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Chapter Text

Armada was attacked by the Witchocracy ironclads near the Firewater Straits. All the citizens armed themselves to defend their home. The border of Garwater and Dry Fall ridings was under hard attack. Uther Doul and the Brucolac fought side by side as they had done many years before.

Witchocracian retreated after one overnight battle. At last the exhausted people could rest for a bit. Bedraggled and bloodstained, Uther Doul sheathed his sword and reached out toward the Brucolac. "Thanks," he said.

The Brucolac shook Doul's hand. But in the next instant, he yanked fairly hard befor Doul turning away, and pricked the tender flesh of Doul's neck with something sharp.

Doul's eyes widened. "Brucolac, what do you..."

He hadn't even finished speaking before falling to his knees. The Brucolac caught him halfway down. "He's been injured." he said to the Garwater cadres coming. "I'll take care of him."

None of the cadres dared to stop him. He picked Doul up in his strong arms and carried him back to the flagship with shocking speed.