[WP] Exact your revenge.

...

With a sound of metal screaming in a grind of sparks, Rodrick's sword lifted from the groove it had carved in the floor beneath it to begin its advance along side him. He had watched this farce long enough, far past the point which he should have been spurred to action- and now the results shown in front of him far beyond his wildest expectations.

The room was filled with stunned faces, some still coated in the blood of the unluckiest members of their group within the tower. Rodrick had witnessed three in this session alone meet their demise- and the day was just begun: There was a high chance for at least two more following along in that fate. As he passed the first of them, what little emotion left within him found humor in their fear. Robes and cloaks tripped and fell with panicked and scrambling feet to move aside.

Cowardice aside, that was very wise of them. His sword had done away with many in the past too foolish to recognize its right of way.

As all present in the room stared gaped in awe and horror, Rodrick stepped forward with finality, massive blade lifted to rest its massive weight upon armored his shoulder as he stared down at the single Mage in the room's center. Below his gaze sat a man who should be dead, sitting quietly in traditional garb of no special bearing. A black robe and a shaved head just barely prickling back to growth, face of dumbfounded expression that seemed unable to grasp that the chest beneath it still beat with life.

By all rights, these things were justified. Rodrick knew full well that the Mage should have been dead, and yet...

Rodrick stared at the portal, looking into the plane of another existence. Beyond it lay a world mostly lacking of Magics. Another place where perhaps the laws of its reality might prevent even an Unstoppable, Immortal Mage of the Dark arts from finding themselves capable of instantly returning. A place that might strip them of their gifts and leave nothing but a mortal man in their place.

So much as Rodrick doubted against the tiny flicker of hope that such passage would be enough to put and end to this miserable existence, there was still a chance: Here and now, there was a greater chance than Rodrick had ever known in all his service.

Casually, Rodrick let the massive sword resting on his armored shoulder fall, whistle of its cut through the air halting in an instant beside the man's neck- and waiting. There it held, still as if clamped to iron bands of perfect tension.

"Can the Portal be closed?" His question rolled out like damp fog of a dark valley, cold and oppressive. Beside them, Rodrick could see the ancient Spheres of Chaos spinning on unseen axis, odd contortions of space and vision churning like curdled milk as flickers of unfamiliar passed along their perfect polished edges. "Answer me, Mage."

"But you... You're-" The Mage stuttered, staring back between the sword, the portal, and the dark glow beneath Rodrick's blackened helm. "He's your master- isn't he?"

"ANSWER ME." The shout brought the youth's jaws to clench shut, whatever words planned brought to quick and ruthless silence. "Answer me, now."

"N-no-"

"No?" Rodrick pressed the sword closer, tainted edge the only part of the metal that still showed a faint hint of life and glory. A drop of red cascaded down along the silver line. "Explain."

"He's right, we can't." Another voice joined into the conversation, Rodrick turned to set his gaze upon another mage as they pulled back their hood to reveal themselves. "The portal will remain open unless we can break the spheres, and none of us are capable of that. The Dark Lord was the only one who understood those magics."

The young woman that hood revealed stared at him with wild blue eyes, hands lowered as if she might consider casting in his direction- attentive on the sword. If Rodrick could still smile from beneath his helm of blackened coal and filth, in that instant he might have shone teeth. He'd seen them both, after all. They had worked together, these two.

First the mage beside his sword, then the girl with her lightning. Rodrick had expected them to fail, been slow to act considering how little concern Gillian had shown for their attempts to resist. Yet, somehow they had succeeded in avoiding a more immediate death. Rodrick considered that for a moment, recognizing their act for what it was: A distant memory of another life before death.

"We all hated the Dark Lord, just as much as I know you do." The Witch continued, pressing him with grappled words. "I know you wished him dead as well. Please let Eron go, we'll obey you in his place. We'll be loyal, I swear it."

Love... in a horrid place like this, it seemed beyond foolish that such a thing could even come to pass.

"So the Portal can not be closed." He turned to stare at its strange brilliance, skies of blue and buildings of glass piercing like jagged teeth in the distance beyond its veil. There was no sign of his Lord's return, not yet: But as long as Rodrick persisted to remain in the mortal realm, he knew that the Dark Mage still lived.

While that man still lived, no tragedy was impossible.

"Please let Eron go." The witch seemed uncertain of which route to take, finally settling on the tried and proven method of grovelling on one's knees, bowing low. "Please. Anything you ask, we'll give it." She begged, tears already forming on the ground beneath her.

In a distant part of Rodrick's mind, he felt it strange how genuine that emotion was. Where all he felt was hatred and fog, there were still those who had a portion of their humanity left to them. Along the edges of the room, Rodrick heard the great door creak open, drawing his attention to the source.

An uncertain face peeked around its edge, practiced eyes peering for immediate dangers before entering.

"Young Julius." Rodrick's voice rang out like the steel in his hand, raising the sword once more to rest on his plated shoulder so that it no longer sat along the man's neck. The ragged sigh of relief from the Mage beneath him was notably audible. "Your timing is impeccable."

Stepping inside to receive Rodrick's greeting, the cleaner bowed with mop, rags, and buckets in hand. The nervous expression upon the boy's face was fitting for the circumstances, especially considering the cleaner had just walked into the Western Continent's closest equivalent to a successful assassination attempt in the last 3,000 some-odd years.

"Yes Sir Rodrick. Thank you Sir Rodrick!" The youth's reply came with numerous further bows, a panicked tone and a dropped mop as well, before coming to his senses. "Just the usual post-sphere session clean up sir?" He shifted the wooden instrument in the general direction of the corpses already scattered along the floor, and the blood stains along the walls.

This particular session had been eventful even before the Dark lord was thrown out of their present reality.

"No Julius, not precisely..." The words seemed unfamiliar coming from his own throat, not their pronunciation, but certainly their purpose. Rodrick didn't even know how long it had been since. "Are there still corpses left from the previous sessions?"

"Corpses?" The cleaner's expression looked increasingly uncertain. "There are plenty of corpses, always-"

"Good. Instruct the servants to fetch me two."

"Two corpses?" The Cleaner almost dropped his mop again, eyes darting to the others present in the room. "But why?"

A sound rumbled out among the hall, only after a moment did Rodrick realize it was his own voice. Laughter, true laughter after all these painful years. All the years that Gillian had tortured him, Rodrick could hardly recognize the noise: So hollow, the tones sounded as if his armor itself was the one laughing, all but empty of the being inside.

Purposefully, chest plates heaving all the while, Rodrick reached down as his gauntlet covered hand felt cloak and robes before throwing the Mage that had rested at his feet across the room. His body landing with a shout of pain by his grovelling companion, her sobs ceasing as she wrapped her arms around his injured form protectively.

"Bring these Mages with you, Julius." Rodrick paused in murky thought as he watched them rise, unsteady. Shifting his sword slightly, his tone turned once more. "And send another cleaner back in your stead, still with the pair of corpses. Make certain all those are of near likeness." The sword slowly settled its point once more into the stone floor with a ruthless crunch. "Close as possible."

"Another cleaner? Likeness?" Julius stared at the Black Knight with horror, realization quickly setting in. "Oh gods have mercy..."

"Do as I command." The Knight said solemnly, "Go now."

The cleaner obeyed, followed by the rough limping duo behind him as the door soon closed. Rodrick left his sword what it stood, humor forgotten as he turned to stare at the strange portal; charcoal black armor drinking in the light that poured from its peculiar glow.