***Midhold, Royal Embassy***

***Lord Tulhelm***

I pull down the corners of my mouth, watching the princess with displeasure as she heads directly in our direction. She walks like some model, swaying her hips while killing anyone who gets in her way.

One of my aids intercepts her, casting Dragon Breath, a lethal spell which summons liquid fire that is almost unquenchable. The flames spew forth from his mouth, an unstoppable flamethrower of burning death, and engulf her.

Tongord groans next to me, thinking she is as good as dead. “The princess was such a pretty thing. Talented too, but nobody gets awa-” His voice trails off when a hand emerges from the cone of fire which covers her body. Maiming my aide, she flings him away like some child's toy.

Two more men rush her, and she shoves one into the other as her burning dress falls off of her, revealing a tight-fitting combat suit which is normally only used by special op units.

She just shoved the man, but blood and other stuff hurls out of his mouth, reminding me of a tube of toothpaste which was squeezed a little too strong.

Waving a finger, I give the signal. “Take care of her.”

In the end, it doesn't matter who we kill. Whether it is Angrod or Celes, as long as the marriage doesn't happen we will have reached our goal.

Taking another step, the young woman disappears, as spells hurl through the space where she stood mere moments ago.

The head of the man closest to me explodes with a thunderous clap, showering the surroundings with bits and pieces. I try to comprehend the fact that she just killed a man by clapping her hands together, popping his head like an overripe watermelon!

Readying a spell, I can stop myself just in time from hurling it at empty air as Celes disappears again.

Someone behind me screams and I turn, unable to keep up with this form of high-speed combat, so I decide to abandon my initial attempt at attacking her.

Once again, I am only able to witness one of my men being torn to pieces by the bitch. It takes me two whole seconds to process that she tore off a man's arm and then proceeded to beat a second one, using the appendage like a wet towel.

No. What am I doing? I have to get my act together, or all is lost. I might not be able to match her speed, but that advantage can be negated.

“Magia Defensionis!”

Calling out the spell, I shield Tongord and myself with a magical bubble of considerable strength. Blue energy pours forth from me, surrounding us as a bubble. Not a second too late as it turns out.

As soon as the spell is in place, something slams into my shield, almost knocking me over as some of the physical energy is transferred to my body.

Celes appears in front of me, frowning and with her tail flicking in annoyance. “What's this?” She knocks on the shield as if someone would knock on a door, testing it. “An anchored shield. No wonder you didn't fly off like a wrecking ball.”

I sputter at the idea. “I am no child. Why would I use an inferior shielding spell!?” Any university student knows not to cast shieldings which are anchored to your own body.

She shrugs. “Doesn't really matter.” Placing a hand on my wall, she starts grinning at me. “You may drop it any time.”

“Tongord, could you take care of her? I will keep shielding us,” I address my friend, but there is no answer. When I turn to see what's taking him so long, I notice that Tongord's glamour fell away and that there is blood coming out of his ears. Reaching up, I run my fingers down the side of my cheek, feeling the sticky wetness of blood.

How?

Tongord finally notices that something is wrong, his reaction slowed by the numbness which is caused by the agonizing pain due to his curse. The former teacher’s eyes widen. “She is vibrating the membrane of your shield. You have to drop it before she decides to-”

There is a stinging noise and I have to cover my ears. It's like something is having a stabby party with a thousand tiny needles inside my ears! Changing its depth and frequency, the sound turns into a humming beat that pulses through my whole being. My chest pulses with each beat, making me dizzy and nauseous.

Bending over, I hurl out a good part of my breakfast. It joins the blood and innards which are already painting the floor of the hall.

***Midhold, Royal Embassy***

***Celes***

No more Mr. Magic Man. He may have been supercharged by that unfair ritual-mojo. But what help is all that power to a magician if he has a massive headache and is too busy puking his guts out, rendering him unable to cast any decent spells?

Sound-waves are such a convenient way of attack. It would be super-easy for a mage to shield against sound, but they often don't do so because they like to hear what's happening on the other side of their little protective-bubble. Angrod would have casted something to fortify his body to go along with the shielding spell.

Humming, I skip towards Tongord, ignoring the mage whose innards are in the process of liquefying.

Of the group which I chose as my target only Tongord is still up and kicking, but I expected nothing less of the man.

“Seems like Angrod's curse did a number on you. We always wondered whether you were still alive.” I place my hands on my hips and study him.

He is wearing a blue jacket with fitting trousers. Where there should be skin, bandages are visible, and it seems like they cover his whole body. I am not big with enchantments, but I can tell that the cloth is enchanted to resist and contain fire.

That insane fucker is still burning alive and walking around at the same time. He must be using his bloodline trait to heal himself while Angrod’s curse is burning him at the same time.

“A favour which I am all too eager to repay!” Tongord calls out, hardly able to contain the simmering rage in his voice. He reaches for his jacket and tears it off his chest, including the bandages.

Instantly flames burst forth, eagerly searching for a way to escape, consuming the man’s clothes through the breach in the containing enchantment. What is revealed looks more like some fire-elemental than a man. A deathly wraith whose flesh is in a constant process of burning away and regrowing at the same time, bubbling and sizzling with a unique, sweet stench.

Then Tongord throws himself at me, screeching like an insane animal.

Feeling that something is wrong, I sidestep the man, careful not to touch him. Rolling over my shoulder, I come up next to one of the fighting nobles.

There is an easy way to test my suspicions.

Grabbing the man by his belt and his throat, I whirl us around, throwing him at Tongord who changed directions to follow me.

A second later they collide and my fears are confirmed.

My test subject catches Tongord’s curse merely by touching him, going up in flames like a towel drenched in pure alcohol.

Oh, I am so not going to go there and test whether my magical defences are up to fighting a mana eating curse. Angrod can fight his own creation. He must have some sort of counterspell against his own curse.

Dodging Tongord a second time, I search the room for my fiancé while trying my best to keep Tongord away from me and from touching anyone from the royal faction, but there are only so many bodies I can throw at my former teacher to keep him occupied. Thank the multiverse that Tongord doesn’t have anything going for him other than his godlike regeneration. He is not fast enough to run around touching people left and right, or this would become an ugly situation real quick.

Most of the man’s resources seem to be bound in healing himself.

When I find him, Angrod already has his hands full with Markorn. They are struggling with each other, magical energies surging back and forth between them, making it hard to say who is winning and who is losing.

Grumbling, I decide to end Angrod’s playtime. He already turned his coronation into a nightmare which will likely remain in the memories of our subjects for all eternity.

“I wanted to do this anyway.”

Pulling one of the metal hairpins out of my hairdo, I flick my wrist in an underhand throw. The unassuming piece of metal sinks into Markorn’s temple, ending that particular problem.

***Midhold, Royal Embassy***

***Angrod***

I am still gloating over my victory when Celes dodges past me. Grabbing my shoulders from behind, she turns me to the right. “Take care of that! That over there is your doing!”

My sinister laugh becomes stuck in my throat when I see a flaming, charred corpse running towards us. A burning zombie if I have ever seen one. But I recognize the magic.

“Tongord?”

“Yes, and whatever you did, it can spread!” Celes hisses from behind me, using me as a shield.

Smart of her. I still held a grudge against her when I created the curse.

“Well, of course, it can,” I grumble. “It wouldn't be much of a curse if anyone could just touch it to figure out how to get rid of it.” The best curses are those which kill anyone who is trying to break them.

Howling, Tongord reaches us and barrels into me with his whole body. I am thrown onto my back, wheezing in pain when some badly healed rib breaks yet again.

Sitting on top of me, Tongord grabs my shoulders and pulls me up, then slams me back into the ground. “I have you now! Burn, mother fucker! Burn! Burn and die from your own curse!”

The insane man rambles on, even as the soulfire vanishes, the curse sputtering out of existence. Charred flesh flakes away, only rosy skin remaining.

It takes a few seconds, but soon enough, a naked Tongord is sitting on top of me. If it weren’t for his curses, people would think that he is trying to do something indecent to the future king.

Which is so not my style.

Realizing what happened, Tongord stops his ranting and studies his hands and chest. “What… what happened!? You should be burning! Burning like me!”

“I think it would be a really shitty curse if it would burn the caster,” I grumble, feeling insulted that he has such a low opinion of my skills.

“But back then!” Tongord sputters. “You did everything to get away from me and the curse.”

“Duh!” I snort. “No point in getting it on you if I trigger the fail-safe by touching you. Oh, and… I really have had enough of you now.”

Reaching up, I dig my claws into his temples and the top of his forehead. “Oh, sweet soul, come to me wherever you are. I wonder whether your super-healing can heal a stolen soul.”

Tongord screams, trying to loosen my grip on him, but his healing doesn't help him against soul magic. Pulling, I rip the soul out of his body, shoving the naked man off of me. Then I get back to my feet, wheezing in pain because of all the things I didn’t manage to heal with Markorn’s energy.

The fighting is slowly dying down, the royal guards mopping up the last resistance. It will take careful analysis of the surveillance footage to pick out who fought against me and who tried to support the royal family.

Overlooking the sad remains of the nobility, I estimate that we managed to lighten our administrative expenditures considerably. Half of the guests are down on the ground, moaning and bleeding. Or dead. Most of them are definitely dead.

That reminds me...

“Has anyone seen my uncle?” I may have gotten a little carried away when I revived him.

“I think he ran out of the hall during the confusion,” Rose points towards the exit, breathing heavily. Her uniform is soiled with blood and she looks worse for wear but alive.

“Tell the guards to catch him.” As much as I want to, I am in no state to hunt down a feral zombie. I don't want it to get off the premises and attack innocent civilians.

“Angrod! You are hurt!” Celes takes my arm, trying to steady me.

“Obviously.” Markorn punched me through the ceiling and buried his hand in my side, which I wasn't able to heal completely. “I think he got the kidney.”

Turning, I head towards the throne with Celes's help.

The priest is still standing on the elevated stage, his mouth gaping and his head shaking in denial as he tries to comprehend the scene of carnage.

“That's mine!” Reaching him, I snatch the crown out of his clammy hands and place it gingerly on my head, noticing only now that one of my horns broke off during the brawl.

Celes helps me to reach the throne and I allow myself to fall into it.

I cough up blood, remembering that I am still using the meditation technique to suppress the pain. Fuck, I don't want to know how much I truly hurt, or how extensive the injuries are.

Letting my gaze slide across the hall with nobles I ask, “Anyone else who has complaints?”

All remaining spectators who are able to do so shake their heads in unison.

“Th- then I dec- declare prince Angrod of Tirna a- as the new King of Tirna!” the priest stutters.

“Her...” I wince in pain and hold my side. “Hereby I take the throne and swear to protect the country and it's people,” I answer to finish this stupid ceremony.

“And since I am feeling a little tired, my first order is to clear the throne room. I will hold a speech once this mess is cleared up!” I wave at the hall. This should give me at least a week of recuperation.

The remaining nobles, at least those who aren't mourning the loss of loved ones, file out of the room or follow the healers who are taking care of the wounded. Rose showed enough foresight to hire a little army of them, just in case things go south.

Mother and Grandfather run up to me. Ireth is crying and immediately kneels down to stop the blood flowing out of the wound in my side.

“It's okay... It doesn't hurt,” I gurgle, spilling more blood. Fuck, seems like my body is seriously messed up.

Arthur and Katrine approach and Katrine joins Ireth in her efforts to heal me. “This looks bad.” Arthur looks at me like I am already a goner.

Celes clenches her fists, trying to fight back tears.

Do I really look that bad?

“I have already called for the best healers. They were waiting nearby. They should be here any second,” Arthur informs us.

I grin while everything goes dark.

***Midhold, Royal Embassy***

***Celes***

It has been two days already, but Angrod still didn't wake up. When the healers arrived after he went unconscious, they already wanted to file a death report before even looking at him!

After hours of uncertainty they finally managed to stabilize his body, but because he was severely weakened, he hasn't woken up till now.

I almost thought that I would become a widow before the marriage ceremony is held.

Stealing a glance at the door, I open one of my potions and pour the contents into Angrod's mouth. The healers of this world have magical healing down to a complicated form of art, but some good old alchemical potions to accelerate the natural recovery process and vitamins can't hurt.

Thanks to my potion's help, which stimulates the flow of mana within him, he should wake up much quicker.

I knew that his plan to draw out the opposition was stupid. He could have done this in any number of ways without putting himself in the centre of fire. I am sure that he could have handled Markorn much easier if there hadn't been mayhem all around him.

The fight itself shocked all the nobles. There are already some voices saying that a king shouldn't attack bystanders. But there are very few of them. I guess everyone is afraid of being added to Angrod's list of people to be purged.

I hope Angrod wakes up soon. Not only do we need him to make an appearance in front of the nobility, he has to decide what we do about Iris's father. I didn't know it at the time, but the magician who was with Tongord was none other than Lord Tulhelm himself. He might have valuable information about what's going on inside the City of Light.

We were only lucky that Iris recognized him during the fighting, or the healers might not have prioritized him enough to save his life.

I just feel sad for Iris. To meet her father again in such a way, only to likely lose him once more.

We have to talk to her and find out how she feels about the situation. He did abandon her after all and there are the crimes against the crown which can't be forgiven. Still, a child's love for their parents can be irrational at times.

I take Angrod's hands in mine and notice that they are cold! He has to be warmed up somehow. Hmm, he isn't conscious right now, so I can do everything I want to him. “Hehehe...” This is the perfect chance to get a whole lot of items from my check-list.

I carefully lift the sheet and crawl under, hugging the stupid hermit from the side. Hahaha, you can't run away now!

His mana feels so familiar. Like in the old times when he was Johann.

I soon relax and fall asleep.

***Midhold, Royal Embassy***

***Angrod***

I am sitting at a bench, located at a wooden house which feels like home. Fields stretch to the horizon, shimmering red and gold under the setting sun. I take my time to study the scene. Everything looks so real and is eerily familiar: the fields, the nearby forest, the lake...

It looks real, but I can't shake off the feeling that something is wrong. I know this place, but apart from a memory or a dream, I wouldn't be able to return to it. This is the distant past.

Am I dead and this is the real afterlife? I pinch my cheek, but I feel the pain. This is my house, from the time I was with Sandra.

“How is it?”

I jump up and turn to face the newcomer. I didn't sense her arrival. One moment I was alone, and the next she stood next to me, watching the scenery. “Seria, you!”

“Hiiiii.” The goddess waves at me in greeting with a wry smile on her face.

I try to ignore her almost transparent dress.

“What are you here for? Am I about to be sent on to the next punishment?” I ask her, assuming the worst.

“Nope, I just wanted to say hello and ask how things are going.” She sits down on the bench and pats the wood next to her, signalling that I should sit down too.

I sit down. No point in opposing a god. Besides, she seems to be in control of this dream. I don't want her to replace it with a torture chamber. “Why would you need to ask me? Can't you check for yourself? Someone is trying to pull off a huge summoning ritual, and I think you should stop them. Maybe you could pull one of those 'heavenly intervention' acts?”

“I am just talking to you via long-range telepathy. I didn't visit your world for quite a while. If I did, Tjenemit would immediately get access and I am not quite ready yet,” She explains in a calm tone, confirming some of my suspicions while opening a whole new can of worms.

“Could you please start at the beginning? It seems like you are rather well informed, despite your absence. I know that some fanatics are currently trying to summon a god to this world. But a Council member at that? And why would any god have the need to be summoned?”

Seria will have to do some explaining here.

“Unfortunately, I don't have very much time. Just until you wake up. But to make it short, your world is inside a Void Zone. It is my personal playground and no other god has access to it. I grabbed Celes and you because I have plans for the two of you. Tjenemit isn't too fond of me and has found out about my little rebellion against the Council. Although he has no proof, he is trying to get access to this world.”

I raise my hand to stop her. “What's this about a rebellion?”

“A rebellion against the Council, but don't worry about it. There is no need to know in your current state. I plan to let Tjenemit enter your world to fight him there. Once he is inside the Void Zone, his options are limited. I can't visit you earlier, because opening a pathway would help him to get access and I am not ready to fight him, yet.”

Opening a pathway through a Void Zone? That's impossible, but not really the important issue. “What makes you think that I want any part in it?” I ask her.

“Just a hunch. I had my eyes on recruiting you for a while now. Call it a little long-term plan of mine.” Seria smiles innocently.

“And what if I stop Tjenemit from gaining access at all?” I ask her.

“Feel free to try, but if I interpret the stuff in your head correctly, it's unlikely. Other questions?” She tilts her head cutely.

I narrow my eyes, seeing that she isn't really willing to answer my questions. “How do you know this place?”

“Hmmm, I wonder? It's a nice and peaceful place, isn't it? That reminds me! How is it going with your wife? Did you two already make up?”

“You are trying to evade the question. It is going okay, I guess?” I answer, unwilling to discuss the relationship between Celes and me.

“Wonderful, I wish I could show up to the marriage in person!” She claps her hands together. “Maybe I will project an image of myself to visit you for a few hours.”

“Why are you so enthusiastic about this?”

“Why shouldn't I be enthusiastic about the marriage of two people who I brought together? But I fear our time is up.” Seria pats my head.

“What? You still have some explaining to do!”

I want to stop her, but the world distorts and starts fading away.

“Don't forget to take a close look at those captured souls... and be nice to your wife.”

I open my blurry eyes and look at the ceiling. “That's what I would call a nightmare.” Then I notice my mother smiling at me. She is sitting next to the bed and I am in my private room.

“I am glad you woke up,” she whispers and I become aware that something is lying on top of me. I lift the sheet and discover Celes.

“Why are you using a sick person as a body pillow?” I ask the sleeping girl who is mashing her chest against me.

Celes stays unresponsive and just keeps sleeping.

“She has been at your bedside for three days now, like me. The healers already started digging your grave.” Ireth continues to give me a brief summary of what I have missed.

“Is that so? I guess I will have to disappoint them. Anything else?” I ask, still tired.

“Nothing that couldn't wait. After your little demonstration, everyone was surprisingly docile. I never heard so few complaints from the nobles.” Ireth pats my head with a relieved expression, assured that I am recovering.

After asking whether I need anything, she excuses herself and leaves the room.

“Wait! You have to take Celes with you.” I try to slip out of my fiancee's grasp, but suddenly she tightens down around me like a vice! OW! I need the healers again!

“Nyahahhaha. You won't get away... the body pillow has no right to sneak off... no... no... don't use your mighty...”

What the hell is she dreaming about!?