." I sense the amused smile in the person's voice. "Unfortunately, they won't help you much here. See now, Constantine? What good can shadows do? How can it ever conquer flames?"

"I didn't choose this," I utter, deathly quiet.

"And if you had a choice? What would you choose?"

I open my mouth to argue, that there's no point in presenting the 'what if'-s. My fate was already decided long beforehand. Yet I remember how Abner had so confidently told me that I would always have a choice. I remember how he assured me that I would be the one to decide my own future.

Could he be wrong?

No, you always have a choice, Abner chimes just as the poisonous thought seeps into mind. He sounds forlorn, as though he were a lost traveller caught in the midst of a snowstorm. Even if the choice doesn't always turn out for the better.

You know, everything would be easier if you would just tell me what I have to do! I finally cry, expressing the frustration I've bottled up this whole time. You keep telling me I have a choice, yet one wrong move would spell doom for all of us. One wrong decision could cost thousands--even millions of lives.

Abner remains silent.

Why don't you tell me anything? You're supposed to be a medium of the Pietists for me. You're supposed to be my guide--give advice on decisions I have to make and explain their reasons. Not just leave me hanging with cryptic phrases and philosophical statements that hardly make sense!

I don't realise that I've been shedding quite a few tears until a salty taste coats my lips. Through my blurry vision, the fire looks beautiful, a sworl of sparks and waves, as abstract and destructive as my current state of mind.

I'm not a medium, Abner replies at last.

What?

I'm not a medium, Abner repeats. You are. You are the connection between humans and Pietists--you are the bridge between these two worlds. I am but a sliver sent to tide you through the most difficult of times.

It's not the first time I've heard this. However, it still doesn't make sense to me.

"Lovely chat with your guide there," the person abruptly remarks. I'm drawn back into the heat, the blaze engulfing me from all sides. "But I don't quite like being left out of conversations, especially when it's me you should be concerned about."

I still don't turn around. However, as quick as a blink, I slip my hand into my boot and draw Miraterciel. The athame is practically screaming for blood. It's all I can do to quell its insatiable lust for death. It's recovered quite well from that first infected, apparently.

"That's rather rash," the person remarks lazily. "You would attack me without finding out the whys and wherefores?"

"It's a measure of self-defense," I answer. So much darkness gathered behind me. It's a wonder that I'm not yet overwhelmed just being in close proximity to it. "So, why? Why are you doing all this?"

"Well, as I'm sure that you already know, the Song of Prophecy continues to unravel. I merely play my part in it." A raspy, booming laughter fills the air, almost drowning out the crackling of flames. "Doesn't it make your blood curdle, that we were merely born to play into the Pietists hands? That we solely exist for this damned prophecy?"

For a moment, I believe him. I share his anger, the feeling of unfairness. The sensation of being played around as though we were nothing more than pieces on a ghiti board.

But one idea nags my head: "You also did this in attempt to continue to convince me, Diomedes?"

The man laughs again. "Caught red-handed. One small correction though: I'm not Diomedes."

"Then who are you?"

"I serve Death."

"How did this curse spread, then?"

"You already know."

"Specific terms, please. How exactly did this curse spread from my pool to Perinus? And why now? You could have acted sooner."

"You already know how I've come to overtake the vessel of my choosing," the person continues to speak. I wish I could shut him out—I wish he wasn't speaking in that voice. "Unfortunately, I would have acted sooner, if not for the vessel's sheer stubbornness. Believe or not, he is still fighting against me this very moment, even as he knows that it's futile. Yet everything has played up nicely till now. I'm not entirely sure if the plan would have succeeded without Sir Kendrick."

The mention of the Bane's name makes my blood chill. "What does Sir Kendrick have to do with any of this?"

"Have you already forgotten how Diomedes temporarily overtook his mind back then?"

No. I haven't. However, it's not a memory I allow to regularly surface. The fact that I had failed to protect the most esteemed general within the King's Army is something that continues to riddle me with guilt.

At his words though, my mind subconsciously pieces the puzzle together. "You exploited that small connection. The aftereffects of necromancy, one might say. You used that thread to give yourself an excuse in coming here."

"Indeed. If only you'd realised this sooner," the man chuckles. My grip on Miraterciel tightens. "Then again, you might have already realised it earlier on. You merely lacked the willpower to act accordingly."

I take in a deep, shaky breath. I cannot allow his words to get into me—although some part deep within me twangs in acknowledgment of my weakness. "Why not use a skin instead? It would have been much easier, no?" I ask, subtly diverting the topic.

"Ah. But my lord's ultimate purpose is not control over death."

"Then what is it?"

"He seeks to corrupt life itself."

The answer leaves me at a temporary loss for words. When I finally find my voice, it comes out cracked and hollow: "What do you mean?"

"Why do you think the people are still alive when they are infected with the curse? Ultimately, in order to defeat Life, one must seek to poison Life itself, and not reap it away with death."

"Why does your master seek to defeat Life?" Abner starts to prowl at a furious pace in my mind, his alarm ringing throughout me as though I were standing a mere meter away from a tolling cathedral bell. I grit my teeth and ignore him. "What is the purpose of all this?"

"This, to my utmost disappointment, can only be told to you once you've willingly agreed to follow my master."

I swallow a growl of irritation. "Excellent. More cryptic sayings," I say, not bothering to hide the sour note ringing in my tone. "Surely I would join you for the sake of satisfying my curiosity!"

"At least I provided with more information than your guide has ever done for you," the man counters.

To my horror, I find that some small, unbidden part within me echoes in agreement.

Constantine, Abner says, almost pleading.

The fire seems ever more present, a rolling, wrathful sea of orange and yellow, closing in on me from all sides, as though reminding of what I could have chosen—instead of following the path of shadows. At the same time though, it seems so distant. As though I were in a dream—as though this were all nightmare I would soon be waking up from.

If only.

"Why Battein? Why do you seek to destroy this place first?" I ask.

"The threads of power which are gathered here, of course. If one wishes to conquer, one must first destroy the ultimate root," replies the man.

"Don't you quote Maximus on me right now," I snap. "Answer me."

"But I already did. Battein is the true source of magic for all power in Perinus. Do not be surprised if you're weakened considerably after the corruption is complete."

I have to think fast. Panic holds me in its unrelenting grip. As much as I'd hate to admit it, his words make sense. If he manages to see through the obliteration of Battein, not only would my only thread to my predecessors be lost, but so would the Deathslayer's connection to her birthplace.

I can't afford to lose either of that now. Not when there's so much more that I don't know.

Before I make a move though, there's one more thing I have to confirm: "If Battein is the root, then where are the branches?"

"One lies deep within your stronghold. The other atop a land of ice and snow." The man pauses for effect. "Make no mistake, they matter almost as much as the source here."

Deep within my stronghold. The alatrigne. The scrinaius. Hidden within the numerous tunnels running in the underbelly of Castle Larstand. And the other stronghold—a land of ice and snow. Ravürk. There's no other place I can think of that matches that description.

It's clear then, what I have to do from here onwards. I have to search for the other gathering points of power as well—and learn whatever I can from there.

"Thank you," I say, before wheeling around in a flash and raising Miraterciel to end the man before he can spread the curse any further.

But the obsidian blade hovers an inch away from the man's throat. My arms begin to tremble, in spite of my best efforts to still the quaking in my bones. For I can't bring myself to end the life of the vessel the curse has chosen. I mentally congratulate and curse the culprit for being so shrewd in choosing his medium to spread the infection.

For the chosen vessel is Sir Isaac's all-too-familiar face.

******

A/N: Ack. Sorry guys! A new semester just started. In between new classes and settling down, I hadn't really the time to relax. But anyway, here we are, and I'm sure that some of you saw that last sentence from a long way now. What do you think Constantine would do?