Headed by a Snake

Tycondrius narrowed his eyes beneath his helmet. Tanamar was poised to strike... looking as threatening as a half-dead man could look.

The footman was suffering a temporary bout of insanity from recent events. Tanamar had expended a great deal of mana in what Tycon assumed was a clumsy shouting match with his evil twin brother. That compounded with the fact that his girlfriend was in a near-death state.

The most mature response was to advocate peaceable discussion... to elucidate the young man on the flaws in his decision-making.

It was true that he was openly challenged. It was insulting to have a deadly weapon pointed at his face.

Still... logic trumped emotion and Tycon prided himself on being a man of high ideals.

"Athanasius, you're delirious from mana-fatigue," He impatiently patted the blade on his waist... "As you are a danger not only to--"

Tanamar blinked.

How. Dare. He.

Interrupting himself, Tycon unsheathed and lashed out with his whip sword, entangling it around Tanamar's leg. With a swift pull, the young man was off his feet, the back of his head bouncing off the stone steps.

Tanamar's mind was too hazed, his reflexes too slow, and his body too weak to respond. It was his own damned fault that Tycon was forced to attack!

"--⌈Shadowfang⌋."

Activating his movement technique, he dashed forward and landed a running kick to the youth's side. Rearing back, he kicked again. Tanamar curled up, covering his body. Tycon began alternating feet, continuing to kick the downed youth in the chest and stomach.

"Let me show you all the reasons you are WRONG!!!" Tycon yelled.

If Tanamar wanted to survive, he was doing a very poor job of it.

After being granted so many 'reasons', the Holy Lancer grabbed hold of Tycon's boot, "W-wait..."

In response, Tycon dropped down, his knee striking the side of Tanamar's ribs. Leaning over, he began to strike the boy in the side of his silver-haired head. Still in hand was the hilt of the blade-whip, undoubtedly making his fist that much heavier.

"Boss Tycon, sir?" Boxtholomaeus murmured.

The humanoid-shaped doll stepped into view, wringing his fingerless, wooden hands.

Tycon stood and flipped Tanamar onto his front with an un-gentle boot, "Go ahead."

He sat on the youth's back, placing one hand on his head, with the other hooking onto his right bicep. The boy would be far less of a threat with a broken or dislocated shoulder.

"Sir... doesn't this seem a rather strong response, concerning the circumstances?" The doll asked.

"Nonsense, Mister Boxtholomaeus," Tycon shrugged. "Mister Athanasius has threatened my life. I have responded out of fear for my own safety."

"But sir?" Boxtholomaeus tilted his head, "Mister Tanamar doesn't seem to be fighting back anymore.

"A shame," Tycon scoffed.

Applying slow and steady pressure, he dislocated Tanamar's shoulder. The youth screamed in agony-- as if he had no idea that Tycon would respond to death threats with open violence.

"But... but sir?" The doll continued to complain.

Tycon would have none of it. He wasn't in the mood for games.

He reached his arm back, snapping his blade-whip back into sword-form, "It was nice working with you, Athanasius."

"...Miss Athena would be sad."

Tycon stabbed his sword... into the dirt next to Tanamar's neck.

​ ...Then he turned to growl at Boxtholomaeus, "Must you, child?"

The wooden doll nodded shyly, "Yes, sir... Sorry, sir."

Tycon took a deep breath... "No apology necessary... You raised a valid point..."

He slapped the side of Tanamar's face to wake him, "Explain what's going on. Depending on what you say, I may or may not jam a poisoned bolt into your neck."

"Tycon..." He groaned, trying to turn his head, "What the f*ck, man?"

Tycon grabbed Tanamar's hair and twisted his blade in the dirt. The edge bled the surface of the boy's neck, "Understand that my actions are a professional courtesy. Were you not so dangerous, we might have spoken amicably."

Tanamar shut his eyes... seeming to have resigned to his situation.

"...You told me that the future can be changed."

Tycon rolled his eyes. The weeping young fool with the bleeding neck was more than a transmigrator, like himself. He was a reincarnator... and had seen a different future from the present they were living-- multiple futures, if he were to be believed.

"I did," Tycon twisted his lips. "What of it?"

He felt his eye twitch, sensing Tanamar suddenly increasing the circulation rate of his mana.

"Well, it CAN'T!!!" He shouted, "⌈Solar Flare!!⌋"

Tycon activated his ⌈Tumble⌋ skill, rolling backward and shielding his eyes from a fantastically bright light. Whipping his sword to the side, ready to defend himself, he focused his concentration on the ground, sensing for the footman's movement.

...Yet, no attack came.

Tanamar stood up slowly, a holy lance in his left hand... his right arm still dangling uselessly.

"I tried to change it... even killing my brother to do so... but still... ATHENA DIED!!"

"That's ridiculous," Tycon got to his feet, casually stretching his back, and cracking his neck left and right, "The girl lives-- she's merely affected by a ⌈Flesh to Stone⌋ spell."

Tanamar's mana-weapon began to glow brighter with power. The boy was expending some of his soul energy in order to empower his almost nonexistent mana pool. Whether the attack succeeded or failed, the damage he'd incur would be difficult to heal.

"The ONLY spell capable of healing her... is a ⌈Holy Blessing,⌋" He growled. "I need... Holy Magus Antonidus... the Flame-taken Head Magistrate of Caeruleum."

Suddenly, strength seemed to leave his body as he collapsed to his knees. His mana-weapon dissipated and he reabsorbed the energy, as well. Good for him.

Tycon tried to walk forward to finish him off... but Boxtholomaeus was holding onto his leg.

"In my last life..." Tanamar muttered... "Athena and Tancred went to a dungeon... and..."

Tycon's attention drifted away, listening to the boy drone on. He performed some mental calculations of when and how he would signal his forces to withdraw from the city. Two bells, perhaps. Whatever it was, it would be best, soon.

Zenon and Korr would be arriving shortly... and the blasts of energy from Tanamar's fight with Tancred would attract Pale-- maybe Stephanos, too, if his mana-senses were half-way decent.

From the bits and pieces of Tanamar's story... it seemed that the young man had won the Caeruleum tournament in his last life, as well, and was owed a favor. He bought Athena to be healed, but Head Magistrate Antonidus dodged him for several suns. The end result was Athena dying... and Tanamar attacking the city by himself, eventually being slain by Champions of the Church.

Sensing that the Holy Lancer's overlong story was finished, Tycon cleared his throat to speak, "Are you done?"

"Have you heard a single Flame-taken word I've said?" Tanamar seethed.

"Did you know I can cast ⌈Stone to Flesh⌋?" Tycon sighed.

"You can what?" Tanamar's jaw hung agape, like the fool he was.

"We fought gorgons in the Halls of the Dead Serpent, young man," Tycon's annoyance seeped into his voice as he spoke, "Bannok was among the petrified. I healed him."

"But... but Priestess Ariadne..."

Tycon took a deep breath and groaned... his annoyance painfully obvious, "Egh... ⌈Flesh to Stone⌋ is a spell belonging to a higher Spell-Circle than Aria is capable of."

It seemed not every transmigrator was as familiar with spells and their effects as he was.

"Tycon... please," Tanamar bowed with his forehead to the ground. "I know I don't deserve it-- but please... Heal Ath--"

"Get up, idiot," Tycon waved dismissively. "Of course, I'll--"

Boxtholomaeus pushed at Tycon's leg with his flimsy wooden arms, "Um, Sir Tycon?"

The doll was pointing up at the sky.

"Don't interrupt, child," Tycon scolded... "Be polite and wait your turn."

"...Y... yes, sir..."

The daylight skies began to darken as if the sun had chosen to hide. An unnatural sphere composed of pale white light appeared in the distance, consuming the clouds of smoke and sending harpies and gryphons screeching in terror.

Tycon ignored it.

"Ahem. Of course, I'll heal the girl, Athanasius."

...

⟬ Half-a-bell later. ⟭

Tycon helped pop the youth's shoulder back into place-- a painful ordeal, but one the young gentleman weathered with little more than a pained grunt. He then used his ⌈Inspirational Surge⌋ on the Holy Lancer, fully expecting it to fail.

It was effective.

Having only a modicum of his mana and being beaten half-to-death was certainly not the best Tanamar could do.

The young man refused to withdraw with Boxtholomaeus, insisting Athena be restored immediately.

It was a sound decision that Tycon (begrudgingly) could not fault him for. As the siege had not yet ended, it was still possible for him to be severely injured or even killed before sun's end.

Athena was affected by a Sixth-Circle petrification spell... normally impossible for a normal Gold-Rank healing Class to cure.

It made no difference to Tycon. He was a Maedar, a rare male born with the medusa bloodline... and by his breath, he could undo the effects of petrification, regardless of the caster's Circle mastery.

It was also why Maedari were both revered and feared amongst his kin.

After Tycon had restored Athena, she was still physically weak and in an advanced stage of mana fatigue. She'd live... and she elected to nap on her placated lover's shoulder while the four of them waited for support to arrive.

As for Boxtholomaeus, he kept looking up at the strange, grey sky-sphere, but decided not to broach the topic. Whatever was going on, neither he nor any ally present had the means to stop it.

",