Chapter TWs: Torture, Violence Against Women, Mild Body Horror, Canon Typical Violence

"What a touching moment."

The voice breaks through the silence, shaking the two men from their spell and pulling them from their hatred. The Prince turns to Farah, as though he has expected the strange speech to have somehow originated from her mouth, but the princess instead stands, her body tense with shock, "You heard that too?"

Both men muster a slow nod and The Dark Prince finds his hand upon his found weapon despite himself. He is not a man who enjoys surprises, least of all when he is on the receiving end of them. Yet, there is something in the voice that soothes him. As though he is a startled cat and it is the hand smoothing back his fur. He is sure, so very sure, that he has never heard it before, but it rings in his ears like a song. He both knows and does not know it, and as if signaled by his internal struggle, the voice reveals itself: a woman.

She makes her way down the steps leading above to the throne, arms stretched from her sides gently, as though to keep her balance as she moves her way towards them. He stares, marveling in the way she seems to glide – she reminds him of a ghost – towards the edge of the balcony. She is not unlike a statue of gold, a treasure to be stolen and protected: golden hair to match the golden trinkets that adorn her fawny-pink skin and stranger still piercing eyes that remind him of the burning sun. She seems to glow, to adorn the very room around her with light. It is both comfortingly beautiful and unsettling all at once. She is not human.

He breaks from the trance and pulls his sword free. Soon after, Sargon follows suit and Farah draws her bow soon after. They can do little from their current position, but with a weapon in his hand, he does not feel so exposed. She smiles in response, "What a warm welcome."

As she leans forward, placing her hands onto the balcony railing and looking down upon them, the gold that adorns her dances and plays a melody all its own. That smile still has not left her face and with each passing moment, it fills him with more unease. Farah's aim follows the woman, circling around her throat until her arm is shaking, "Pardon our rudeness, but we were not expecting guests."

The mysterious woman laughs and he can see Farah's eyes narrow as her vague threat is disregarded like some sort of joke. Beside him, the Prince is frozen. He can sense it too, whatever it is. There is something about this woman that they both recognized, but he is sure that neither of them have ever crossed her path. When the man finally finds his voice, the venom that had been found within his princess's is nowhere to be found, for it has been drowned out by the confusion within, "Are you the one behind this attack?"

"I am." She responds, smile fading but taking not a moment to hesitate. Sargon's stance tenses and he draws himself up. "You may call me Eudocia and I have come to Babylon seeking a prince."

She pauses, motioning towards Sargon with a grand sweep of her arm. He steps back, as though she has presented him with a most offensive offer. Her smile returns and after a moment, she turns towards the dark entity beside him, "And a demon."

The Dark Prince frowns, her gaze upon him making his heart painfully skip several beats. The very breath is knocked from his lungs, as though he has fallen hard to the ground beneath him. He wants to tear her apart, to watch her blood flow from her. He wants to be rid of this new enemy and focus on his true purpose. Yet, was this not what he had been warned of? Was this not what the endless nightmares had foretold? He straightens, speaking with a mock confidence to her, "If I may interrupt this fascinating conversation—"

"Not now!" Sargon snaps, eyes narrowing at their enemy. He is eager to receive more answers to his questions. His companion though, finds he is not asking the right one. There is more to this woman, he knows it. He can sense it – practically smells it. If the Prince is too blind to see it, then he must take charge and bring it to his attention. After all, he thinks, he is the smart one.

"Can you not see?" He hisses, "She is not human. She hides something within her."

"He is right." Farah agrees, surprising him. Her aim has lowered and the arrow hangs loosely from her fingertips. She has turned her gaze from the enemy to watch the two men behind her. "Sargon, he is right."

"I know."

"Oh good!" The Dark Prince says, annoyance filling him. "I'm so glad that we did not think to question her about that first! After all, what better to ask than a question with an obvious answer? Of course she is the one who attacked the city, you fool!"

"That is enough." Sargon warns, the fire in his eyes suddenly directed solely to his counterpart. "I will not have you speaking to me like—"

"Like what? Like an incompetent child? I find it hard to stop myself when you prove it true so often!"

"Oh, do forgive me!" The royal says, his hands balling into fists at his sides. There is overconfidence in his eyes now, mixed with fury that is usually held only by his other half. It makes a shiver work its way down his spine. Good, he thinks, get mad. He would only be defending himself from the spoiled brat, but Sargon refuses to take the bait. "After all, I would hate to offend the senses of an arrogant rat!"

With a snarl, he moves to pounce at his counterpart, thinking of how he might rip the man open and spill his guts to the floor. Sargon seems to return the sentiment, swinging his sword towards the demon with little pause. He can hear Farah, standing at the sidelines and yelling for both of them to stop. If anything, her protests egg him on, fuel a fire inside of him so hot that it feels as though he is melting. Their blades clash with a metallic ring, but within seconds they are sent flying backwards, their weapons ripped from their hands and tossed aside. From above, the strange woman laughs.

Farah runs to Sargon's side.

"How amusing!" Eudocia sings, her hand outstretched and hovering directly in line where they had once stood. "I knew I would be getting a show from you two, but this exceeds my expectations. Faced with the enemy and you would rather be killing each other!"

A groan escapes from his mouth as he pushes his way up off the floor, the ache in his shoulders nearly forcing him back. It is almost enough to distract him from the situation at hand, as it mixes into his still sore muscles with a new fury, but instead a snarl rips its way from his throat. Everything burns, his anger fueled by the heat inside of him. He suddenly wishes for nothing more than to tear this strange woman apart and make her pay for her interruption in his plans. She is the enemy and he has no time for her distractions. He finds his voice, speaks loudly for her to hear, "Oh, do feel free to cut ahead in line if you desire death so. I would be more than happy to accommodate you!"

Ruby red lips fall, forming a deep frown that seems to crack her glowing visage to pieces. It lasts only for a moment, but it is long enough for him to catch the spark that faults within her and the golden flames of her eyes seem to die out, stilling until they are nothing more than a deep green. In a moment, she is human. Just as quickly though, her armor returns, masking her weaknesses behind them again until she once more stands above them like a god.

"You could try." She snaps. Her shoulders are tense, a clear signal of her frustration with him, and he notes the way her fingers curl around the railing in front of her – her knuckles growing white from the force of her grip. "But I will not forfeit my life to you so easily. After all, that is why we're here, isn't it? Because you foolish princes cannot simply leave time in its proper order! You feel the need to mess about – to control the Sands of Time yourselves—no matter the cost to others!"

This shakes him. Sends a shock not unlike a lightening strike through his body, making his fingers ache and his heart pound. Things are clicking into place, the pieces moving until he is able to see the picture clearly. She is not human, he reminds himself, but she is still mortal. He looks to Sargon, looking to see if he has come to the realization as well. He can tell by the way the man's eyes have narrowed and the shaking of his arms that he indeed has.

"You are the Empress of Time." The royal announces. His voice is faulting slightly and he is sure that he is the only one to notice the fear (or perhaps it is regret) it carries. A pause, it is an invitation for her to deny the words. She does not answer and Sargon continues, "Kaileena is dead. The Sands are gone."

"Gone?" She sounds almost offended by his words, as though her throat has grown tight and fights to keep the words down. "Time was created by a power higher than any creature to ever walk this earth. It cannot be destroyed, removed, or forgotten! I cannot be destroyed!"

He almost does not see the arrow flying.

With a cry, Eudocia falls back, narrowly missing death. A red gash upon her cheek evidence that while Farah's aim had not met its target, she had still managed to leave her mark upon the enemy. The woman screams. It pierces his ears, her anger filling the room completely as she reaches upwards to wipe away the blood that has begun to streak its way down her skin. Instead, she only manages to smear the stain.

"Seems my arrows are fit enough to wound you. Shall we see if the next one can pierce your heart?" Farah says, still resting upon her knee. She reaches back, swiftly removing an arrow from her quiver and taking aim. She is quicker than she had been in Azad – more deadly. She has grown from a naive princess into a fierce warrior. The demon finds himself admiring that.

Eudocia wastes no time to admire the princess's skill. Instead she removes her hand from her bleeding skin and thrusts it skyward, encasing herself in a swarm of golden sand. Time stills, almost coming to a complete stop for just a moment, but with a burst of light, he is forced to his knees. He recognizes this magic – knows it to be the Sands of Time. Her words are true and she alone has the power to raise an army to destroy all of Persia. She is free to do as she wishes to not only Babylon, but the entire world.

"We cannot fight her." Sargon calls to him, catching his attention and drawing his gaze away from the sand gathering at their feet. He rushes for his father's sword, sweeping it into his hand as he motions for Farah to follow him. She lowers her aim, gathering the arrow and returning it to its resting place before following him to the demon's side. "Not here. Not when she has the advantage."

"Have you not killed an Empress before?" He mocks, looking to him with a smile that verges on a snarl. "Do not tell me that you have become too soft for that even? What happened to the Prince I knew? Are you not eager to protect what is yours? Stand and fight!"

Sargon's eyes narrow at that. They have had this conversation before, long ago and nothing has changed. Again, he forces a smile, "Let me guess, you're going to tell me to shut up?"

"We do not have time for this!" Sargon shouts in response. As he attempts to think up a snide response to the comment, he barely registers the royal charging forward and grasping the collar of his tunic in one tight fist. "We are not allies, but that woman seeks to rob us both of Babylon. Even if only for your own selfish purposes, we must work together in this fight. As we stand now, the upper hand belongs to her. We have no chance here."

He stares back at the man, anger once more filling his veins. He can no longer find the will to hide the contempt inside of him, letting his irreverent mask fall away as he speaks, "I do not run. If you are too busy shaking in your boots to stop her, than stand aside and let me do the heavy lifting!"

He plans to shove Sargon back – to force him off and move in for an attack. It could be done in seconds, he had determined. With his skill, the woman could be rid of before she was done with whatever strange ritual she had begun.

It is the pain that makes him consider otherwise.

His first thought is that Sargon has driven his blade into him, but after several moments of sheer shock, he realizes it is more akin to being burned alive from the inside. It is hot and vicious, nothing like the feeling of cool metal resting like the dead in his flesh. It starts in his shoulder, flaring into the muscles of his back and cracking apart his skin until he is sure it hangs from his bones like tatters of cloth. It works its way down his arm. The torture is vast and he loses track of how long it has been; he realizes he is unable to even scream. It chokes him, forces the air from his lungs and he is left with his mouth wide and begging, but unable to take in or release. He cannot even scream and in front of him, Sargon stares horrified - his eyes wide and filled with an emotion he can only think of to describe as disgust. He swears he can see fear there too.

It is not until the torture stops and he fully realizes that it had not come at the hand of the man standing before him that he is able to turn his head weakly towards to the woman above them. She stands, no longer clouded, and with a vicious smile upon her face. Her hand is pointed at him. Her eyes are glowing gold.

Had he really been her target?

His shoulder is blackened. He only catches a glimpse of it as he turns his head, but the sight is unmistakable. He has indeed burned, his flesh pulling away from itself. It sits on him like a spider's web – weak, yet weaved together in an intricate mess of positive and negative space. He finds though, this does not concern him nearly as much as the rivers of molten gold that flow down his arm in intricate weaves and spirals. It is a familiar sight – one that is both welcomed and confusing. Perhaps concerning even, considering their current situation.

He has been infected by the Sands of Time.

"Much less appealing to be on the receiving end." He manages to choke out the words, his eyes slowly traveling down the infected appendage. Disappointment floods his stomach when he finds that it does not travel beyond his shoulder. Despite the taint, he remains human – or as human as one might appear. "Though it seems she is not nearly as talented as she thought."

Another wave of pain courses through him, starting in his arm and shooting its way across his body. It settles in his heart, making the organ do strange beats. It feels as though it may stop altogether. He realizes quickly that the Sands are spreading, tearing his body apart and molding it from the inside. He is resisting it – mostly. It is almost too fitting.

Sargon is quick to act, gathering their weapons and thrusting an arm around his dazed companion. He means to protest, or to at least insist that he is capable of walking on his own two legs, but words fail him. Instead, he allows himself to be dragged away, guided from the gaze of the enemy. He feels as if he is dying. The humanity that has been thrust upon him slowly succumbing to the waves of pain that crash down upon him. No, it is not only a feeling: he is sure of it; this is what it is to die. She means to torture him.

"While I am loathe to admit it, it appears I am now at a disadvantage." He concedes, body trembling against the shocks that spread through him. It is almost too much to stay conscious; his mind fights for relief. It wants to lull itself into slumber until in more desirable conditions. He fights against the temptation, focusing on the way the spirals of flesh are carved from his arm and filled with rich light and the way Sargon's fingers dig into his shoulders. "But I know someone who may be able to help us."

Sargon makes for the doors and Farah follows, turning only to fire her arrows one last time towards the creatures that slowly begin to take form in the Sands around them. Eudocia and her servants do not follow. He wonders why, especially when she had been so seemingly close to victory.

Groaning, he forces himself to stand fully on his feet, ignoring the discomfort that pulled at his arm as it shifts against the royal's shoulders. Calmly, calmer than he truly feels, he speaks. "Your dear Kaileena has left me a gift. I'll be needing to retrieve it."

Sargon's eyes remain locked ahead, leading them through the palace gates and into the burning walls of the city. "Where?"

"Azar."

A/N:

i) As much as I love how the series handled ending the creation/use of the Sands of Time, I also feel like it just wouldn't be possible for them, or the one controlling them to be completely gone, which is where Eudocia comes in. She'll be getting more of a backstory in later chapters to explain exactly who and what she is, but for the time being, welcome her to this cast of characters!

ii) Eudocia is a Greek name meaning "good-seeming."