Realm Lord
Chapter 107: Back together (2)

Chapter 107: Back together (2)

Arhur went on to tell Aziel everything that happened after his disappearance. His voice, though steady, carried undercurrents of exhaustion that pulled at each syllable like leaden weights. Aziel listened with uncharacteristic patience, his sharp eyes narrowing at particularly troubling details.

Chasing after Aziel which led him to the altar room, the brutal confrontation with the sheepman that followed, and Jonas’s devastating death. His voice faltered slightly when describing how he died, but he pushed forward, detailing his discovery of the ability that he obtained during the battle.

"It was like the darkness itself responded to my desperation," Arthur explained, flexing his shadow-wrought fingers experimentally. The appendage moved with unsettling fluidity, too perfect in its mimicry of human movement while remaining distinctly other. "One moment I was certain I’d join Jonas in death, and the next... power surged through me like lightning through a storm rod."

He continued with newfound animation, describing the revelation about the sheepmen—how they weren’t truly living creatures but hollow constructs, sophisticated puppets animated by some sort of spell as well as being the totems to the castle’s spell. Arthur gestured expansively as he detailed the ancient story he’d discovered etched into the walls, fingers tracing invisible patterns in the blood-soaked air between them.

When he finally finished, silence claimed the chamber for several heartbeats. Aziel’s brow furrowed deeply, creating a labyrinth of creases across his forehead as he attempted to process the deluge of information.

After what felt like an eternity, Aziel’s features cleared, and he asked with almost childlike simplicity, "So... we just gotta kill the sheepmen?"

Arthur sighed heavily, shoulders sagging as he rolled his eyes skyward. "Yes, pretty much." The oversimplification bordered on painful, but wasn’t technically incorrect.

Curiosity prickled at Arthur’s consciousness as he realized he knew nothing of Aziel’s experience after their separation. "What happened after that thing—the monster of the halls—sucked you out of the laboratory?"

The question struck hard. Aziel’s entire demeanor transformed instantly—shoulders hunching forward as if bracing against an arctic wind, eyes dropping to study the stone floor with sudden, intense fascination. The confident set of his jaw dissolved into something tremulous and uncertain.

"I—I don’t want to talk about it," Aziel managed finally, each word emerging strangled and raw, as if clawed unwillingly from his throat. "I escaped. That’s all that matters."

Arthur recoiled slightly, genuinely unsettled by this unprecedented display of vulnerability. In all their time together, he’d witnessed Aziel face down horrors unimaginable with sardonic quips and unflinching resolve. This new fragility hung between them like shattered glass—dangerous to touch yet impossible to ignore.

After a moment’s hesitation, Arthur chose mercy over curiosity. "Well... how’d you find me?"

The reprieve was palpable. Like a drowning man breaking the surface, Aziel’s expression reset to its familiar configuration, shadowed memories receding behind practiced composure.

"Well, I just kept going through doors until I found the one you were in," he explained, straightening his shoulders. "Actually, luckily enough, it only took me around ten tries."

Arthur’s eyebrows climbed toward his hairline. "Yeah, I guess that’s the only way to really get around in this place—keep going through doors and hoping."

The conversation shifted to more practical matters then, both of them falling into the comfortable rhythm of tactical discussion. They spent several minutes outlining a plan moving forward. Both acknowledged, without explicitly stating, the desperate need for Lara’s healing abilities if they hoped to survive future encounters. Their wounds needed desperate attention.

Decision made, Arthur approached his severed arm with grim determination. He knelt beside the detached limb, brushing away debris and dust with surprising gentleness. His efforts to clean the congealed blood proved largely futile, smearing rather than removing the dark substance. With a resigned shrug, he activated his realm storage and deposited the arm inside.

The next task proved considerably more difficult. Arthur stood motionless before Jonas’s decapitated corpse, eyes fixed on the severed head lying several feet away. The lifeless eyes stared back, once-vibrant irises now dull and clouded, accusatory in their emptiness. Beside him, Aziel offered silent support, one hand coming to rest briefly on Arthur’s shoulder.

Drawing a deep breath that seemed to scrape his lungs raw, Arthur bent down and carefully gathered Jonas’s head, avoiding those empty eyes as he transferred this grim cargo to his realm storage as well.

With these solemn duties fulfilled, they faced the wooden door leading from the chamber. Anticipation stretched their nerves taut as bowstrings, each breath shallow and carefully measured.

"Well, let’s get going," Aziel announced, familiar confidence resurfacing in his voice.

Arthur nodded, determination hardening his features as they approached the exit. His shadow-hand reached for the handle.

Their journey through the castle proved frustrating and disorienting. Each door opened revealed yet another chamber, each disappointingly devoid of allies. Arthur lost count after the seventh attempt, fatigue and worry gnawing at the edges of his resolve. Just as despair threatened to overwhelm them, fortune intervened—the fourteenth door (or was it the fifteenth?) swung open to reveal a space that immediately commanded their complete attention.

Their eyes registered the scene in disjointed fragments—blood-spattered walls, ancient stonework reminiscent of a medieval dungeon, scattered rubble creating hazardous islands across the floor. Against the far right wall, a sheepman’s remains lay in destroyed display, its armor shattered into unrecognizable pieces like a discarded porcelain doll.

But these details registered as mere background noise compared to the tableau that dominated the chamber’s center.

There, kneeling amidst the carnage with her hair matted with blood and grime, was Lara. Her slender form trembled visibly even from this distance, her usual calmness subsumed by evident distress. Clutched tightly in her arms, cradled with desperate tenderness against her blood-soaked chest, lay not something, but someone.

Time seemed to freeze as Arthur and Aziel stood transfixed, unwilling witnesses to a moment of raw anguish. The room was dark but the scene in the middle made it darker as Aziel and Arthur recognized the body held tight in her arms. Her body trembling as she held him tightly unwilling to let go.

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