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To break a man is easy. One only needs the time and the will. Fixing a broken man... now that is another thing entirely.

-Damien Malcus

They ran for hours, stopping only to lay false trails and fight through what few guards thought to stop them. For the most part, the citizens of the Deadmount were too busy gawking at the burning wreckage of the Citadel to intervene. It was odd, watching as the destruction of the greatest symbol of earthy evil brought about fear and sorrow rather than joy.

In the end, they were forced to stop as the effort of running began to weigh on them and the walls of the Deadmount seemed no closer for the hours of running. They did, however, get far enough from the citadel that the habitations surrounding it had thinned, and they were surrounded only by the ruined Shoggoth dwellings. Out here there was only the stench of refuse and old death, with the cold of ancient winter clinging fervently against the embrace of their fire.

They had found shelter in a three story dwelling, setting up camp in the debris where the roof had caved in, taking with it much of the second floor. They kept the fire on the bottom floor so its light would be obscured by the buildings around them while Kath had climbed past the ruined second floor to stand watch in a window of the third.

She rubbed her arms slowly in an effort to inspire warmth's return to little avail, and looked outward into the ancient city beyond. She was in the uncomfortable situation of being able to hear their conversation, all the while too far away to converse with them without shouting, something neither the situation merited nor did she desire to.

"Why did Morgana respond so violently to seeing you?" she heard the dragon say, a quick glance showing the warrior in the midst of tending to a wound.

"She sent Albion to kill me once," the crow responded quietly, moving to help the dragon with his bandaging, "Nearly succeeded at that. I doubt even she expected to see me again."

"Can't see why she'd be a threat to you, after seeing what you did back there."

"She got the jump on me, and she's craftier than she looks," the ebony feathered man said, pinching together Varg's flesh to seal a wound, bluish light sealing it in a matter of seconds, healing it a measure of a couple days in an instant, "But you're correct, in a straight fight I'd easily beat her out."

The massive dragon moved his wounded arm back and forth, checking the mobility and dexterity of it before nodding, content. The two below her were silent for a moment as the dragon watched Aric removing his shattered and blackened armour to stand in nothing more than his breeches.

"How'd you manage to do that with the lightening?" he asked after a moment, "I've never heard of something like that."

The crow smiled slyly, a wolfish spark in his eyes, "It's simple enough in theory, but enormously dangerous in practice."

He stood and outstretched his left arm as he had done in the citadel's chamber, drawing a line on his inner arm with a clawed finger.

"The technique only works with electricity, but the idea is to use your body as a conductor, and disperse it into something else, either your flesh or your own spell."

"How would that prevent you from coming to harm though?" the dragon asked, "you're still taking the energy into your body."

"That's why it's dangerous," the crow nodded, "you have to disperse it carefully and keep it away from your brain, heart and spine, otherwise it will fry your nerves and stop your heart. There was too much energy to contain without vaporizing myself, so I sent some of it into my armour."

"Impressive, especially for a student who never completed his terms at the university."

"You've seen my library, Varg," Aric responded, "I never stopped learning about magic."

"Still," the large beast said, leaning back against the crumbling masonry, "it was an impressive display."

The city of the dead fell silent once more, the trio staring into the dark in quiet introspection, broken only after what seemed an eternity in grave silence.

"You remind me a bit of him," Aric said finally, staring at the larger man.

"Who?"

"Damien," the crow answered, ignoring the roll of eyes and scoff that the dragon responded with.

"He was intelligent, fiercely loyal to his friends, charismatic, brave," the crow said, "but even when he was at the head of his generation in terms of magical skill, he was never above a joke, and astoundingly humble."

"I'm still not sure whether or not you're insulting me," Varg said, closing his eyes as he folded his arms behind his head.

"You should consider it for what it is. Great praise."

"Forgive me if I don't find it all that flattering to be compared to a mass-murdering necromancer."

"He did those things, true, but that's not what was in his heart," the crow said, his voice echoing with a sorrow she had scarcely the capacity to comprehend, "It wasn't who he really was."

"And you would know that, would you?" the dragon said, though his words didn't have the same edge he had worn earlier. He had heard the shift of tone in Aric's words too.

"I've never had many friends," the slim, dark figure said, Kath struggling to hear his words over the distance as he lowered his voice to a whisper, "Damien was the first. To hear the Archmages speak of him, his 'friends' were merely disciples he had not yet managed to turn. I knew him for a long, long time. He wasn't the type to manipulate people. He spoke his opinion with conviction and people heard it. To listen to him speak, one could barely conceive there was another side to be argued."

"That doesn't disprove the mind control theory," Varg responded.

"There was no magic to it. No dark secrets, and no demons whispering in our ears," Aric said, "It was just him. And that was enough."

"So why didn't you follow him?"

"I thought about it," the crow said quietly, "I came damn close to crossing the river to join them after they defeated the garrison."

"But you didn't."

"No. No, I didn't. I went to his home, and watched his baby sister grow into a young woman while her brother was hunted to the ends of the earth."

The silence that followed his words was deafening. The gloom of the dead city pressed upon them in the absence of conversation, dimming the fire and seeping away its warmth.

"I abandoned him."

That one sentence was spoken so softly it only just carried to where Kath was perched, but with it a sliver of cold struck the world and she couldn't help but buckle under their weight, shivering uncontrollably in the low light of the cavernous night.

"At the point when he needed a true friend the most, when the voice of reason was most heartily warranted, I left him."

"His fate was sealed the moment he called that wraith," the dragon said, "you could no more helped him than you could stem the tides."

Aric either didn't hear him, or paid him no mind, his face bunching into a snarl more vicious than any he had exhibited in the battle at the citadel or on the walls of Tsal. Here was the fury that burned brighter than any flame, with its sights set on one woman.

"When that... bitch... th-that charlatan whore killed him," he fumed, grasping a fallen flagstone in his clawed hand, shattering it with unconscious ease, "I nearly fled Kadak, charged up the citadel and ripped the place apart with my bare hands. Today was more satisfying than you could possibly believe."

The massive form of the ruby-scaled dragon shifted to sit closer to the mage, placing an arm on the smaller figure's, calming him immeasurably. Slowly, Aric regained his composure, the uncharacteristic rage settling as he resumed his calm demeanour, but the fury in his eyes still smouldered, inches from the surface.

"Today felt good," the crow whispered, the disturbing lack of emotion in his voice all the more terrifying than his rage, "only one day will be better."

The mage stood without warning, moving into the darkness besides the fire, the sound of his wings breaking the hollow din of nothingness. Kath started in surprise when the man landed upon her perch beside her. His expression softening slightly as he saw her wide eyes peering at him through the darkness.

"Go down and get some sleep," he said softly, "I don't think I'll be able to rest tonight anyways."

She obeyed, passing off her water-skin before descending her makeshift ladder of rubble, only once peering back up to the figure who had replaced her. Aric's expression was distant as he peered through the inky night of the Deadmount, with only the burning light of his amber eyes to betray his presence.