Keep Me Alive

'How many Deus Ex Machinas are going to show up to save you?' Kravoss asked jokingly.

'if I'm lucky, enough to keep me alive,' Fate replied.

Terry seemed content to stare dolefully at his son, but that didn't stop the fourteen Guards of various Stages from appearing either through Skills or enchanted items and surrounding the trio of Grendevens.

The first Guard wiped the blood from his lips as he joined the encirclement, not saying another word. One of the Guards present was an Arch-Mage, and thus his superior. It was this Arch-Mage that spoke.

"Arch-Mage Terry Grendeven, your wife is under arrest for kidnapping, resisting arrest, assaulting an officer of the Empress, and torture. Step aside."

The world seemed to quiet at the sound of her voice, not because it was soothing – on the contrary, it was gruff and somewhat masculine, a voice of authority – but because of the Sub Stage she had reached as an Arch-Mage.

The world itself held its breath when she spoke, and heeded her words.

Terry said nothing for quite a while. Just as the Guard made to speak, angry at being ignored, Terry spoke.

While the female Guard could be considered a beginner in the realm of Arch-Mages, Terry was firmly in the middle of the Stage. When she spoke, the surroundings hushed. But when Terry spoke…

The city vibrated from the force.

His words were softly spoken, reserved and polite, but each sentence hammered away at their minds, reverberating and echoing again and again.

This resonance informed the listeners that while such emotions as sorrow and bitterness weren't heard in the tone of his voice, he was very much feeling these emotions.

They knew, because his words instilled in them a deep, profound sense of disappointment that made them feel like it was their own wives that had stabbed them in the back just now, their own family that had betrayed what they thought was a sacred marriage.

"A shame that such a foul deed was brought to light by the hands of an outsider," he said. "That my wife would do such things to my children, that a stranger had to lift his hand against a superior foe to save my son."

His green eyes left his son, landing on his wife. Fate had walked over by now and stood behind the circle of Guards, so he could see in full detail what was within those emerald eyes.

Indifference.

Not hatred, anger, or even disappointment. Just plain, unshakeable indifference, as if he was looking at a stranger instead of his wife.

That seemed to hurt Helga far more than any words ever could, her mind running at accelerated speeds as she struggled to find the words.

"I—I did it for you, Terry. For us. All the time we've put into him, and he wanted to abandon us without even a goodbye! He tore my heart out, and I didn't want him to do so to you as well—!"

"Then you've failed," Arch-Mage Grendeven said quietly. His words reinforced the sheer indifference he now felt toward this woman, the angry gazes of some Guards likewise easing into faint aloofness as his voice influenced their minds. "Because my heart is already bleeding."

"But Terry–."

The Arch-Mage turned away without another glance, giving the lead Guard a nod.

The Guard returned the nod and made a circular motion with her arm. The fifteen Guards, including the first to arrive, tightened their circle around Helga as a telekinetic blow from Terry knocked her unconscious.

Two Master's picked her up, one by the legs and another by the shoulders, and they escorted the woman off the property without another word.

"Follow me, young man," Terry said after a moment of silence, gently picking up Venden with his Mage Reach and floating him into the house.

Unlike before, his words carried no more weight behind them than his own status; the plain, emotionless words of a man who hadn't just watched their wife be taken away by law enforcement. But though his words were monotone, his eyes were deep wells of regret.

That enigmatic resonance that followed each sentence had vanished, leaving a tired, middle-aged man who just wanted to help his son in its stead.

Fate wasn't stupid enough to ignore the order of an Arch-Mage, and followed the man into the estate.

After a few twists and turns, Terry brought them to the resident healer in a small medical room consisting of a table, chair, and a small drawer with various tools inside.

The healer froze up like a deer in headlights when he saw Venden and the patriarch.

"M-Master Grendeven!" the man exclaimed. "What happened to young Venden?"

"You should know," growled Venden as his father set him down. "You're the only reason I had to suffer through that as long as I did."

Seeing that the jig was up, the healer straightened and met Venden's gaze with a hard look. "Hate me if you want, I was just doing my duty. I only had to keep you alive for another twenty-four hours before the Empress' Guards had stopped their surveillance and stormed the estate for you."

"Just heal my son," Terry commanded.

The healer jumped in fright, seemingly haven forgotten that the powerful man was there. "Ah, yes, sir. Right away, sir! Venden, lay on the table."

With help from the servant, Venden lay on the table, grunting as the cold metal pressed against some of his open wounds.

The healer rubbed his hands with a focused look, the two appendages turning from pink to a soft green. Letting out a breath, he placed his hands on the biggest wound, a fist-sized hole in Venden's torso, and closed his eyes.

Venden arched his back in pain and grimaced as the injury stitched itself back together, flesh forming from thin air and filling in the gaps.

Fate and Terry watched in silence as the healer did his work, the former keeping a close eye on the man to ensure there was no funny business.

He wasn't a fool. He knew the healer was complicit in his son's torture. But unlike with his wife, he was open to giving the healer a second chance.

After all, he was just doing his job.