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It was a tomb; nothing alive drew breath in this cursed place. Not even the skeletal wraith that drifted closer to the huge cogs. She moved with an unnatural ethereal fluidity that belied her bony body, inside the broken temple of war she strolled, her wings flexing in silent flight as she floated by the golden eggs. If any of the eggs still had life to watch would they recoil at her ghostly touch, or bow down in reverence to a far better bringer of death than even they. Not even the angel's shroud touched the floor, for past her knees she had faded to mist and time. Her duty on this plane was nearly done, the destroyer set upon his right path, the only force which could stop him now gone forever. Only one duty yet remained. Her desiccated lips pulled back in a snarling smile of satisfaction. She stilled and even motion died, her wings froze in their shifting and all of her stare was intent on one thing.
The pile of faded ocher sand on the temple floor.
Raising one hand she simply willed what she wanted to happen. Despair and loss filled the chamber as a soul was pulled back from the brink. A pale yellow and golden spark hovered above her hand, trapped against its will and broken from being separated from its other half. It was a small spark really she had seen such better ones in her time, not anything like the destroyers spark which glowed like a small sun roiling in such hues of red and black, violent to its core. But it was the spark which belonged, so it was the one which she would use. Almost disdainfully the angel dropped the spark into the sand and watched dispassionately as the sands whipped and whirled violently, twisting and rolling back on itself the shape writhed as the great wind chased the last grains back to the whole. Not even one speck would be allowed peace. The shape became a man, richly dressed in bone and cream it faded and softened until it was perfect again and then life rekindled in the darkness.
Nuada opened his eyes and then he roared. Rolling over onto his hands and knees he panted harshly, fire and pain filled his body with each breath; he could feel his wound with crippling clarity, his life's blood still escaping through the hole which ran straight to his heart. But that was nothing compared to the pain of loss that was eroding his soul. It was gone, his other half was gone. He couldn't feel her. Instinctively Nuada sat up to search for his sister, amber eyes racing the room over for her. There was a statue on the dais. His heart stopped. No it couldn't be. Nuala?
No, it can't be, I'm alive so is she. Wound forgotten he tried to stand.
Ice poured down his body straight into his bones, there was something else here. Then he saw her, looming over him black wings blotting out the light. Instantly his heart filled with iron, never in any of his thousands of years had he seen such a creature, but he knew exactly who she was. No soul ever forgets who pulled them from heaven to hell.
"What have you done, harpy." His voice was a rasp, barely nothing. Stronger Nuada sat back to stare at her hate filling his eyes and voice. The skeletal face smiled again, the towering angel crouched down to stare him in the face.
"What needed to be done, Prince." Her voice was sandpaper on dry leaves and it grated against his soul, abrading him raw from the inside out. Nuada gasped and collapsed, his body convulsing uncontrollably. Praying violently to the old gods for someone take pity on him and kill him. His eyes sought the demon desperately; surely not even he would let him suffer like this. The angel drew closer; Nuada screamed as every muscle in his body spasmed arching his back in unnatural ways. "Fate is not finished with you yet." His sunset eyes flickered to his sister's statue and the angel chuckled evilly. Reaching out for him she drug one claw down his chest over his heart scoring him deeply. "Search forever to find that which in the void was left behind, invisible now and forever to your own kind, sealed in fate to that you hate, cleft cleanly in two none but one will ever have you." Laughing the angel pierced his heart her finger burning her spell into the ice living in his body. "Welcome to penance Prince, we will not meet again." Then she was gone.
Nuada didn't know long he lay on the hall floor with pain and sweat pouring from every cell in his body. Chilled to the bone his stare was locked to his sister's body the whole time. Only one thought echoing through his mind over and over.
What have I done?
It was nearly three weeks before Nuada left Bethmora. His bone robes discarded into the pit of cogs much, much more bloodied than when the angel left him. He had lost count of how many prayers he had spoken in those weeks to let it end as he tried to die, his sword, and his spear all were useless just more ways to inflict agony on himself. The first time he had tried to fall on his spear, once he stopped screaming he had started all over again when he had to pull it out. Likewise with his sword, he had tried cutting his throat then, all that accomplished was to nearly decapitate himself. He couldn't speak for two weeks after that. He had begun to think it was his weapons which would not let him die. So to that he threw himself off the balcony into the depths. That was the worst pain yet. Lying crushed in body and bone at the bottom of the pit. He would be there still; broken body knitting back together in the dark if the troll smith hadn't found him.
Nuada remembered marveling at how much strength the old troll had in his half a body as he pulled the broken prince from the hole and carted him back to his hovel. In front of the fire finally warm except in his heart where the angel had touched him, Nuada watched the troll over the rim of his broken stone cup.
"That one's tricky she is, always up to something no one knows what. And most never will." The troll looked over back at the prince as he stirred the heavy kettle simmering on the coals. He was whole again; even the terrible gash that left his head bobbling was gone. For which he was grateful, he didn't relish watching gruel slither out of the hole. Nuada sighed and put down the cup. With a nod he stood and took the long trek back to Bethmora. When the troll smith saw him again he was dressed in his black armors and had his weapons returned to their places on his back. He knew with how he walked away he would never again see the elf. As he went by he saw the small pouch he knew held ochre ashes tucked into his sash.
"Goodbye king Nuada, and may your journeys lead you to peace." . The troll wished him well but in his heart he doubted Nuada would ever find his place again in this world, cursed by the angel of death into immortality never to be seen by his people again and to have half your soul given to a human. He was in his own hell. Nuada didn't acknowledge him but he knew he heard him all the same.