My Raphtalia, My Queen (Raphtalia x male reader)

Chapter 35: Mr Beezelbub

The miners gathered round, a scrappy band of raiders. They collected whatever weapons they could, which ranged from wooden clubs to state-of-the-art firearms. Viking stood amongst them and scanned them. He never realized how...diverse this quarry was. Humans, demi-humans and even some intelligent trolls were amongst the group. Viking hadn't seen anything like it. It was...a nice change of pace. He held his two axes firmly in his grasp; fresh blood dripped down from their worn yet sharp edges. He looked on forward amongst torches and burning barricades to see the Foreman, who clearly didn't seem to be in the right state of mind.

"To-DAY...is a foul day. To-DAY...we had people we cared for, who we LOVED! Taken away from us. WE WERE SUBJECT TO HIS ATROCITY...by none other than Jedidiah Augustus. Son of Fargo Augustus and heir to Augustus Foundries. And, it is with my great pleasure, that I ANNOUNCE TODAY THAT WE ARE NO LONGER GOING TO BE PUSHED AROUND BY THAT SCUMBAD NO MORE! To-DAY LADIES AND GENTLEMEN, I TELL YOU that if you join me, you SHALL GET YOUR VENGEANCE. I tell you, you SHALL GET TO SEE JEDIDIAH AUGUSTUS' HEAD ROLL!"

The crowd cheered, raising their fists and weapons and voices in patriotic energy. The roar of the flames illuminated Pastal's bloody, smirking face. "So I say to you, my fellow brethren. Take up your arms, follow me, and bring DOWN THE IRON DEMON ONCE AND FOR ALL!"

The crowd cheered and screeched. They marched on, chanting, cheering and amplifying each other's spirits. Viking was carried by the mass of bodies pounding the ground beneath their feet. In the starless night, in the icy fog and between jagged trees marched a sea of fire and blood and vengeance.

Darkness. That's all Wolf could say. Well, that's what he could mostly see. He was at the end of a row of prison cells, a stairway on the horizon. The faintest glow of orange could be seen, probably for a guard. There weren't any others in the cells. At least, none that were living. The darkness, the unforgiving cold, the wet and stony ground, and the mocking moonlight reminded him of Rabier's dark, disgusting dungeons. His mind wandered off to those times. The times when he and his friends were weak. At the mercy of that disgusting sadist. He wondered if Juno was alright, or Razor or Raphtalia. He prayed for their safety every single day. In his mind, he saw that wiry mustache, that mustard hair, and lardy cheeks. His eyes grew red with bloodlust. He bared his fangs and struck at the image before him. A clank of iron echoed down the hall. Wolf kept on forgetting he was tied up. Iron cuffs for his hands, attached to the wall. And his legs were tied in some sort of iron gallows. Or what is...no, it was silver. He sighed and shook his head. He was a demi-human, NOT a werewolf.

A wave of the night air gushed over him, biting like frostbite at his wound. Wolf whimpered and tried to fidget his hands free to once-again no avail. He could only hear half as well as he used to. Sure, he did still have ears like humans did, like all demi-humans did. But his demi ears were something special. They separated him from humans and Demi's alike. His wolf ears were some of the most acute sensors in the known world. Nothing got past them. He even heard the attackers march a mile out before they got to the camp. He still cursed and kicked himself. He couldn't fend them off. And now...now he got Gazef killed. Now he got so many others killed, for his incompetence.

This all reminded him of that day. The day when the monsters came from the sky. One by one they fell; like angels falling from heaven. The sky became a dark red, much like the walls and streets of his village as friends and family and friends of family were hacked and sliced and slaughtered like pigs. He heard them, but he never told anyone. Then the day cleared up. Juno and Razor and Raphtalia...poor Raphtalia. He wished to hug her again and tell her everything is alright. Wolf remembered the darkness on his friends' faces. On everyone's faces. He remembered looking at the mountains and trees where the knights should've come. And then he heard them again. He heard the stammer of horses, and the crack of wagons and the rattle of cages. The kind of cages you keep a chicken in. But these were much bigger. Their rattling was much bigger. He could've warned the village. He could've saved so many people from death, from agony. But he didn't, and now...now all those people, all his friends...they were subject to misery. They were at the mercy of a devil. Was this his was of repent? Was the loss of his gift the way he could seek redemption for what he did? For how he neglected his gift? How he neglected his people?