"Hey, what's the deal, Lone?" Edge whispered, "You in trouble? We were s'pposed to split after last night?"
"Yeah," Lone dropped off of his rock and straightened his back, "There's trouble..."
His hand itched... and his heart pounded in his chest. Everything he was about to do was dangerous... and he hated being forced to do it.
"Talk to me, Lone," There was a tinge of panic in Edge's voice, "And who's that old man? This is weird, even for you, guy!"
Lone gulped hard, leaving a lump stuck in his throat, "Simon's here to row your body out to sea."
He drew his blade... the Shatterspike longsword.
Edge's eyes widened, his pupils shrinking to tiny black balls... "What the hells do you think you're doin', Lone? This isn't funny."
"It's you... or both of us," Lone grimaced. "I'm sorry."
Edge clenched his teeth... "Is that you, Lone? Did you lose control?"
"I haven't," Lone shook his head... "This is my choice."
"I see..." The Rogue grew silent... even his hair seemed to droop, maybe ruined by the sea breeze... "The Church put you up to this, didn't they?"
"You can't escape the hand of the Church, Edge... Neither of us can."
"You think I don't know that?" Edge scowled. "Those bastards put me away in Turrim Orientem-- just like they did you! I would've died in those Flame-taken tunnels... if you weren't there to save me, Lone."
"Yeah..." Lone took in a slow, deep breath, "We've always had each other's backs."
"We ate together... we slept together, we shat together in a single brass pot, Lone!" Edge shouted, "You were my BROTHER!!!"
"Yeah. And we're still brothers..." Lone gripped the handle of his sword tight, holding the blade low, "That's why it's gotta be me-- not the dogs of the Church."
"...I won't go without a fight, you know," The Rogue began to reach for his dagger.
"--Don't," Lone commanded.
Edge might have had a chance with his rapier, but that was long gone. He had a deadly disadvantage, dagger versus longsword...
"You know you can't win against me," Lone warned... "Not unless you rely on *that.*"
"I... I have to try," Edge shut his eyes and lowered his shoulders... His gloved hand-- his cursed hand was shaking uncontrollably, "You can't just kill me like this."
There was one thing the Rogue could fall back on... but the price was too steep. He could allow his curse to take over. He could sacrifice his humanity and maybe... just maybe escape this foul place.
Lone wouldn't let him.
He swung his blade upwards, quick and clean.
Blood sprayed up and into the air.
Edge's body fell backward... thumping into old man Simonides' boat.
Lone turned his head and glared towards one of the distant rooftops. Two Church representatives waited there, watching through a glass tool.
They were far... but he could see them, see their faces of grim satisfaction.
Lone was a Ranger. Nothing escaped his eyes.
They knew he was watching... and the two nodded in turn.
The job was done.
...
⟬ Black-Tailed Gull Restaurant & Inn, Private Room. After evening training, present time. ⟭
"Wait-wait-wait," Pale held out both his palms, "Did you... did you KILL him?"
"Edge... Huh..." Tycon muttered. The name sounded familiar. He inquired his System to where he'd heard it, "Ah, your arena partner?"
"Lone!" Pale shouted indignantly.
"Shh!" Lone hushed him, "Not so loud, Pale. No, I didn't kill him. I had to cut my arm to fake the blood. Used a potion to heal it, too..."
"Oh..." The boy breathed a sigh of relief, "That's good."
Tycon rolled his eyes, "Why didn't you have a potion to use for Pale? You had two when we disembarked the Golden Eagle."
"Ugh..." Lone averted his gaze, "We fought a Necromancer."
"Just one?" Tycon scowled.
"We... we got caught by surprise, alright?" Lone bowed his head, "Sorry. I'll do better next time."
"You'd better," Tycon groaned before taking a pull from his cup of wine. "You and Dragan are the best equipped to fight undead, you know."
"Blunt weapons!" Pale added cheerfully.
"Ah, Boss..." Lone not-so-subtly directed Tycon's attention towards Sasha.
His daughter was pouting. She held her palms over her lap, playing with a glowing ball of radiant energy.
"Don't sulk, young lady." Tycon patted her on her hooded head, "You are the most effective *caster* against undead. The other two are effective as martial Classes."
"I'm fine, Master," Sasha looked appeased-- but shot an angry look at the Ranger, "Stop being gross, Lone."
"Huh?" Lone winced, "What I do?"
"Girls are hard to understand," Pale whispered... a sentiment that Sasha did not take kindly to. The boy stuck his head under the dining table to avoid her displeased glare.
"They're not so bad," Lone straightened his back. "By the way, Pale-- I have a girlfriend now!"
"Whaaaat?" Pale's eyes lit up... then immediately dimmed, "Is that something to be proud of?"
"It is!" Lone insisted, banging on the table, "She's really hot, too!"
"Well... alright," Pale smiled. "Congratulations!"
Lone bowed his head, "Thanks! I'm really proud of it."
"Where is she?" Pale asked, "Can I meet her?"
"Ah... that," Lone's gaze faltered and he looked away. "She's in... uh... the Eastern States."
"She is? Um... where in the Eastern States, then?"
"I'm... not really sure."
Pale laughed quietly, "That's... that's cool, Lone."
"She's... she's real," Lone muttered-- as if he wasn't entirely certain.
"I... um..." Pale looked away, "If you say so."
"PAAALE!" Lone was on the verge of tears, "You have to believe me!"
"It's not that I don't believe you, Lone," Pale bared his teeth in chagrin, "It's just... kinda... unbelievable?"
Lone fell forward, his forehead clinking on the table and jostling everyone's after-dinner drinks, "That's the same thing as not believing in me! Tell 'em, Tres Leches!"
"(She exists,)" The Dark-Iron wolf answered curtly... "(But love is a fleeting emotion.)"
"I... I see," Pale pursed his lips.
"See? SEE?!" Lone raised his voice, "Tres Leches will always support me! One HUNDRED percent!!"
pαпdα Йᴏνê|,сòМ "(I don't think he can understand me,)" The wolf yawned.
"Oh, haha," Pale giggled. "Got it~"
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