Being party leader was a glorious job. You got all the lilight, all the glory. The more fa the party gained, the more you benefited.
At least, that was the story—how it went in the tales and fables.
Truth be told, it was a shitty job.
You had to organize the party… keep a bunch of wayward lunatics with extre individuality together as a cohesive force. If the party rose, you rose. If it fell, you fell too. And sotis, it ca with really shitty chores.
What chores, you ask?
Well... hmmm.
Perhaps the shitty job of carrying a living pair of lips.
And that wasn't even a figure of speech. Damon was literally—truly—carrying a pair of living lips. The lips of a woman long dead… after goddess knows how many centuries.
Damon had done a lot of things. Once, he'd bitten off the eyes of a war troll. He'd even hugged a hideous beldam.
But this… this took the cake.
The lips were small and delicate, perched on his shoulder. However there was no body, absolutely no pyshical form.
She had no tongue in her mouth, if anything her mouth was see through, in the sense that you could peer through it like a peep hole.
Valarie's lips should have been beautiful—if her body wasn't long gone.
Now it was just creepy.
Damon smiled bitterly. It almost reminded him of the first ti he caught a toad in his village.
Completely starved, he barely roasted it before he and his sister forced it down their throats.
The thought of his village shoved the revulsion away—replacing it with a different kind of bile. The desire to slaughter them all. Even after all these years, Damon couldn't bring himself to forgive… or forget.
The insults, the pain..the isolation, the betrayal. Forgiveness was not sothing he had in him.
He closed his eyes, grounding himself in the dire reality. He wouldn't get the chance for revenge if he died in Lysithara.
Right now, he had the power to kill them—all of them.
A sha, though. He was thousands of miles away, trapped in a death zone.
If not blood would flow.
"Why such a grim look... I can feel your killing intent from all the way here..."
The lips—Valarie Sunwarden's lips—spoke from his shoulder.
They twisted slightly, as if annoyed.
"Don't tell you're disgusted by what's left of . I'll have you know, I was one of the most beautiful won in Lysithara. Not to ntion your predecessor..."
Damon sneered. Her words dragged him back. He would survive. Killing them was just one of the reasons.
In the end, those people were rely side characters in his life.
"You aren't so beautiful now, are you? Co to think of it, what are you, anyway? Are you an undead?"
Valarie's lips pressed together—surprisingly expressive even without a face.
"Boy, it seems you have no respect for won… or your elders..."
Evangeline scoffed, walking up the stairwell.
"She's only known you for a few minutes and she can already tell..."
Damon ignored Evangeline's words, he would not bicker with her today.
Leona sighed, coming to his defense. Although to a third party observer it may not have seed that way.
"Co on, Evangeline. He's a better person now. The old him might've stepped on her a few tis for good asure..."
Matia, armored head to toe at the rear, grunted. "Huh. He would."
Xander sneered with mild irritation. "He would've done worse. You don't know him like we do."
Matia remained quite she didn't know him as well as they did. However she could paint a picture.
Valarie's lips were silent, as if staring at Damon.
'Ahh... why do I always get the troubled children among my students? Everyone else's are always so good and obedient...'
Sylvia narrowed her eyes. "Why do I feel like you're including the rest of us in that complaint?"
Damon smiled. Of course, she was.
Valarie scoffed, even as a pair of lips.
"You look like you'd help him commit a cri."
Sylvia's eyes widened. She looked away from Damon.
"We should've left her to rot…"
Damon walked out of the stairwell. It was still morning.
They hadn't spent much ti underground—just enough to free Valarie and grab a few books under her instruction.
He looked around the broken cathedral. The statue of the goddess lood behind them, the mark of the Unknown God etched into the wall behind her.
Xander muttered as he stared at it.
"Heresy…"
Damon said nothing.
Faith in the Unknown God was considered heresy, even though so places—like Vuldren—openly embraced it.
Valarie was quiet for a mont.
"Yes, it is. But it wasn't always…"
Sylvia narrowed her eyes. "What are you talking about…?"
Damon and the others waited in silence, listening.
"I... I don't rember. But… faith in the Unseen Sovereign… it gave us choice... When Mugu spoke of it, he ntioned free magic. Magic without attributes. The elders… ahhh… my head..."
The lips groaned, pained—trying to recall sothing long buried.
Damon frowned. "You don't have a head. You're a pair of lips."
Valarie was quiet for a while before speaking softly.
"I suppose so… More reason for to rest."
Sylvia glanced at Damon, clearly asking for his permission. Sylvia Moonveil always thirsted for knowledge. That's who she was.
Maybe that's why she kept using that vile book—despite the pain, despite the price.
Damon wanted to know, too.
That sa burning question lingered in his mind.
Sylvia's voice broke the silence, eyes focused on the lips.
"Who is Mugu?"
Valarie was silent—as if pulling the mory from so deep, dark crypt.
"Mugu was a young man… from the Doom Continent. He beca Valcara's apprentice. Eventually, he learned from all of us. Driven by a single-minded desire that would later… break him."
She paused. The words seed painful.
"His drive beca resentnt. With no one to turn his blade on, he turned it to the heavens.
And the heavens responded.
That… was the beginning of the end….the prelude to the unknown god.."
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