An Arsonist and a Necromancer Walk into a Bar

Two Lovers, Forbidden From One Another

David was not in the old Ambrosi crypt.

Nor was he in the city graveyard, nor the new cemetery across the river.

After exhausting all of the known graveyards in the Old Quarter, they turned their eyes to the rest of the city. There were others scattered around the city, ranging from small family crypts to larger public cemeteries. Surely they had to be in at least one of them.

But by this point, they were starting to hope, and Palmira had a sinking feeling that the graveyard Morte was in wasn't even in Firozzi.

"—I AM CURRENTLY IN A GRAVEYARD! THE GRAVEYARD IS SMALL AND SURROUNDED BY OLD BUILDINGS! I AM—"

That also wasn't helping.

Noon had passed a while ago, and though she felt herself growing hungry neither of them were in the mood to stop for food. They just continued searching, fueled only by a desperate hope they weren't too late.

They'd more or less given up trying to figure out which cemetery he was in, and were now making their way through the Duke's Quarter to try and meet up with Anima and get her help in tracking down David and Morte. Despite being so far away from the Rosa Guildhall, Palmira almost felt more comfortable over here, as this side of the city had been where she'd spent the past few years squatting.

Where the Old Quarter of the Ambrosi was a winding maze of dense alleyways and centuries old buildings, the Duke's Quarter was relatively newer and as such its buildings were wealthier and larger. Mostly made of limestone or stone brick, the buildings towered five to eight stories over the city streets, broken up by the massive boulevard where the old city walls used to be. In the distance, peaking over the roofs of buildings, one could even see the old towers of the Duke's Castle, what was now the center of power for the Caparelli.

And as they made their way through the streets of the Duke's Quarter, they passed by a familiar alleyway.

Palmira paused, before shaking her head with a scowl.

Whatever might happen next, that was behind her.

"What about this one, the Muffito cemetery?" Tintinnia pointed with her giant hammer, flicking its drool everywhere as she did so. "You think they're here?"

Palmira frowned and pressed herself up against the high fence surrounding the cemetery. She squinted, trying to tell if there were any signs of David or Morte further in—all while ignoring how her hammer had started teething on the fence posts next to her. "…No, I don't think so," she shook her head. "It's too spacious. Morte's saying it's a small place surrounded by old buildings. This place is too new."

Tintinnia groaned, but acquiesced when Palmira dragged her back into the city.

They continued down the streets of Firozzi, looking for the graveyard Morte had been taken to and keeping their distance from the few people out and about at this time of day.

It was a bit surprising how few there were actually, but she supposed that with the city more or less in a state of civil war even people this far from the epicenter weren't so willing to be out and about. The few who were kept giving the two of them weird looks, which she tried to ignore with grace.

Really, it was pretty rude of them. Just because Tintinnia's skin was pink didn't mean they had to stare so much!

In the meantime, Malocchio had somehow struck up a conversation with Tintinnia's hammer. She wasn't sure how, since the hammer only made weird growling noises, but what little she could hear seemed enlightening.

'Curiosity. You remember when You were born? How interesting. We only remember the slow change from agonized instinct to complex thought. What do You remember?'

"HRRGHEHAHAHE!"

'Intrigued. We were unaware the Goddess looked like that. We prefer Our Lady, regardless. But what was that about the Moon?'

"ARRAWFGHALAGA!"

'Worry. The Lights are already that weak? But what does that mean for Us?'

"SNRAFFLEAFLEAF!"

'Relief. Do not scare Us like that, Friend.'

"What are you two talking about?" Palmira raised her mace to look it in the eye. Then she realized what she was doing and lowered him back down—it was still way too creepy to look directly at.

She tried not to focus on how its tail curled around her arm.

'Reassurance. We are merely comparing Our births. The Great Hammer has been around a long time, and seems to be quite wise.'

"SNORFLORFLEACHO!"

"…I'll take your word for it."

Unfortunately, that distraction had to be swiftly put behind them as they continued their search through the city, until—

"I AM—Huh?" Morte stopped his shouting for a moment, and even though it meant he was no longer broadcasting his location she couldn't help but be relieved. "Hey, what is that girl doing—ah. You really are a bastard, huh?"

Well, that did not sound good.

"Morte's stopped shouting for a minute," she told Tintinnia, who's head snapped over to her instantly. The girl was even more tightly wound than Palmira was. "David's apparently found some girl and did… something to her. Morte wasn't clear on the specifics."

Palmira tried not to think of what that might have been. She really did. She could only hope it wasn't as bad as what she was thinking.

Tintinnia sneered. "Bastard."

"What are you doing now—Oh, you wouldn't dare."

Palmira stopped walking, shocked despite herself. Somehow, she couldn't remember Morte ever sounding truly angry before.

"If you dig up that grave I swear to you here and now that I will do anything and everything in my power to see your soul extinguished from this fucking plane of existence."

Well, that really didn't sound good.

"We need to hurry," Palmira winced. "He's apparently digging up somebody's grave, and Morte is really pissed about it. David might be preparing to preform some sort of dark ritual with the body!"

"That bastard! He can't do that!" Tintinnia snapped, stomping her foot. "Only I can do that!"

Palmira gave the other girl a sour look, but shook it off as they continued their march through the Duke's Quarter. She didn't know what was exactly was going on, but she did know they needed to stop it before David accomplished whatever it was he'd set out to do.

"Take your hands off that femur right now or so help me—wait, is that…? Hey! Hey! Anima! Down here! I've been kidnapped! Help me, hurry! Before he uses me to complete his dastardly plot!"

"Anima!?" Palmira yelped, causing Tintinnia to give her a confused look.

How the hell had Anima found him before them!?

But before she could process that, an odd smell seemed to waft down the street.

Palmira paused, taking a deep breath. It was faint, but familiar.

The smell of salt and sand. The smell of the sea.

The smell of home, forgotten and forsaken.

Her eyes widened. "This way!" she shouted, grabbing Tintinnia and dragging her back the way they came. "I can smell him!"

"You can what—oh, wait, I smell him too!"

They ran down the streets, weaving between the few people still out at this time of day. As they ran, the smell of the sea only grew stronger, until they came upon a small alleyway nestled between two buildings.

And there, pressed flat against the entrance in only a flimsy grey cloak to hide his foppish clothes, was Juliano Ambrosi.

"What?" Palmira stomped up to him, grabbing his cloak. "What are you doing here!? Where's Anima and David?"

He jumped nearly a foot in the air, before spinning to clamp a hand over her mouth. "SHH!" he hissed loudly, not noticing how Palmira had to hold Tintinnia back from breaking his arm off. "Don't let them hear you!"

Palmira scowled, shoving his hand away. "You didn't answer my question," she hissed, quieter this time. "What are you doing here?"

"A servant sent us here," he whimpered, tears pouring unabashed from his eyes. "She told us of a plan my dear Romilda hatched! Oh what a brilliant woman, my Romilda! We would meet up in this old crypt, where our love can flourish unseen! But alas, alas! This brute is blocking the way! Who is he, to stand in the way of true love!?"

Palmira grimaced. Did that mean she'd have to deal with two love-sick morons?

She shook her head. She needed to focus. Turning the corner—and keeping an iron grip on Tintinnia to stop her from rushing in—she peeked around the building at the courtyard the battle was taking place in.

It was a small, easily missable graveyard, sheltered underneath one of the few crumbling sections of the old walls and overgrown with clovers and vines. The few visible gravemarkers were but small epitaphs between flowerbeds. The only exception was the large mausoleum half-carved into the wall at the back, which was painted with a rotting mosaic of what might have been an orc. Maybe.

It was a quiet, peaceful place.

And it was getting absolutely decimated by the two mages fighting within.

David stood with his back to the tomb, waves of salt-water churning around him like sharks. Opposite him, Anima glowered, a single water droplet dancing atop each of her fingers. The battle between them could be called nothing less than a dance, as the two water mages fought within the confined space of the graveyard.

Anima's magic was a thing of momentum and change—of morning dewdrops falling from lush leaves, creating ripples as they landed in the pond below. Every step she took was calculated, an ebb and flow as attack led into defense and back into attack. She turned her opponents moves against him, catching the waves crashing into her and swirling them around her body into a whirlpool of watery whips that snapped at him like the limbs of an angry octopus.

David, on the other hand, was the wrath of the sea incarnate. Precision was not something he bothered with, and instead his magic was the crashing of waves and the gales of a hurricane. He battered Anima with a monsoon's worth of seawater, forcing her back step after step with raw might alone.

Despite that, though, the battle was evenly matched. The small courtyard the graveyard sat in was too tiny for David to pull off his more powerful attacks, and what little he could muster was easily parried or redirected by the opposing water mage. Anima wasn't faring much better, though, as David's sheer power meant he could simply block what she did attack him with and weather what little he could not.

It was not so much a battle between an unstoppable force and an immovable object, but rather an immovable force and an unstoppable object.

Finally their dance hit a lull, and Anima took that moment to speak.

"What did you do with the girls?" Anima growled, her eyes like daggers as she glared at the Drowned-Man. "Answer me, damnit!"

"And how many times do I have to tell you, I have no idea what you're talking about, you crazy woman!" David lied through his teeth, adopting a wide-eyed look of innocence. He even raised his hands up, as though surrendering. "I just came to pay my respects, and then you attack me out of nowhere!?"

"Don't listen to him, lady!" Morte shouted from… wherever he was. "This man is a bonafide kidnapper! He stole me from the girl and is planning to use me in some dark necromantic ritual. Please, save me before it's too late!"

How Morte managed to sound so like a damsel in distress while being… him was almost impressive.

"I'm aware of that!" Anima scowled. "But what I really want to know is if Palmira is okay or not!"

"Will the answer to that question lead to you abandoning me? Because I think it's better for my health if I leave that up in the air for now."

"That's not comforting, you stupid staff!" Anima snapped, flinging out her arm to block a sneak attack from David. She snatched the water out of the air, plucking the salt out of it before stepping forward and snapping the remaining water at him like a crocodile.

David dodged, of course, stamping a foot on the ground to create a geyser as he did so. And with that the battle was renewed.

"Damnit," she muttered, eying the battle currently raging down the alley. She'd considered for a moment using Anima as a distraction to sneak in and grab Morte, but there with how much water they were throwing around there was no way she'd be able to stealth her way through this. "How do we stop him?"

"I have an idea," Tintinnia shoved off her hand, apparently done with being held back. "It's time I finally made good on my promise to tear him limb from bloody limb."

Palmira reached out as thought to stop her, but…

Well, if there was no way forward but through…

"I'll try and get around him and grab Morte," she stepped up beside Tintinnia. The other girl gave her a savage grin. "You keep him off me. Once I've got Morte, the three of us can beat him easily."

She wasn't actually that sure of that, but she had an idea for dealing with him once she got her staff back.

"Ready?"

Tintinnia nodded. "Of course."

"Then let's murder this fucking fish."

Tintinnia let out a savage war cry, charging into the fray and leaping over one of David's waves to the shock of both mages. Her warhammer joined in, bellowing with its master as it crashed down on the Drowned-Man, jaws closing like a vice-grip over the upper half of his body.

Of course, this did about as much damage as it had the first time, and with a blast of seawater the warhammer went flying back into the sky.

But Tintinnia had learned her lesson the first time, and the second the water came she let go of the hammer, and instead lunged forward with her bare hands.

Her right hand which punched him in the gut did next to nothing, but the left hand she shaped like a spear and stabbed him beneath his armpit, cutting deep.

David swore, blasting her away with a wave of water, but for the split second it took him to do that, he was left open.

Palmira stepped up in the space Tintinnia had just vacated, raising Malocchio high. She snarled, smoke pouring from between her teeth as she gathered all the fire she could muster, and set Malocchio alight.

'In Pain. We are burning.'

She slammed the mace into his pelvis, bending him over. Then, with a second roar she reignited the already sputtering mace, and drove it down onto his already damaged shoulder, snapping it with a loud CRACK.

'Consideration. It is not as bad the second time.'

Unfortunately, her victory was short lived, as with rage in his eyes David raised his hand, a second wave prepared—

But by this time Anima had gotten over her shock, and stepped between the two of them, redirecting the wave into a string of whips which spun around to shred the Drowned-Man, forcing him to back up lest he get turned into sushi.

"Thank the gods," Anima managed to whisper, before stepping forward and pressing the advantage, tag teaming David with a returned Tintinnia.

Palmira, on the other hand, felt winded from just that brief sputter of flame, and instead turned toward the mausoleum, where she was sure Morte laid.

She burst through the doors and down into the crypt, stumbling to a stop at the base when she realized someone had followed her down.

She spun around, brandishing Malocchio with a pounding heart as she wondered if David was moments away from drowning her again—

Oh. It was just the idiot.

Juliano stumbled to a stop behind her. "Gah! Why did you stop!?"

"You followed me!?" Palmira spluttered, lowering Malocchio. "Why!? How!?"

"My Romilda is down there!" Juliano snapped, wide-eyed and rattled. "I'm not going to let her fear for her life while that brute destroys the city above us!"

Palmira scowled, but let him continue. Even if he was an idiot, she could respect his devotion if nothing else.

Also, he'd probably die if she forced him back up.

"Fine!" she snapped. "Just stay behind me. If David follows us down then your death will let me know if he's close."

Juliano looked ill at that, but followed her regardless.

They stepped further into the crypt, past coffins piled in neat, orderly rows and unadorned urns knocked over on the floor. The smell of death permeated their noses, not quite able to overpower the saltiness of David's water. Their shoes squelched in the muddy ground as the water from above poured down, and she grimaced as she felt it seep into her shoes. It slowly got darker the further they delved, but she didn't dare light a fire—Morte had made it very clear that was a big no when underground.

And soon enough they reached the back of the crypt—it wasn't that big, really—where one final tomb sat unadorned on a waterlogged altar. The lid of the coffin had been pushed aside, revealing the skeletal remains of what looked like a massive knight underneath. He'd probably been a warrior of some renown.

Not that she cared. She more focused on Morte's staff, which had been laid against the open coffin, the stars in his eyes the only light this deep underground.

"Ah, my apprentice! You'd made it—well, not on time, really, but as fast as you could! And that's all that matters!"

"Morte!" she sagged in relief, slogging forward—only to nearly trip, as her feet hit a large lump on the ground that was nearly impossible to see in the dim light. "What?"

She looked down in confusion, and—ah.

Juliano let out a broken wail, falling to his knees with a splash.

At her feet rested a young woman around her age, with long brown hair and large doe eyes. Palmira could tell she was beautiful, even in the low light.

She could also tell she was dead. The water surrounding her was a murky reddish-brown, having poured from the gaping hole in her chest. Her eyes were open wide, the terror she must have felt in her last moments forever etched onto her face.

"Goddess…" Palmira whispered, taking a step back in horror.

"Romilda!" Juliano wailed, wading forward towards the girl's body. "My love! My rose! Oh, Romilda, why!?"

Palmira could only watch as the young man mourned his love where she lay, dead in the water.

"Hey, kid," Morte's voice snapped her out of her shock, reminding her of why she was here. "I know it's bad. But you've got bigger fish to fry. Now get over here and grab me, so we might begin frying said fish."

Palmira nodded shakily, taking a deep breath—ugh, bad idea—and marching around Romilda and Juliano to take back her staff.

She wrapped her hands around the cool mahogany, and only then, did she feel herself relax.

Thank the Goddess, but she wasn't losing anyone else.

Then she turned back around and was hit with an immediate sense of guilt, seeing Juliano mourning the girl's death.

"Romilda," he sobbed. "Romilda!"

She grimaced. What should she—would it be better to leave him here? David was still at the top, but leaving him surrounded by corpses… by her corpse… it just felt wrong.

The water around her ankles moved—wait, when had it gotten so high!?

She glanced down, and realized that with the battle still raging above, the crypt was slowly flooding. Soon enough it would reach her knees, and then higher still, until the whole crypt was underwater.

…Well, that solved her dilemma, then.

"Come on!" she tugged at his back, trying to drag him to his feet. "We need to get out of here! The water's rising, can't you tell?"

"Oh, Romilda," Juliano whispered, and with shaking hands reached into his waterlogged cloak. "Do not worry. We will be united soon. Perhaps… perhaps this was the only way, we could ever find our love."

What?

The young man pulled a pouch from his cloak and raised it high. Untying it, he tilted it back, and before her confused eyes began pouring its contents into his mouth.

Salt. He was pouring salt into his mouth.

"What are you…?" she whispered, confused.

Then, a conversation she'd had nearly a week ago—one she'd nearly forgotten about in the following chaos—replayed in her head.

With dawning horror her eyes widened. "No…" she whispered, before lunging forward and smacking the pouch from his hands. "Are you an idiot!? Don't you dare…!"

But it was too late. In the end, one grain of salt was all it took.

Juliano choked, letting out a watery chuckle. Then she saw it—so quickly, from beneath the folds of his cloak he turned to salt. First his stomach, then his chest, then his arms and legs. It didn't even spare his clothes, turning them to salt all the same.

By the time it reached his neck, he was already dead.

And so Juliano joined his lover in death, a statue of salt crying over her corpse in a flooded crypt.

"…Well. Fuck."

Palmira stared at the bodies, eyes shaking. "Why…?" she whispered, her voice wet with tears. "Why does love always lead to death…?"

"…Oh, that makes this so much worse than I thought. Uh, hey, Palmira. You, uh… you doing okay?"

Palmira felt herself breathing heavier, clenching Morte's staff tighter and tighter—

Something wet poked her cheek, and she twitched away from it. Malocchio's tail waved at her from where he'd extended it.

'Concern. Our Lady is behaving erratically.'

She let out a whimper. Then a sob. The water around her feet began to steam, and her eyes burned.

Then she took a deep breath, and sucked it all back in. The fire, the tears, everything.

Or perhaps not. Her eyes still continued to smolder, no matter how much she tried to put them out.

"…Hey, kid. Palmira. I'm not going to tell you to just get over it—in fact, I think what you're trying to do right now is the exact wrong way to go about processing this. But I have to ask—do you think you can go back up there and fight?"

"…Yes…" she rasped. "…Yes. I think that is the only thing I can do right now."

"…"

Palmira took a step forward. Then another, and another. She stepped past the recently dead, and the long since departed. She climbed back up the steps of the crypt, the slick stones of the stairs turning dry as she passed.

And then she was back on the surface, though she did not know when that happened. Back in the flooded graveyard, the two water mages still fighting in the middle of it.

Palmira's eyes fell upon David's back.

She exploded. Literally.

David had only a moment to turn around in shock before a wave of fire rammed into him.

No, not fire. She had held back so much, condensed her fire for so long, that what came out was not the plasma of fire, but something much thicker.

Lava erupted from around her, the stone walls and roads and grave markers melting and fusing with her fire as the pushed everything she had at that fucking bastard.

David was submerged under a tidal wave of lava without even the chance to scream.

That was okay. Palmira was doing enough of that for the both of them.

And after… some amount of time had passed, Palmira felt herself stop, and only a numb emptiness remained.

That, and the building-sized wall of molten rock that now sat in the middle of the graveyard.

"…Damn," Anima whistled, sounding exhausted. "I didn't know you had that in you."

"Hey!" Tintinnia pouted, pulling herself back to her feet from where she'd been flung yet again. "How am I supposed to get his heart now?"

Palmira ignored both of them, and fell to her knees, unable to stay standing any longer.

"Hey," Morte murmured in her mind soothingly. "Take all the time you need."

But of course, because nothing ever went her way, she didn't get more than a couple seconds to herself before another person burst into the graveyard.

"Who dares!?" Francoise Capparelli stormed into the graveyard, a dozen house guards hot on his heels. "Who dares cause such a ruckus so close to my home? And today, no less! Do you want to die!?"

Tintinnia gave him an odd look. "Who're you?"

"Shit," Anima muttered, before raising her arms into the air. "Hey, look, Signor Capparelli. One of the Ambrosi had tried invading your territory, so we were just fighting him off. As you can tell by… uh… that," she pointed at the small hill of cooling stone in the center of the courtyard.

"As if I'd believe that!" the portly Capparelli snapped, motioning for his guards to prepare. "You think I'm so stupid as too—"

The pile of molten rock in the center of the graveyard exploded.

Erupting from the stone on a geyser of seawater, David glared down at them with hatred. His body was mangled and his scales charred, and yet he rising above them as he was he looked as though he believed he could take everyone still in the graveyard even in his current state.

Palmira was fairly confident he could, too.

At least until a bolt of red lightning knocked him out of the sky.

"You again!?" David roared, flipping back into a landing. Perhaps he was just getting used to being attacked out of nowhere, but he looked better off then when he'd been hit by that the first time. "How did you even get here!?"

Further behind the Capparelli, at the entrance to the alleyway, Svani simply reloaded his crossbow.

And he wasn't alone.

To his left was—for some reason—Cherven, the captain of the Ambrosi's house guard. And storming past him on the right was Sinbad, who looked absolutely fucking furious.

"DAVID!" the Paladin roared, charging past the Capparelli far faster than humanly possible. "YOU'RE DEAD, DO YOU HEAR ME!?"

David, for a moment, looked like he was regretting all of his life choices. Then he moved, because Sinbad had jumped three stories into the air brandishing a blade which burned with holy energy and was coming at him very fast.

He managed to dodge the blade, but not Sinbad's free hand, which grabbed his face and dragged him back down to the earth, slamming him into the ground with the force of an angry Goddess.

"'I am the sword of the new world order,'" Sinbad snarled, quoting from the holy book. From around his hand, holy light erupted, burning the very air with its energy. David clawed at his hand, but to no avail. "'I am the soldier, in our legion of Light. For Evil shall despair, by fire and flame, we are might.'"

The light was by this point so bright it hurt to look at, and even Sinbad's hand couldn't muffle David's screams of agony.

But before Sinbad could finish him off, there was the sound of rushing water, and the seawater that had pooled in the depths of the crypt suddenly rushed forth. It exploded from the doors of the mausoleum, slamming into the paladin from the side and knocking him off David.

The Drowned-Man gasped for air, grabbing at his throat in the brief reprieve he'd gotten. Then his eyes widened, and he lunged into the swirling water, grasping for something.

Sinbad quickly recovered from the attack, and was already lunging back at David, sword brandished and mouth open wide with a battle cry on his lips.

Then David spun back towards him, a familiar bag of salt in hand.

Sinbad's battle cry might have become his doom, as the Drowned-Man tossed the remaining salt directly at his face. And almost in slow motion, the grains flew through the air, falling directly into his mouth.

Sinbad's tongue began to calcify, and—

—And without hesitation, Sinbad reached into his own mouth and ripped his tongue out, throwing the bloody appendage away.

By the time it hit the ground, it was little more than a pile of salt.

But his single moment of distraction had given David time to gather himself, and more importantly, gather enough seawater to himself to make his escape.

Sinbad's eyes widened as he realized what his old friend was doing, and he let out a close-mouthed roar. He redoubled his efforts, moving as fast as he could—!

But not fast enough.

The seawater surrounded David, completely blocking him from view. Sinbad lunged forward, stabbing into the center of the mass with enough holy energy to completely disperse the remaining water.

And he hit nothing but air.

David was gone.