(Lana is a sheep maren and Deca's oldest friend. Yuitchi is Deca's adopted son. A more thorough explanation of Deca's powers can be found here: celestriakle. deviantart .com/art/Instability-202497593

Deca: celestriakle. deviantart .com/art/Deca-Mica-183587587

Deca's Lair: celestriakle. deviantart .com/art/Deca-s-Tent-212908858

Quyen: celestriakle. deviantart .com/art/Quyen-206013988 )

Seven Years Ago

Mica grinned up at the figure chained to the wall before her. Years of planning, building, gathering, all culminating to this moment: Her long-time Master, oh-so powerful Wizeman, fallen at last. He was not dead, no. She had learned from NiGHTS's mistake. A series of energy-draining chains and swords fastened him to the wall; soon, he would sink into a dormant state, trapped for all eternity in a purgatory where the power he gathered from human fear would be offset by a constant loss of energy. That is, of course, if no one disturbed him until the end of time, another factor she had taken precautions against: As she glided out of her old Master's chambers, Quyen, her most important asset and co-conspirator, sealed the doors. Casting a cursory glance around as she passed through the hall, she saw the severely wounded being tended to by healers; nearby, the more able sat and laughed together, filled with relief at their success. Mica herself couldn't keep the grin from her face, but they were not the ones she went to.

"Hello, my prince," she greeted smugly. The fallen general upon the floor gave no response. Wrapped in the same cursed chains as his master and lying deep in the clutches of her sickness, Reala had long since fallen into unconsciousness. He, of course, was not the only opposition her Revolution received, but at her request, he was the only one who remained outside; all the rest had been captured and sealed in with the master they served. Kneeling, she flipped over his hand, noting the cold sweat coating it, and examined his fingertips. A rush of cold, a giggle from a spirit inside her, filled her breast as she saw the black beginning to mar his pale skin, and she grinned as she stood. It would not be long now; soon, he would be hers. He was going to make an excellent slave.

Current day

Deep within the dead of the night, upon an hour very near to when the Revolution took place all those years ago, Reala traced Deca back into the furthest reaches of her tent, amid the abandoned home of her animals. He grimaced slightly upon entry, his eyes drawn to the place he once stayed. The location held nothing but bad memories for him, but at least the constant stink and noise of the various beasts had ceased. Slowly, in rounds, Deca had released each and every one, and it was in this location she stood, the last occupant in her hands, a quietly cooing pigeon. About a month ago, without warning, she had released him from his enslavement and promised that, if he returned in one month, she would show him how to release Wizeman. He had hardly believed she would make it so simple, so easy, yet here she was, alone and standing with the firm calm of the condemned. "Are you ready?" he asked, still suspicious.

"Yes, yes I am. But please, might we make a few stops on our way? I have some loose ends to tie up," Jade answered as she stroked her pet, not yet looking at him.

He grunted. "Fine, but make it quick." He turned to the 'door', emerging back out into her bedroom, and eyed her cautiously as she moved the pigeon onto one of her horns and picked up a small pile of papers from the bottom of a chest. Not a single thing was out of place; the room had been tidied in its entirety. "I'm surprised you're not trying to run. No tricks?" At that accusation, she could only laugh.

"No; I gave you my word, didn't I? Besides..." She floated to the door that led out into the common room. "I knew long ago, one way or another, that this would inevitably happen." Briefly, she stopped in Yuitchi's room; expectant, she had banished him to his own bed each and every night this week. "Good bye and good night, my son, my love," she whispered, barely audible, as she placed a kiss upon his cheekbone. He began to move, but before she could be certain if he had been roused into wakefulness, she was gone. It took her only a moment to plant the sign in the middle of her emptied stadium, the sign that simply stated: We regret to inform you that tonight's show has been canceled. Please excuse the inconvenience. Then they were gone, swallowed up by the night.

"I have one more stop to make. Don't worry; it'll be brief," Mica flashed her companion the small index card she intended to deliver, and he sighed.

"What if I say no?" he queried.

"Then I'll struggle and infect you and you'll never get your master free. It'll only take a second." Reala growled, irritated, but swerved to make the stop; it simply wasn't worth the trouble to deny her.

Mica was true to her word; she landed for only a moment, just long enough to slip a note under a door, then the two were on their way once more.

When Lana woke the next morning and left her home, she would discover a small index card upon her floor, inscribed with Deca's neat, curling handwriting. On one side, she would read:

In the end, it turns out, I fell for you too.

If she had the thought to flip to the back, she would find:

I love you, Lana.

Events after that, Deca could only imagine, but she couldn't bear the thought of leaving without, at long last, giving her faithful friend the answer she had so long waited to hear. But thoughts of Lana left her head as the ornate doors opened before her. The great majesty that was once Wizeman's entrance hall had been replaced with a beauty of a new kind: Since Quyen had taken over in her place as sentinel, the ornate carvings and gleaming marble had fallen to climbing ivy; sturdy, youthful trees, and every other manner of plant and herb that was of use to Quyen in her magickal studies. Salt was sprinkled haphazardly over the floor, and Jade spotted several circles of char from rituals of fire. Faintly, she could smell the lingering scents of cleansing sage, and she lowered to a stop where Quyen lay against a tree, beaten and bruised. Slowly, she stroked Quyen's cheek as she said, "I'm sorry, my friend, that it had to end this way. I couldn't've done it without you. Thank you, for everything."

Quyen groaned as she pushed herself to sit a little straighter, to look Jade dead in the eye, and spit. As Jade wiped the saliva from her mask, thanking all her stars for its presence, Quyen croaked out one more thing in a harsh whisper; struggling between pants, she hissed, "Vile creature..."

Jade sighed. She rose to her full height, sensing Reala growing impatient behind her, and cast one more sympathetic look to her once friend as she unsealed the door to Wizeman's prison.

The doors opened with a silent intake of long stagnant air, and Jade shivered as she entered. Blood, long dried up, still stained the floor from the Revolution all those years ago; in fact, except for a fresh coat of dust, the room hadn't changed one iota since that night. Purple eyes still stared at her from every wall upon which they had been impaled. Her reverie was interrupted by the commanding voice of Reala, who demanded to know, "How do we get him down?" He appeared to care little for his comrades in chains, but why would he? She expected nothing less.

"First, remove the armor from your arm and give me your hand," she answered, meeting his suspicious gaze with an expectant one. After a few moments' hesitation, slowly, he complied, removing first the armor then unwrapping the black insulator. He had hardly finished when she grabbed his arm—he resisted the overwhelming urge to pull away—and led him over to the nearest Wizehand. "The process is simple," she explained. "Much the same as when we sealed him. I know you were in a bit of a haze—" He scoffed; that was an understatement. "—but perhaps you remember. To unseal him, you need your blood..." She placed her hand over his—hers just forward slightly, so their fingertips were on an equal level—and ran their fingertips along the sharpened edge of the sword. "...and mine." Releasing his hand, the two maren watched as the blood became lines of black and red, rushing up the sword to its gilded hilt. "Now try removing the sword." Reala did, and though it came out easily, it immediately clanged to the floor alongside the Wizehand. Flexing his hand, he frowned; he had forgotten the sword's draining effects.

Thump, thump, thump, thump, thump. The two repeated the process with each hand and sword. Right up until the removal of the last sword, every Wizehand fell lifelessly to the ground; even when the last sword was removed, the hands did not raise up. Reala's master was far too drained. They did, though, turn to look when they noticed Reala hadn't dropped the final sword. As Jade gazed up at the Master she once toppled, Reala pushed her to the wall and impaled the sword deeply into her abdomen, in a place that guaranteed a long, slow, painful death. He twisted the sword slightly, making sure it was nice and deep, and ran his thumb along the blade, spilling fresh blood upon it. Seeing his blood run towards the tip this time, not the hilt, he laughed, and his grin split ear to ear. Leaning in, before breaking out into fits of laughter anew, he cooed, "My blood and yours, right Deca?"

She screamed.

(I originally wrote this as a one shot, but I realize that this fic alone raises many questions, such as: What led Deca to turn against Wizeman in the first place? Who agreed to help her? Why? What happened during those seven years? How did Reala use his first month of freedom? What did Wizeman do once released? If you would like to know the answers to any of these questions and see this fic written out in full, please, leave a review telling me so.)