Probation 4

You know there ain't no rest for the wicked

Money don't grow on trees

We got bills to pay

We got mouths to feed

There ain't nothing in this world for free

I know we can't slow down

We can't hold back, though you know, we wish we could

Oh no, there ain't no rest for the wicked

Until we close our eyes for good

********

"Blergh."

The sound of vomiting filled the night air, overwhelming any noise of insects or night birds.

Taskmaster didn't miss a beat as he cleaned his weapons. Both spears had been covered in blood, fat, and viscera after their most recent run-in with the wildlife of the Elden Lord's island.

Whoever thought it was a good idea to crossbreed a frog with a manta ray needed to be shot. In the head. Twice.

"Blargh," Gavel vomited again.

The massive man couldn't keep this meal down either.

Taskmaster was glad he was vomiting downstream this time and had the sense to follow the stream a ways away from their camp. The water would wash away most of the stink in a few minutes.

"Ack, ack, cough, bleurgh."

Based on experience from the last few days, Gavel would vomit for another five minutes before stopping.

The coughing wouldn't stop.

"He's dying," Deathstroke said quietly.

Taskmaster nodded, not denying the words or the implications.

The question was, should they leave him behind?

"We're going too slow," his fellow mercenary continued. "We should have been at the ocean yesterday. If we keep stopping for him, we'll waste more time."

"He's still useful," Taskmaster said. "More so now than before."

Deathstroke reluctantly nodded.

By now, they were all familiar with each other's abilities, and Gavel's unique invincibility was no exception. It capped the amount of damage he could receive at any point.

Since getting sick, the former vigilante had not gotten so much as a scratch.

On the outside.

Who knew what his insides looked like when he spent hours a day vomiting his stomach contents.

"If he gets worse, we leave him."

"What is the rush?" Taskmaster asked. "We were lucky to find the Russians. We still have weeks before we use up the portal, even if we assume the last few are traps."

"A bad feeling." Deathstroke looked to the night sky, visible above the canopy of their resting place for the night.

Two moons glinted down at them.

The larger one was dark blue and covered in concentric circles of golden runes.

The other was much smaller, overshadowed by its blue counterpart. The typical pale moon of earth hung in the sky as it had for billions of years.

It was the latter and smaller of the pair that Slade Wilson was glaring at.

"We are running out of time," Deathstroke insisted. "I don't know why, but our deadline has been shifted. Something is different with this island now. Something in the air."

"Magic?" Taskmaster asked, looking around warily.

"No," the other man shook his head. "Just a feeling. Instinct."

Taskmaster's hands tightened on his spears. Newbies who trusted 'gut feelings' died. Vetrans' instincts, honed after years of survival and bloodshed, were more trustworthy than any mission briefing.

If the greatest mercenary in the world said his instincts were telling him something, you better be prepared to listen.

"We'll reach the ocean tomorrow morning. We'll reach the ship in three days if we keep the pace. We may need to fight them. Gavel will be useful."

Deathstroke didn't respond, staring at the rising moon in contemplative silence.

Taskmaster wouldn't be the one to say it, but the squad had been lucky. Despite losing Hookwolf on the first day, they had spent almost two weeks on the island without further losses. It hadn't been easy, but they had all survived everything the island threw at them.

Once they got the bombs out of their necks, Spiral would teleport them back to the ship, and they'd face whatever was on the other side. The more members of their team that survived till then, the better their chances of escape.

Barring Spiral herself, who'd be useless on the other side, Gavel was the single most useful member of the team. He'd be the one they'd send in first. Losing him would be a significant hit to any escape attempt.

They just had to hope he'd last that long.

More concerning was whatever the island threw at them next.

Today alone, they had run across no less than three different kinds of boar, and all tried to kill them. Then they had been unlucky enough to enter a ravine where a pair of cyclopedia... things lived.

Taskmaster didn't know what they were, only that they had one eye, yellow tusks, were twice as tall as Gavel and four times as wide, and their hide was tough enough that neither his spears nor Deathstroke's sword did any damage.

They looked like a demented cross between a cyclops and a hippopotamus, with a rhino horn because why the hell not.

Killer Frost was almost killed when one barrelled through her ice and grabbed her. Only Gavel's close proximity saved her from having her head bitten off.

The squad could not keep counting on luck if they wanted to survive.

One slip up, and someone would die.

The tension and the sense of unease were wearing on everyone's nerves. Sleep was hard to come by when you woke at the slightest sound.

Even now, Taskmaster had to decide whether Deathstroke's 'feeling' was due to a long experience in dangerous situations or a paranoia born from having no sense of peace for weeks.

Even the most incredible men in the world made mistakes when they went without rest for so long. He would know.

Taskmaster rubbed his eyes tiredly.

"Where's the mute," Killer Frost asked as she joined the pair around the warm embers of the fire. Gavel walked behind her with a pallid look as he climbed the little outcropping that led to the shallow cave.

"Sent her off for this week's delivery," Deathstroke said plainly, not taking his eyes off the pale moon. "Something boring and uninteresting. I want them guessing."

"Anything would be boring after crystal lizards that eat metal and fire-breathing insects with six legs and four arms," Gavel snorted. Then he started coughing again. Killer Frost gently touched his arm as he covered his mouth. Gavel didn't react, but he did manage to get his breathing under control. "What is she sending through?"

"Some of the boars we ran into," Taskmaster answered. He didn't care if the pair were fucking, hated each other, or had a whirlwind romance. So long as they were useful, he'd keep them around.

If they weren't...

"Which ones?" Killer Frost asked with sardonic humour in her voice. "The small and violent ones? The big and violent ones? Or the fucking big and violent ones?"

"All boars are violent," Taskmaster sighed. "Not just those on this island. We just told her to grab a few and shove them through. Compared to everything else, a few pigs with no special abilities will not be what they seek. They'll be eager for the next delivery. Won't blow us up in the meantime."

"And the next delivery is my fist to their groin," Frost smirked, punching a fist into her palm.

"Idealy," Taskmaster nodded but didn't say anything more.

"Anyway," Frost continued. "I call dibs on the first watch."

"I'll, ack, take second, cough. Cough cough."

"I'll take last then," Taskmaster rolled his eyes as he stood up. God save him from horny idiots. Gavel was clearly sick, and they were still going at it? Morons. "Once Spiral is back, have her set up inside the cave. Otherwise, she'll jus-"

"Something's there!"

Deathstroke's interruption was not loud, barely a whisper, but they all heard it clearly.

In less than a second, his spears were in his hands. Killer Frost and Gavel were back to back and watching the night as they shuffled toward where the man's massive hammer lay. This was not the first time their 'camp' was invaded by some nocturnal creature.

Taskmaster bit back a groan. They'd have to find a new place to set up after this. The blood of whatever was here would attract more predators.

Sleep was still far off.

They heard them before they saw them.

Clack.

The clacking, shuffling, and grinding of bones against one another were initially quiet as the first things shuffled out of the forest on bone-thin legs.

Clack, crack.

Then ten more followed the first. Each was a dark shadow in the night, their thin bodies only slightly illuminated by the moons' light.

Clack, crack, clack, crack.

Behind those ten were fifty more.

Clack, crack, clack, crack, clack, crack, clack, crack.

Skeletons.

Clack, crack, clack, crack, clack, crack, clack, crack, clack, crack, clack, crack, clack, crack, clack, crack.

Hundreds of them exited the forest in lockstep, shambling their way toward the mouth of the small cave the group had chosen as their resting place for the night. The squad watched them, despair setting in as more emerged from the trees' cover.

Clack, crack, clack, crack, clack, crack, clack, crack, clack, crack, clack, crack, clack, crack, clack, crack, clack, crack, clack, crack, clack, crack, clack, crack, clack, crack, clack, crack, clack, crack, clack, crack.

They weren't human.

There were too few ribs, each shaped like a dragon's fang. The bones were too sharp. Instead of skulls, the spine was connected to jaws filled with razor-sharp teeth. Teeth that clacked, ground, and chomped at the air as if hungering for the flesh of the living.

Clackcrackclackcrackclackcrackclackcrackclackcrackclackcrackclackcrackclackcracclackcrackclackcrackclackcrackclackcrackclackcrackclackcrackclackcrackclackcrackclackcrackclackcrackclackcrackclackcrackclackcrackclackcrackclackcrackclackcrack.

"What the fuck?" Killer Frost asked in a horrified whisper.

Hundreds of undead were filling the space between the cliff and the forest, drawing closer to their camp. They were all armed with bone weapons. Swords. Spears. Daggers. Bows.

"Wall!" Deathstroke ordered sharply, stepping back into the shallow cave.

The ice was almost too late.

Crack!

Taskmaster stared, wide-eyed at the bone arrow inches from his face.

His spears were raised to block it. Even if he succeeded, he would have been riddled with holes from the dozens of other bone missiles.

More arrows were hitting the ice, wedging themselves in deeply even as Killer Frost made the wall thicker and thicker.

"We need to break through," Deathstroke said quickly. "We're surrounded."

"How?" The cryokinetic asked, a note of hysteria in her voice. "I don't know if you noticed the fucking army of fucked up skeletons outside!"

"We can't, erghem, wait here," Gavel said with a slight cough, laying a hand on the woman's shoulder to calm her. Killer Frost's wide eyes stared up at the man for a second before taking a deep breath and nodding. "They came from, ack. From the forest."

"They are not natural," Taskmaster realized. "We would have heard them coming sooner. Like that ghost snail a few days ago. We kill whatever is summoning them, and they'll disappear."

"We'll follow you," Deathstroke nodded at the Australian vigilante. "Once we're in the middle of them, the archers will lose line of sight. Frost, you're on defence. We'll cover you."

"What, cough, about the daft bint?"

"She'll be back any minute. Either we've killed the summoner by then, she helps, or she shows up in the middle of them, and she's a distraction. Keep an eye out for her, but our priority is exiting the encirclement."

The Suicide sharded a determined nod.

With a deep breath to calm herself once more, Killer Frost destroyed the ice wall by exploding it outwards.

Dozens of warriors tumbled away as shards of ice, feet thick, blasted them to pieces.

Gavel was right behind, smashing a skeleton warrior with a bone sword like he was hitting a golf ball. He extended his invulnerability to his hammer and, through it, to the skeleton.

Like a bowling ball, the undead warrior crashed with a disastrous force, knocking its compatriots back and clearing a hole in the line Gavel charged through. Killer Frost was at his back, already freezing a dozen arrows out of the air.

Within seconds, the hole in the lines of the undead was filled with more clacking, biting, and crushing foes.

The nearest skeleton tried to smash its bone blade through Taskmaster's skull. He blocked, staggering slightly from the unexpected strength of the undead, but managed to hold it off with one of his spears. The other severed its spine.

Gavel's hammer swung in a wide arc, destroying ten skeletons with one swing and sending bone shards flying through the air. The man coughed, pausing in his stride momentarily before pushing forward, a one-man wrecking ball. He carved through the horde like a buzzsaw.

Killer Frost was more focused on defence, raising walls of ice above their head to prevent the unending rain of arrows from turning them into porcupines. Whenever Gavel paused to catch his breath or cough, she took the brief pause in their push forward to send icebergs the size of houses into the army of fanged foes. Her attacks were infrequent, but each destroyed or froze dozens with their vast area.

In contrast, Deathstroke was a picture of measured efficiency. His every move put him just out of reach of an enemy's swing. Every time he swung his blade, a bone warrior lost a limb or had its spine severed. He killed fewer than the previous two, but he did it with such an economy of movement and energy that it looked like he was walking through a busy crowd on a subway rather than fighting an army of the undead.

Taskmaster didn't have Deathstroke's pure efficiency. Didn't have Gavel's strength, invulnerability, or Killer Frost's ability to affect a wide area.

Taskmaster wasn't a Super, not a mutant, not an alien, or a product of some genetic experiment.

Taskmaster was one hundred percent, baseline human.

His one ability stemmed not from any supernatural phenomenon but from his memory. All he could do was recreate the movements of those he had seen. He didn't gain their strength or superhuman abilities. He just copied their movements and learned from them.

This made him a famous and deadly mercenary that had tangled with the multiple PRT teams such as the Avengers or Titans, vigilantes like Spider-man, and other Supers.

Then he had the bad luck of being in the wrong place at the wrong time.

Taskmaster hadn't even known The Flash was in town before he was in a cell.

He languished in prison for years, waiting for his chance.

Then he was offered to come to this island in exchange for freedom. Despite knowing the mysterious benefactors would betray him, he accepted the deal rather than continue to rot away.

And they unknowingly made Taskmaster so much deadlier than he had ever been.

After they planted the bomb in his neck but before they had been shipped to the island, the organization gave them all footage of all known associates of the Elden Lord so they knew who to avoid to remain covert.

Including images of her.

Scathach.

A mythological warrior-queen.

A woman who had trained heroes.

A woman who had fought an army of demons on camera for over an hour.

A woman whose most significant advantage wasn't her ability to summon spears, cast magic, or other superhuman abilities.

A woman who had carved her myth through pure skill.

Skill Taskmaster could replicate.

Certainly, he'd never be able to do everything Scathach did. She had so many more tools at her disposal than he did, to say nothing of the difference in physical parameters.

But what he could replicate was enough.

Enough that he didn't need to copy Deathstroke.

Enough that with his two spears, he could dance through the dead.

In a brutal whirlwind of bladed death, Taskmaster tore through the horde of skeletons. His movements were fluid, unending as one blow flowed into the next into the next into the next. Even when he dodged, blocked or parried, it only furthered his goals.

Any blow blocked was used to push him back to a more advantageous position. A parried blade crashed into another skeleton. By dodging, he placed one bone warrior in the path of others.

Taskmaster wasn't their squad's strongest, smartest, most experienced or toughest.

But he was the most skilled.

It saved his life.

The squad had made it to the treeline. Despite killing hundreds of undead, they were being blocked by hundreds more. The trees limited how many could attack at once and provided more cover from the rain of arrows, giving Killer Frost more chances to attack. It also restricted the squad's movement and line of sight as the moons' light struggled to filter through the thick overhead branches.

Skeletal fragments flew around the Suicide Squad in such numbers and density that it looked like they were trapped in a snowstorm of bone. Their movements, familiar with each other from the long weeks of survival on the inhospitable island, were seamless as they wove through and around each other.

They moved with brutal efficiency deeper into the forest, eyes peeled for any sign of the summoner.

The attack should have killed him.

The blade was less than a foot from his throat when the moonlight glinted off it.

Pure skill saved Taskmaster at that moment.

He didn't have time to think, dodge, or call out to his companions. All he had was human reflexes.

And the muscle memory of one of the greatest heroines to ever live.

His right spear, extended to destroy a bone warrior with two daggers, was too far for him to pull back and block.

Taskmaster stepped into the attack as his arm moved without conscious thought. The haft lightly nudged the arm holding the curved blade.

Blood flew through the air.

"Aaaarrrrggg!" Taskmaster screamed in pain, throwing himself backwards. Despite the pain, he swung his spear in an arc.

The figure nimbly backstepped, just outside his spear's reach, before darting forward. They came in quick and low, their dark clothes blending in with the shadows of the night.

The movements of a trained assassin.

Taskmaster, bleeding from his lost ear, unbalanced and in pain, should have died then, his copied skills only saving his life for the briefest of seconds.

If he was alone.

Ice rained from the sky in chunks, and the cloaked figure was forced to dodge in between skeletons to avoid being crushed by the frozen blocks.

"You good?" Killer Frost called out. One side heard it as a shout. The other was barely cognizant of the sound.

"I'll live," Taskmaster bit out in pain. Losing an ear was terrible because of the blood loss and the disorientation caused by imbalance. It was better than having his neck slit. If they could kill the summoner and Spiral returned, she could heal him. Even in pain, his eyes followed the cloaked figure as they moved through the undead horde in an arc. "I found them!"

The mercenary needn't have called out. Gavel was already barrelling down on the figure, his hammer destroying another wide swath of undead. He missed the figure as they ducked and weaved through the trees, blinking in and out of existence.

"Hold still," the vigilante called as he battered down a tree, his swing unslowed. "This will only hurt, cough, a bit. Then it'll hurt, ack, a lot."

The figure remained silent, nimbly backing away from every wide swing of the hammer. Killer Frost tried to rain more ice down, but the canopy of trees provided enough cover for them to avoid any damage.

Deathstroke emerged from behind a nearby tree, blade swinging to decapitate them.

They managed to duck out of the way but lost their cloak as the sword caught it in its arc. The figure slipped from the entangled clothe with the ease of long practice, regaining their footing.

Taskmaster finally got a good look at his would-be killer.

Chestnut brown hair fell to her shoulders, and one eye observed the squad. She crouched, ready for the next clash, as her curved blade glinted with a golden glow.

Taskmaster recognized her from the videos.

Melina.

They had been found by the Elden Lord.

Deathstroke shot her in the head.

This entire trip, he had been conserving the limited ammo on the ship. Most things they faced on the island would ignore bullets if they hit at all. Either too big, too tough or came in such numbers that a few shots would not have made a dent.

Now that he had a clear target, he took his chance.

Like all things the mercenary did, his movements were refined to perfection. There was no pause in his movements as he withdrew his pistol and blasted the woman.

He hit her in the forehead.

Melina staggered back.

The bullet fell to the ground.

A forcefield of yellow light rippled around the impact zone, less than an inch from her skin, before disappearing. Melina's one open eye landed narrowed in annoyance.

Deathstroke shot her again.

This time, the woman dodged.

With supernatural grace and dexterity, she backflipped out of the way of his bullet and Gavel's hammer as it swung down behind her. The giant was forced to turn his weapons as more undead tried to pile on him and Frost, leaving the woman unmolested.

A golden flame lit her blade as she swung it in an arc, sending it in a wave at the mercenary. The ice that rose to block the gold fire slowed it slightly as the energy carved through the wall. Deathstroke dove out of the way in time to avoid being bisected.

Taskmaster's spear caught the woman in the back while she hung in midair, driving her to the ground. The same forcefield of energy prevented him from drawing blood.

Melina rolled along the ground, uncaring for the dirt that stained her clothes, as she shot to her feet and lunged.

"Freeze her!"

Melina's lunge brought her right to Taskmaster. Ducking under another spear thrust, she coiled up and around him like a snake, plunging her dagger down into his throat.

Then she stopped, frozen in place. Her blade pierced his skin and drew blood, but not deep enough to kill.

Taskmaster saw Spiral withdraw her hand, her order fulfilled.

He was still wrapped by the paralyzed woman, one arm unable to bend, but the other lanced up with spear in hand.

"Ατλας!"

The air pressure solidified around the pair, and Taskmaster's thrust froze, unable to move an inch as the air locked him in an invisible prison.

"Teleport us away!" Deathstroke ordered.

Purple light bloomed in the sky, circles of magic covering the canopy.

Taskmaster watched with wide eyes, unable to move, as rays of purple magic lanced down with murderous intent.

BOOOOM!

Like an artillery bombardment, the magic crashed all over the forest, upending trees, dirt, stone, and skeleton. Over and over, the magic crashed down in the woods around the frozen pair, reducing the landscape to rubble.

Then the explosions stopped, and the purple glow of the dozen magic circles faded, leaving the paralyzed pair amid a billowing cloud of dirt and debris.

For a few seconds, the forest was tranquil.

It had been less than a minute since Melina first appeared, and the situation had changed dramatically.

"Rule Breaker!" A voice called out from the dust cloud.

Melina fell, no longer paralyzed, from atop Taskmaster.

The mercenary remained trapped by the cage of air pressure.

"Did you get them?" Melina asked as she rose to her feet.

"No," the same voice responded. It was female and frustrated, but Taskmaster could not see her from his angle. "The other four got away. What were you thinking?"

"We can ignore them," Melina ignored the question, brushing the dirt off herself. "They aren't who we are looking for either. Let's move on to the next group."

Taskmaster felt his hope grow. If the Elden Lord's women weren't here for them, there was a chance they'd let him go. Or he could trade information or services in exchange for clemency. He was a handy man to have around.

"I've followed your little whim for long enough," the unknown woman said sternly. Melina "We are not going anywhere until you tell me what this is about."

"We do not have time," Melina said with a frown, looking behind Taskmaster. "I will tell you later."

"If you want me to keep teleporting you around, you will tell me now."

Taskmaster hoped this argument continued. Whatever was distracting them or pressing them for time was good for him. They would have killed him, helpless as he was, if they wanted him dead. That he was still alive meant he still had use. He still had some leverage.

The longer they argued, the more time they wasted, the better chance the spell holding him would wear off.

Taskmaster had no thoughts about trying to take them both on after that display of magic, but he wanted to escape if possible. Once he snuck away, he'd cauterize his ear and make his way north. He knew where the squad was going, and he'd make better time by himself so he would catch up.

These women just needed to stay distracted and keep ignoring him.

He'd live.

He'd survive.

He'd get off this damned island.

"Why did you attack them?" The unknown woman asked, insistent. "My Dragon Tooth Warriors were drawing them in. They were almost at my statues."

"They were taking too long and being dealt with too easily," Melina said plainly, stepping closer to the figure and out of Taskmaster's line of sight. "We weren't forcing them into a corner fast enough."

"Why are you in such a rush?"

"Because we need to find the Death user immediately."

"Why? Mikael will find them when he brings them into the Dream. Why all this effort? You could have been killed if I wasn't here! For no reason!"

In pain from his wound, Taskmaster was occupied by listening to the argument between two women who held his life in their hands, and contemplating his escape, he almost missed the two glowing eyes in the dark.

Almost.

Taskmaster struggle redoubled in a frantic effort.

He grunted, tried to scream, tried to flail, anything at all to draw the women's attention. Crying, heaving, and praying for anything to save him.

Neither woman noticed as death approached Taskmaster on softly padded paws.

********

Medea was trying to remain calm. She really was.

She still wanted to strangle this woman's pretty little neck.

Would it kill her to not be vague?

Would it kill her to answer the damn question?

If she didn't, Medea would definitely kill this little...

The greek witch took a deep breath, getting herself under control.

"My Lord should not create another Dream," Melina answered.

"Why," Medea asked again, unwilling to let a non-answer like that stop her.

"Becau-"

Melina's words were cut off as the moon started to glow a blood red, bathing the torn forest in its pale blood glow.

"Looks like you are too late," the greek said with some vindictive pleasure. "Might as well tell me now."

Melina continued to stare up at the red moon, her expression unreadable.

Then she sagged in relief as the bloody glow in the night faded once more, leaving behind the regular moon after only a few seconds.

Medea frowned, now genuinely worried as the kindling maiden seemed to deflate, tension leaving her form.

"What is going on, Melina? Why would him starting another Dream be bad?"

"It is not the Dream that is the worry," the maiden shook her head. "It is the mindset that it requires that worries me so. Any of his more... inhuman abilities require a shift in thought."

"Didn't you help him hunt down and eat dragon hearts so he could assume dragonic forms?" Medea arched a brow. "That is hardly a human thing to do. I'm not human. Diana, Ranni, Raven, Yoruichi, and Priscilla are all not human. I did not know that was a problem."

"Your race is irrelevant, as is my Lord's," Melina shook her head again. "Whether he be dragon, man, or abomination, I would love him the same. What I speak of is his mind. Have you not noticed?"

"Noticed what?"

Melina frowned and looked away, staring at the moon again in thought.

"Perhaps I need to speak to Lady Ranni," the kindling maiden whispered to herself. "Perhaps only those who knew him well before can notice the change?"

Oh no, this bitch didn't just say that.

Rage, cold and calculated, filled Medea.

"What do you know of Servants?" Medea asked, her voice conversational. As if she was asking about the weather.

"I fail to see why that is important at the moment," Melina said. "We should meet with my Lord to discuss what he discovered."

"Humour me."

"Very well," Melina nodded. "Most of my knowledge comes from you and the occasional talk with my Lord. I know that you are figures of myth made real. Heroes of legend that ascended to the Throne of Heroes to be recorded through history as Heroic Spirits. Heroic Spirits are forces of nature, supremely powerful but rarely appearing. Servants are those Heroic Spirits forced into a class container, such as your Caster class. This limits their abilities but makes it possible to summon them. Most often, this is to compete in a Holy Grail War for a wish. That is my understanding. What does it matter?"

"You have the basics," Medea nodded. "What you didn't mention was that Servants, and their Noble Phantasms, are the crystallizations of their legends."

"I had heard of that," Melina agreed, but her tone suggested she didn't understand the point.

"What you don't get," Medea bit out the last word. "Is those legends are cyclical. Repeatable. Stories are told over and over again. Servants are dead things. The dead cannot change the world. Not because we have no abilities or we don't impact those around us, but because we, as legends made real, are trapped in our own stories."

"I do not understand."

"Through fate, luck, cosmic coincidence, or whatever you want to call it, Servants tend to repeat aspects of their legends when summoned. It is our greatest strength and weakness. Gilgamesh will be the greatest, but his arrogance will be his undoing. Leonidas will be placed in a situation where he must sacrifice himself in a position to defend against an overwhelming foe, buying time for others to win the war as he loses the battle and his life. Diarmuid of the Love Spot will meet his end because of a jealous husband, even though he is innocent. Medea of Colchis will fall in love, but the man will choose another woman over her."

"Oh..." Melina said softly, meeting the Demigod's eyes. "I see."

"Do you?" Medea asked harshly. "Do you really? I did everything. Everything! I helped him with his experiments. I fed the other his blood for weeks without them knowing at his request. I unified a harem of women for him. I was the first to tell him of my love. I am the one who worked tirelessly on countless methods of pulling him from his prison. Emma might have been the most trusted, but I was the most useful. And he used me and left me for another woman. Just like Jason."

"That is unfair," Melina denied. "I do not deny your aid or your feelings, nor the feeling of betrayal my existence brought, but you cannot claim my Lord is like your former husband. He repeatedly told you he was unable to reciprocate your feelings. He never once led you on. Any of you. Just because you love someone does not mean they are forced to love you."

"Oh, I know," Medea nodded, a vicious smirk on her face. "But feelings do not care about logic. All I could see was my past repeating itself. I might have still loved Mikael, but something most forgets about love is that it does not mean it supersedes other emotions. For days between learning of what happened in the Lands Between Ranni and Mikael's escape, I loved and hated Mikael. And I absolutely despised you. You who had everything I had wanted. You who threw it away."

"I died for him!" Melina shouted.

"And I couldn't even do that!" Medea shouted back. "I could do nothing! Once more, I was a victim of powers higher than myself, unable to determine my own fate."

The pair of women glared at each other in that ruined forest, each daring the other to make the first move.

Melina was the quicker of the two, and Medea was within reach of her blade. Medea was the most destructive. If the first blow didn't kill her, which it wouldn't with her Aura and Haki, she'd bombard Melina from on high.

Neither moved.

Then Medea took a deep breath.

"I was planning on killing you," the greek witch admitted softly. "When we found you in his room. I knew right away who you were. It would have been easy with everyone else crowding around him."

"Why didn't you?" Melina asked, her glare still there but less harsh. "I wasn't bound yet. My Lord might not have been able to bring me back."

"It wasn't pity. It wasn't fear or hesitation. At that moment, a week after learning of your existence and everything that happened in the Lands Between, I was still consumed by my emotions. Only one thing stopped me from killing you in revenge."

"Mikael stopped you?"

"No," Medea shook her head. "Do you know what his first he said after landing on the Island and finding you? It was 'Medea.'"

"So he did stop you."

"He wasn't even talking to me," the greek witch denied with a smirk on her lips. "He was talking to his cat. The cat that he named after me. It had jumped on his face when we all woke it up with our arrival. It recognized him even though he was in a completely different body."

"Why did that stop you?" Melina asked with a tilt of her head, hand leaving the pommel of her blade.

"Because it was absurd! What kind of man names his cat after one of the greatest betrayers of all time?" Medea giggled at the memory. Melina eyed her warily. "Don't you get it? Mikael is absurd. The situation was absurd. My feelings, hating someone who had done me no wrong and who had given me the greatest gift, were absurd. It wasn't like you chose your situation, and Mikael certainly didn't plan for everything that happened. Yes, him falling in love with you after rejecting our feelings was terrible. Yes, we are all jealous of you."

Melina froze.

"But if he hadn't?" Medea continued seriously. "If Mikael continued to stubbornly reject everyone? Not only would he have never been freed, but he would never have been able to accept anyone else in his heart. I, who had schemed for so long to build him this Family, forgot the primary goal of it. In Artoria's words, in losing a battle to a third force, I had lost sight of our war aims. Which were to make sure he didn't leave us behind. You are the one that achieved that goal, and killing you would have destroyed it. That fat cat saved your life and this entire Family."

Medea couldn't help but giggle at the thought. Her life was absurd, and she wouldn't have it any other way. But she had a point to make.

"Since then, I've done my best to be accommodating, friendly, and helpful," Medea continued. "When you asked for my help tonight, I gave it without question. We've been at this for hours, and I've stopped you only when you almost died. I might not have decades with Mikael like you, but I care about him and this Family. I am owed at least an explanation if something threatens it. Your dismissal of the rest of our feelings will not do you any favours with me or the other if you keep wishing for our aid."

"I see," Melina repeated with eyes slightly wide. While not to the degree of Raven, the woman was not too expressive and generally hard to read. Right now, she looked like Medea had just told her the most shocking thing in the world. "You were jealous? Of me?"

"That is what you got out of that?" Medea asked, incredulously throwing her hands up in the air in frustration. "Yes, you moron. We all were. Still are. If someone cares for their partner, they'll be jealous of the person who spent decades with them. That is common sense!"

"But I am jealous of you."

Medea froze, hands still hanging in the air, falling limply to her side.

"I may have spent the most time with him, but I am by far the most useless," Melina admitted with a grimace. "I showed him how to channel runes once. Fought with him once. And died for him once. That is it. That is all I have done, all I can do. I am the weakest on this island. My skills are the least useful. Unlike you, who he relies on more than any other, I am nothing more than a memory. A bad one. I am an outsider with no purpose. My Lord tells me to live for him, for the Family, but I do not know how to do that. What is my purpose when you all are so much more capable?"

Melina met her eyes, not with a glare but with a look that was at once envious as it was helplessly lost.

"I meant no insult to you when I asked if you hadn't noticed a change in my Lord," Melina said. "I simply worried it might be my imagination. If Lady Ranni noticed the change, I would have confirmation of my worries, and I could bring them forward. I may be of some use then. If she did not, it must be because I have been gone from my Lord too long and do not understand him as well as I thought."

Even after meeting Melina, Medea had not forgotten her anger, her jealousy, for the woman. She played nice for the Family, but even months later, those feelings still simmered deep within her. It was why she lashed out at Melina's words.

Medea wouldn't apologize. She did not regret any of her actions, and her feelings were valid.

"What are these changes you are worried about?" The greek witch asked softly.

But she could make peace.

"As I said, it is when my Lord employs his abilities from the world after mine. Bloodborne, I believe it was called." Melina replied, accepting the peace offering. She looked to the sky. "He was not there long, weeks rather than years, but it affected him. He doesn't speak of those days. All his other worlds, he will joke or tell tales of. When I bring up that one, he deflects. And he gets this look on his face when he uses his 'GOO' powers, as he calls them. Like all emotion or personality has bled from him."

"I thought he was just learning to use those abilities since he had less time to practice than others," Medea answered, knowing the look Melina was talking about.

"I have seen him practicing spells before," Melina shook her head. "He spent a year in Raya Lucaria pouring over tomes and learning all he could. That is not his study face. His study face is one of intense focus, and he will occasionally stick his tongue out between his mouth if he is particularly determined."

"Like his cat?" Medea asked in disbelief, imagining Mikael pouring over books with the tip of his tongue sticking out in what he called 'blep-face' when his cat did the same in her sleep.

"Exactly," Melina nodded.

Medea felt the familiar pang of jealousy. She had never noticed that habit of his. She knew the kindling maiden wasn't doing it on purpose, but it was stuff like this that made her and the others jealous. What other habits were they unaware of?

"It is an entirely different expression to the one when he manipulates his eldritch abilities," Melina continued. "That expression is one I recognized as when he was in his worst moods. Not anger, but apathy. When the weight of the years and his curse would get to him. He'd retreat inward, acting as if a machine. Hours, sometimes days, would pass. When I could, I would draw him from the trap of his mind, but I was not always able to right away."

"We'd have noticed if Mikael went unresponsive for days," Medea frowned.

"It is not the same," Melina shook her head again. "The expression is, but the situation is different. When we travelled together, such a mood was not common. In four decades together, he fell inward only a dozen times."

"But it's much more common now," Medea nodded, understanding the maiden's conundrum. "Even if it's shorter, if it happens regularly, it could mean something is wrong. And you say it happens when he uses his abilities from Bloodborne?"

"That has been my observation," Melina nodded. "I hope to stop him from using them as much as possible."

"It's too late tonight," Medea said, looking up at the white moon. "But talk to Ranni about it. I'll ask Raven if she's noticed anything similar. She's the one who spends the most time around him."

"His Shadow would know," Melina nodded. "Ask her about when he gives 'treats' to his pet and thinks we do not notice. That is the most common time he uses his abilities."

"Alright," Medea agreed, aware of her husband's habit of spoiling his cat. Not that she blamed him. She spoiled it as well. "We should head back and find out what he discovered. He also will know where the group left to and might want to deal with them."

"What group?" Mikael asked, appearing in a shimmer of starlight. Both women jumped in, surprised, and he grinned.

"Every day, I curse Ranni for teaching you teleportation," Medea muttered.

"But then you taught me your version as well? I wouldn't be able to do it this quickly without your lessons. That doesn't sound very clever of you, oh Witch of Betrayal."

Melina glared at Medea, and her ears reddened in embarrassment.

"How was I supposed to know he'd start teleporting everywhere to surprise people?" Medea defended herself.

"Because he is Mikael," Melina said, using his name rather than the usual title for emphasis.

Mikael grinned, completely unrepentant.

"Why did I marry you again?" Medea asked, putting a hand to her forehead in exasperation. "You are not even my type."

"Because I am pretty," Mikael responded instantly, batting his eyelashes and flicking his hand through his hair in an exaggerated huff. "I am your trophy husband. You only want me for my body. Admit it. I'm just a meat dildo to you all, aren't I?"

Melina facepalmed.

"Must you be so crass, my Lord?"

"Yes," Mikael grinned. "Anyway, what group were you talking about?"

"Four people managed to teleport away," Medea said, not mentioning that they had almost seriously injured Melina. They hadn't even really scratched her, so there was no point in worrying him. "One with six arms, one woman, two men-"

"One huge and the other covered in armour and a mask? Yeah, I saw them. Gavel, Killer Frost, Spiral, and Deathstroke," Mikael nodded in recognition. "They're about four miles north of here. They landed in a hive of Gravekeeper Scorpions. They aren't having a good night. Though, I am surprised they managed to get away from you two."

"We caught one," Medea said. "After we get info out of him, I want to try to grow Glintstone again. I am this close to finding out why they make those 'mage balls.'"

"Oh, you caught someone," Mikael said innocently. Too innocent. Both women narrowed their eyes at him. "Where is he? How come I don't see him?"

Melina let out a long sigh.

"He's right..." Medea turned to point at the man trapped in her spell, only he wasn't there. "Medea!" She shouted in shock as she caught sight of the tubby cat sitting where the man had been, licking her paws and grooming herself.

Mikael burst out laughing as the cat gave them all the side eye before continuing its self-care.

"What has Mommy told you about eating her test subjects," the greek witch stomped toward the fury creature. "Bad girl!" Medea held Medea up by the scruff of her neck, and the fat cat's body hung like a limp noodle as tiny wings beat fruitlessly for freedom.

"Mrow?" The cat(?) whined piteously at her, eyes wide and wet.

Medea caved instantly.

Mikael laughed harder.

"Ok, you'll get off this time since I hadn't started any experiments on him. But next time, Mommy will cut you off. No more leftovers."

"Meow," the cat(?) agreed? Or close enough that Medea let Medea go.

Its too-small wings carried it over to the still giggling Mikael and landed on his shoulders, rubbing against his head affectionately. He started scratching the thing below her chin.

Then he tried to sneak her a 'treat.'

Subtly, he formed a tentacle in the palm of his hand.

Medea bit off the new appendage, eating it with glee, her tiny cheeks stuffed with his flesh.

When he stopped giving the cat(?) scritches, there was no indication of any wound on his palm.

He looked to the pair sharing a concerned look, and smiled guilelessly at them.

"What?" He asked innocently before starting to rub his face affectionately against the beast. "She's best floof. Yes you are. Yes you are. Who's my little glutton? You are, you big tub of adorable lard."

He knew that they knew he was sneaking Medea treats, but so what? He'd spoil Fat Floof forever.

"Nothing," Medea answered, not mentioning the brief look that had appeared on his face for a moment. "Did you discover what Priscilla was sensing?"

"Yep," he nodded, popping the 'p.' "I also found that other thing Tsunade sensed. Both are strong but nowhere near worth worry. A few of us can deal with it. I'll explain everything back home. I was just coming to pick you two up, since everyone else is there."

"Very well," Melina nodded and approached him to grab his arm.

Medea almost did as well, then she froze as a thought came to her.

"You said you were aware of everything during the Dream?"

"Yeah," Mikael nodded, tilting his head in question at her. "What do you want to know? There are still a few large groups on the Island if you need more test subjects. The Chinese just sent three more ships. You'd think they'd learn after the first five."

"It was the same last time? You watched everything?"

"You asking about your private time?" He grinned. "I saw it all. You are one naughty witch."

"Not that!" Medea denied, her face a deathly white. She wasn't embarrassed. She was afraid. "After Ranni arrived while you were in Bloodborne..." She couldn't say it.

"Oh," Mikael nodded in realization. "You mean when you destroyed your workshop, spent hours turning the training field into ruins, and cursed my name while describing, in excruciating detail, what you'd do to me? I never saw any of that. My favourite definitely wasn't when you said you'd give me magical diabetes just to force-feed me my own pancreas. That would be insane."

"Then you knew..." The greek witch looked between the man and the woman standing side by side.

"You described what you'd do to Melina if she was still around enough times that I got the hint," Mikael deadpanned with a roll of his eyes.

"Then why didn't you stop me! Say something to me!"

"Stop you?" Mikael asked, bewildered. "You never did anything."

"I was going to," Medea insisted.

"But you didn't," Mikael drawled slowly as if speaking to a particularly dumb animal. Medea would have been insulted if she wasn't so confused and afraid. "Really, I don't see what the problem is. I've thought about killing my friends and Family a bunch of times. We make each other mad. That's how Family works." He paused for a second before giving a grudging nod. "To be fair to you, what I did was pretty shitty. I had my reasons, but I still hurt you all with my actions. You especially, given your circumstances. I haven't apologized for that, have I?"

"I don't want your apologies," Medea denied emphatically. Even when she was angry at him, she understood his actions. If she could have found love away from Jason, she would have in a heartbeat. "I want to know why you never brought it up. Why you never stopped me from getting near her."

Melina, who had been watching this interaction with interest, also looked at Mikael.

He shrugged.

"I trusted you."

Melina facepalmed.

Medea felt like she'd been punched in the gut.

"Wha... But my legend?"

"What about it?" Mikael asked casually. "You aren't Medea, the Witch of Betrayal. You are Medea. My wife. If I don't trust you now, after everything you've done for me, I'd be an idiot."

"But I could have hurt her," Medea pointed at Melina. "I was planning on it."

"Nah," Mikael waived her off casually. "Being jealous of her, angry with her, even hating her. Those are all valid and understandable, given our situation. Even hating me, I get it. When I chose the lures instead of any form of control, I knew that loving someone did not preclude them from hating me either. Dragon aura might help positive feelings develop, but it doesn't stop negative ones. And I wouldn't want it to. You had every right to those feelings. But hurting her? You'd never do that."

"How can you say that?"

"Because you are the only person who loves this Family, the whole Family, as much as me. You would never do anything that could tear it apart." Mikael shrugged again. "Actions, not words, prove it. You are the one we all go to, rely on, and who never turns anyone away. We all trust you, and you've never given us a reason not to. Medea, General of Love is a better title for you any day of the week."

The witch stared at him with wide eyes, ignoring his last sentence with the practice of a woman well used to her husband teasing her.

Medea liked reticent men of sincerity, those with few words but each with meaning. She disliked muscles and preferred a slim build.

Her ideal type was the exact opposite of Mikael.

But when he said stuff like this...

Mikael might not be her type, but gods be damned, did she love this man, this Family.