Chapter 6: Chapter 5: To Be Human

“This… this is the Forgotten Tarot mother spoke of.” Elvira’s voice was a whisper, her eyes locked on the beacon of silver light piercing the sky.

“Something’s wrong,” Deimos muttered, tension creeping into his voice. She should’ve reverted back to her human form by now. Why is she still a dragon?

Before he could say more, the smoke parted.

The guards emerged—twisted, barely human. The dragon blood had warped their bodies. Clawed hands twitched and flexed. Jaws unhinged, baring grotesquely long, curved fangs that tore through their gums. From their backs, vertebrae pierced through flesh and cartilage, unfurling into crude, twitching wings.

“They drank dragon blood…” Elizabeth’s voice trembled. “They’ve turned into Newts!”

Beside her, Amelia lifted her head slowly, rage building in her eyes. Then, without a word, she shot into the air, red irises glowing with fury.

“How could you—” she snarled mid-flight, crashing down onto one of the abominations. They flailed under her weight, but Amelia was merciless. Her fingers closed around the moon crest etched into its chest plate, tearing through steel and meat like paper.

The creature shrieked—a horrible sound caught between a human’s plea and something feral.

“How could you wear this armor… and betray everything it stood for?!”

Her chipped sword flashed, cleaving the Newt’s head clean off. In the same instant, she vanished in a cloud of smoke, reappearing behind another, her punch blasting through its armor and body alike. Gore splattered across the wall behind it like ink on parchment.

“Fall into The Pit, you damned traitors!” she roared, blinking between the others still suspended midair, cutting them down one by one.

Below, Elvira watched as blood rained from the sky.

“We won the battle…” Her gaze swept over the charred remains, the lifeless bodies of innocents buried in rubble.

“...But fought on the very day we were meant to celebrate peace…”

She looked back up at Amelia, still tearing through the enemies like a storm.

She’s never used her Signature this often... or with this much rage. Elvira's hands trembled. She’s right to be angry.

But what about me? Did I do enough?

Her hands curled into fists—nails digging into flesh until blood trickled down.

I should’ve expected this. I brought too few—just a handful of mid-ranked Avatars and royal guards.

Did I put too much faith in the Sun Tarot? This is the second time a Tarot’s fought my battles for me. First Mother. Now… him.

“If… I'm going to be Dol Marne's future Queen, I can’t keep relying on others to fix my problems, otherwise…”

She glanced over to notice a mother and daughter whose lifeless bodies were buried under rubble, holding onto each other. She gritted her teeth as tears started to swell in her eyes.

Otherwise i’ll just keep doing this to myself…

A gentle hand touched her shoulder, grounding her spiraling thoughts.

“Princess Elvira?”

She turned sharply. A royal guard stood before her, soot-covered but unharmed.

“Your brother has arrived, m’lady.”

Elvira’s eyes widened.

No... No, not him. This is exactly what I feared. Mother must’ve sent him because she thought I couldn’t handle this.

From beyond the battlefield, a heavy march echoed—boots crunching gravel and soot.

Amelia landed beside Deimos with a loud thud, her chest heaving.

“Amelia…” Deimos stepped forward. “Are you alright—”

A voice rang out, loud and confident, slicing through the smoke:

“Siiiister! Are you here?”

Deimos froze.

That voice…

A flicker of memory. A boy with jet-black hair. A hound as dark as night. A battlefield.

His eyes darted to Midnight, still coiled protectively around Elvira’s armor.

The wolf’s ears perked. Its tail began to wag.

Then, with a low growl of recognition, it leapt into the air and vanished into the smoke toward the sound.

“Wooah—what the hell happened here?” the voice called out again.

“This place is a damn mess. Told mom she should’ve let me attend the festival. This never would've happened if I’d come instead.”

And then, as if summoned by Deimos’ thoughts, a figure emerged—black hair, pale skin, even his outfit was the same black threaded robe with golden accents.

Deimos breathed, heart pounding. The face was foggy in his memory, but the feeling was undeniable, whoever this was, he most certainly knew them somehow.

Amelia’s head snapped up. Her eyes went wide.

“Prince Remus? What are you doing here?”

Deimos stared, stunned.

“Prince… Remus?” he echoed, stunned as the prince walked toward his sister, Midnight resting in his arms.

“What… are you doing here?” Elvira asked, narrowing her eyes.

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“Just came to help out my big sis, is all,” Remus replied with a half-smile, his golden eyes sweeping across the battlefield. Around him, his guards spread out—some dragging rubble aside in search of survivors, others lifting Elizabeth to her feet and guiding her to safety.

“Though... looks like I was too late.” His voice dropped, the amusement fading.

“So… mother didn’t send you?”

“Oh, she absolutely did. And I’m pretty sure you knew that,” he said, scratching behind Midnight’s ears.

“Considering you stole my precious hound and used him to teleport here. Meanwhile, we had to use the carriages the whole way here.”

Elvira glanced away, guilt flashing in her eyes. “I didn’t want to waste time. People were dying.”

“Sure. I get it,” Remus said with a shrug.

“Midnight should’ve been more than enough to deal with that beast anyway. So at first, I stayed back. Figured you had it under control.”

Then his gaze shifted—straight to Deimos.

Their eyes met: silver to gold.

“But imagine my surprise when I heard the fabled Tarot of the Sun showed up and started fighting the monster by himself.” Remus stepped forward slowly, each bootstep against the cracked concrete loud in the silence. Too loud.

Every step hit Deimos like a drumbeat inside his skull.

I know him. From the last time I was awake.

A pressure coiled in his chest—tight, foreign. His throat felt dry.

But this feeling… I’ve never felt it before. What is this?

Fear?

Stress?

Anxiety?

...Or is it anger?

A flicker of pink shimmered in Deimos’ eyes. A single vein, glowing faintly with pink light, pulsed along his neck. Somewhere deep inside his mind, a soft, musical laugh echoed like wind chimes in a storm.

Eirene? he thought. Was that you?

You… asked me to feel these emotions so I understood what it meant to be human, but why am I feeling things I can't explain towards someone I’ve just met, or I think I have?

Then a second voice slithered into his thoughts—darker, velvety, mocking.

“Poor little fawn…” Eris cooed.

“What you’re feeling is betrayal. That sharp little twist in your chest is what it's like to be stabbed in the back… by someone you trusted. Delicious, isn’t it?”

Deimos blinked, breath caught in his throat.

Remus kept walking.

I… don’t think I like it, Deimos thought.

“Thats expected, nobody enjoys pain, especially one you can't seem to forget,”

She giggled as the vein on his neck began to glow brighter. Deimos’ eyes flickered pink, as if trapped in a trance. His grip tightened around the hilt of his lance as Remus closed in. The seed had burrowed deep into his core.

"But the only way to rid yourself of such pain... is to kill it," Eris whispered, her voice dripping with malice, as Deimos' eyes gleamed a bright magenta.

“It’s an honor to stand face to face with a legend like you!” Remus said, casually kicking aside the dragon's intestines to step closer to Deimos.

“Though I'm curious, what’s the reason you were forgotten? Did Lirael abandon you?” he asked, his smile naïve, but to Deimos, that smile carried a weight that made his muscles tense.

“Pain will only hinder you,” Eris purred. “It will distract you—how will you save the princess then?”

Amelia caught sight of the confrontation and rushed forward, positioning herself in front of Remus just as Deimos lunged. His lance shot forward, aiming straight for Remus, but Amelia intercepted, her sword shattering on contact with the sheer force of the blow.

The impact sent her flying backward into Remus’ arms. His boots dug into the ground as he slid back, catching her.

"Ah," Remus sighed. "Now I see why... How disappointing."

Elvira stood frozen, eyes wide in shock, while the guards froze, spears raised.

“He... He must have drunk dragon blood?” Elvira stammered, trying to make sense of his sudden outrage.

Deimos blurred into motion again, his lance reacting violently to the corrupted Arkhaios energy swirling within him. In a flash, Remus raised his hand, and chains wrapped around Deimos, suspending him mid-air. The chains tightened, dragging him to his knees. His lance fell to the ground as he thrashed violently, desperately trying to break free.

The royal guards formed a circle around him, spears pointed, ready to strike. But Elvira shouted.

"Wait! Don’t kill him!"

Amelia blinked, rising to her feet, confused. "But Princess, the Sun Tarot attacked royal blood. That’s punishable by death."

Remus shook his head, his expression calm. "No, my sister's right. He may be jaded, but even a lost Tarot is still a Tarot. This one was forgotten for a reason. He's misguided—he needs to remember his purpose in serving humanity."

Remus smiled at Deimos, whose eyes met his, narrowed with fury.

"Arrest him. Bring him to the castle's holding cells. We’ll consult the Queen on this matter," Remus said, glancing at Amelia before turning to walk toward his sister.

Amelia hesitated, then gave a sharp command. “You heard him. Make sure he’s chained, and load him onto the carriage."

She approached Deimos, now in a dissociative state, the same hollow look she’d seen in him back at the hospital.

"I’m sorry, Deimos. I didn’t know it would come to this. I wish it hadn’t," she murmured softly.

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"This... can’t be right," Elvira whispered, eyes wide with confusion. "Why would he attack you?"

"I'm not sure," Remus replied, his tone steady. "But in any case, he's unstable. I’m taking you home, so you don’t get hurt."

Midnight, rose in readiness, ready to teleport them.

"Why does Mother insist on having you protect me? That’s what I have Amelia for!"

"Amelia’s not your personal lapdog. She’s a general in the Dol Marne army. If you weren’t so busy keeping her on a leash, she might’ve figured out something was wrong and prevented all this."

Elvira fell silent, stung by his words.

“Let’s go,” Remus said. A wall of shadow enveloped them, and they vanished from sight.

Meanwhile, the shadow chains binding Deimos dissolved, replaced by cold black steel. Many guards remained on the field. Inspecting the dragon remains and looking for survivors.

While the royal guards began marching toward the entrance of Hawthorn, where a convoy of intricately designed carriages waited.

Deimos was loaded onto the second-largest carriage at the front of the procession.

Amelia sat beside him, watching as the rest of the guards climbed aboard. The carriage set off, its wheels creaking as it made its way back to Dol Marne’s royal castle.

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Back at Hawthorn Square, guards surrounded the dragon’s corpse, collecting samples and inspecting the remains.

“Was that really the Sun Tarot?” one guard asked.

“Yeah, that’s what they’re saying. It’s insane. My mom used to tell me stories about him when I was a kid. Seeing him right in front of me like that was unreal,” another said, picking up a loose scale. “But what the hell was wrong with him?”

“No idea. Attacking the Prince of Dol Marne? That’s suicide. Hey but at least he killed the dragon—made our job easier,” a third added, staring into the dragon’s glazed eyes.

Then a black substance oozed from the creature’s eye socket, thick and slow like a tear. He leaned in to take a closer look, reaching out with a vial. However, the moment he got close, the liquid shot out at him.

He screamed. The others turned just in time to see the black mass burn through his armor like acid, turning his veins dark and ink-like.

“Shit,” the first guard muttered, running to help. The downed man writhed on the ground, vomiting blood, then suddenly went still—lifeless.

Before they could react, the infected guard snapped upright and lunged at him, slamming into him and clawing at his chestplate. His fingers snapped from the force, but he didn’t stop. He gurgled, then spat the black sludge directly onto the other’s face. It melted through the helmet and touched skin.

That guard started convulsing.

“What the fuck is going on?” another yelled, driving a blade into the first infected’s chest. The strike killed it instantly, but his blood—now pitch black—exploded from the wound and splattered across the others.

Armor and flesh melted on contact. Screams followed.

Above them, the horned woman stood on a rooftop, hooded, her face hidden. A grin tugged at her lips as she watched the panic below. Then, without a sound, she vanished in a cloud of smoke.