Chapter 58
"Have you told them?"
"As best I could," Xiān grumbled. "Formora says it's a bad idea."
Ikharos diligently kept a couple of miles between him and the column of Phalanx and Legionaries. He kept his nullscape up, even when the metaconcert blanketing Carvahall fell behind. There were a couple of Psions ahead; they stood to notice him on the slightest slip-up. "I know. Does she have an alternative?"
"Yeah. She's wondering why we don't call them ourselves."
"As if they'd hear us out. Doing this will ensure we have their attention."
"I don't like it. There's too much room for failure."
"Look, all we need to do is snag something. Doesn't even have to be a radio; a gun, a helmet, anything connected to the BattleNet. Once we have it-"
"I inject datapackets full of incriminating evidence, I know. That part of the plan is great, don't get me wrong. It's just... how are we going to get from point A to point B? We have a goal, but no method."
Ikharos drew his Lumina and thumbed back the hammer. "Here's my method."
"Traveler above..."
"My thoughts exactly."
"Look, I'm no more fond of these thugs than you are, but let 'em simmer. We've got bigger fish to fry."
"The Er'kanii - Erechaani, whatever - are heading here. They've shown themselves willing to kill humans and do the Hive's bidding. I'm not letting Carvahall be turned into a warzone. It won't survive it."
Ikharos stalked the Cabal through the woods and into the mountains. The regiment was marching north to meet their lost auxiliaries, utterly oblivious to the grand trap they were stepping into. It reeked of a Witch's touch. One of the Auryuul's leading bunch, he reckoned, or at least one of their prominent daughters. The forest ahead was perfect for concealing an army, and if equipped with Cabal-grade armour and weaponry, the Erechaani stood able to inflict considerable damage even if they didn't dedicate themselves to a grand show of trickery and deception.
The Cabal were opening the door to their deaths. Ikharos wouldn't have cared if hadn't been for the human village stuck in the centre of the oncoming slaughter. It put him in the precarious position of having to blunt the Erechaani offensive while leaving the Uluru intact.
Or at least intact enough that they - hopefully - wouldn't commit further acts of barbary.
At some point he had reunited with Beraskes. When he asked if the others were coming, she grunted noncommittally. "They must be on their way," she asserted. " There are Threshers in the air and you ordered that they remain hidden. But worry not, Kirzen; they will catch up soon."
Ikharos turned back to the matter at hand. "They better. Raksil's scorch cannon might be needed."
"For Cabal?"
He shrugged. "Maybe. They're packing a Goliath."
"You tear those apart."
"Yes, loudly. If there's Hive nearby, it'll send them into a frenzy."
"Scorch cannons are not quiet."
"They are on a paracausal scale. Cannon shoots. Solar rockets fly. Things explode. No magic involved."
Beraskes mumbled something that sounded conspicuously like "You're the magician."
Ikharos inhaled. "That I am. Come on, we need to get closer."
Cabal weren't the most watchful of militants. Their technology was good, their martial prowess undeniable, but they lived by the overblown confidence of those who saw themselves as the pinnacle of warfare and utterly unassailable in that regard. Losing the carrier to the Hive should have been the wake-up call, and would've been for anyone else, but the Uluru weren't taking the lesson to heart.
Ikharos wasn't complaining. It enabled him and Beraskes to get close, shadowing the regiment's trek north. Psions were always an issue, but it didn't look or feel like there were any Flayers hidden between the shield-toting ranks of tireless Phalanx. There was a Centurion at the head of the armoured convoy, directing their movements with guttural grunts. She hefted a Bronto cannon primed to go and posed a dangerous, daunting figure. Bannered wings of cream and gold were proudly attached to her jump-pack, depicting the blocky symbol of an Uluru's skull drowning in a goblet of smooth-cut flames.
Not the kind of party he'd have liked to run into. Too much firepower and far too much armour. Hardly impossible, not even that difficult, but he imagined crossing them would prove... tedious. They would eat up his time - time better spent, as Xiān so delicately put it, 'frying' bigger fish.
So Ikharos slunk through the underbrush after them. He knew where Beraskes was at all times - hard not to, having run into Marauders often enough to pick up on their tells. But, at that moment, he couldn't have cared for what she was. She was filling in the empty space of something he hadn't realized he'd sorely missed: stalking a dangerous foe with company.
For hours the regiment walked. In the distance a Psion Optus conferred with the Centurion about how to diplomatically approach the errant Erechaani, both none the wiser to the latter's change in allegiances. It was almost tragic, and a ruthlessly clever move on the Hive's part. Something worthy of begrudging recognition.
"I smell them," Beraskes whispered at one point. "They are near. They stalk the Cabal as we do."
Ikharos tapped her shoulder to signify he heard. "Let's get into position. If they give us a distraction, we take it, but we don't dedicate ourselves to a lost cause. I'm not losing anyone to heroics, got it?"
"I understand."
"Good. Where are the others?"
The radar on his HUD zoomed out. Six blue dots crowded together a considerable distance away. "Three o'clock, on the ridge. Up."
Ikharos glanced in the indicated direction. They were miles off. "Far."
"Melkris says it's good enough for him and Kida. They'll give us covering fire, should we need it."
"Let's hope we don't."
"Agreed."
"Right, put this through: ready up for a run. There's Erechaani north of our position, closing in. If they engage the Cabal in hostilities, perfect. If not, don't dare try anything. We have to play this smart. There's two dozen Threshers and Traveler knows how many Legionaries further down the valley. It won't take much to bring them down on us."
"I hear you, Kirzen." Melkris' voice filtered through his helm's speakers, marred by light static. "I see the Er'kanii. Bah, and they call themselves hunters..."
Ikharos saw them too - hunchbacked figures loping between the trees, some hefting guns and other more primitive, and infinitely more wicked, tools of violence. They cracked and snapped their jaws together like overeager crocodiles, but not a single bullet was loosed.
The Centurion halted her convoy with a raised fist and bellowed into the forest. "Erechaani Host-Primary, stand to attention! Primus Invoctol demands your return to active duty!"
A handful of Erechaani stalked out of the shadows and into full view. One of them - the largest - sported quills along its neck. They were hideous, monstrous creatures all, but that one was the worst by far. It tilted its massive head comically and clicked its fangs together. "Ruuskn serves Primus Da'aurc."
It spoke Ulurant poorly. Ikharos could barely make out the words.
"Primus Da'aurc is deceased," the Centurion shouted angrily. Or maybe that was her normal tone of voice. Hard to tell with Uluru. "Invoctol, Flayer of Soulrazer, has assumed command of all Imperial forces on-planet. Heed his orders, Auxiliary-Potentate."
"Why?"
For a moment, there was no sound but the growl of the Goliath's thrusters. The Centurion blinked. Ikharos could practically hear her grinding her teeth. "WHY?! You are vassals of the Cabal Empire! Fall in line or fall in the dirt!" She leveled her cannon with the lead Erechaani. Her gathered Phalanx shook out their shields in preparation. "Either can be arranged."
Ikharos became aware of something else. Something below the clanking of loading slug rifles. Something past the hum of the furious grav-tank. Something... something like a low whining whistle.
"Kirzen!" Melkris whispered harshly into his ear. "Something is approaching, fast!"
"Which direction?" He hissed back.
"From-"
The Erechaani - including Ruuskn - suddenly looked around, each of them cringing and curling in on themselves. Their leader raised its spines and cried out, "They are here!"
The Centurion huffed. "Who?! Hive?!"
Her soldiers rippled with fresh anger.
"Singers!"
Distant trees crunched. The whistling intensified, rising to new heights. Then, faster than Ikharos could believe, he caught sight of something incredibly big and incredibly tall galloping through the forest towards them with single-minded purpose. It flashed into view, silver-hued and grace-given, upon two lean digitigrade legs.
The distance between it and everyone else disappeared in a split-second - Traveler above, it was so fast! With it came a flush of cold nausea, rippling maliciously around his Light.
"Shit!" He backpedaled, Beraskes already way ahead of him. "Harmony!"
It leapt forwards, caught one of the Erechaani in its hand and squeezed in a single brutal motion, and at the same time cleaved another beast-soldier in two with a long-bladed spear as tall as its owner - rivaling the height of the surrounding pines. It had to be fourteen feet at least, Kell-sized.
Ikharos became aware of three things very quickly: that it had begun killing the Erechaani and Cabal indiscriminately, that it was bigger and faster than any up-jumped Knight he'd fought before, and that it saw him. He knew it saw him because, immediately after its abrupt and bloody entrance, it looked straight at him with its single crystalline eye. Muscles tensed beneath its metallic skin, and its whole body seemed to vibrate with sound. It was... laughing. Ikharos could barely hear it above the surprised cries and shouts of ambushed soldiers, but it was doing exactly that. Chortling at the sight of him - even cloaked in Void as he was.
"Traitor-Child!" the lithe, horned Harmony warrior warbled gleefully. "Himmenburthro!" (Skyborn!)
"Psesiskar!" Ikharos dropped the veil and, tossing caution aside, unfurled his Solar wings. A sword of pure heat filled his hand. It spat great arcs of burning wrath. The Harmony jerked back and pranced away with a grace that belied its size. Chunks of earth, rock, and plant matter were eaten up in its place - leaving pools of molten Solar in his Super's wake. The Harmony raised a hand. A shimmering Arc shield raised up before it, absorbing the first and second Daybreak strikes. The ward shattered on the third, and Solar blade met silver glaive.
All at once, everything turned to absolute chaos. Bullets flew. Roars were exchanged. Screams rebounded through the trees. Fire danced. Ikharos and the Harmony performed with one another a deadly waltz, flicking their blades to and fro. An Erechaani savage, having run from the Harmony only to stagger into Ikharos, was ruthlessly disintegrated for the crime of getting in the way. The Warlock had one target and one only - the silver giant.
It was not mutual.
Just as quickly as they clashed, the Harmony pirouetted away - towards the bellowing throngs of Cabal. Shields raised. Slugs split the air, uselessly shattering against the metal warrior's impenetrable skin. For its part, the Harmony merely pointed its glaive in their direction. A beam of superheated plasma shot forth from the star-bright blade. Cabal disintegrated - most didn't even have time to scream. What Phalanx didn't die reeled away. Their tried-and-tested shield formation shattered into wild panic.
The Goliath darted to the side, unnaturally agile for what it was. Its flak turrets spat bullets with as much success as the rest of the - now scattered - Cabal. Its primary cannon took aim and roared. The Solar missile streaked through the air and only just managed to strike a glancing hit against the Harmony.
Fire billowed over silver skin. The giant stumbled, thrown off-kilter by the hit, but was very much not-dead. Hurt, maybe, yet still far from a corpse. At least they could be hurt, Ikharos thought. Pain signified a link to mortality. And mortality was finite - it could be ended.
The Harmony could be killed.
"Kirzen, it's not alo-"
Something fell out of the sky and crashed down on the Goliath with an explosive crunch. The grav-tank's thrusters groaned and died out - as if the rest of it wasn't already dead to begin with. Up from the sparking, smoking mess of the war machine rose up a second silver-skinned, crystal-eyed, and backswept-horned Harmony. It was taller than the first by a few feet.
And it had wings. A perfectly symmetrical pair of wings, draconic in form: elongated fingers stretching from secondary arms sprouting from its shoulder blades, with thin flaps of metal stretched between.
The Cabal shouted and further dispersed, struck senseless by the sudden devastation. The Erechaani fled, no hesitation, but a straggler was suddenly plucked and lifted up by another steely hand - belonging to another Harmonic warrior. Shorter than the others, no less deadly.
Ikharos fell back to earth, his own wings instinctively curling up. The Solar dispersed to reinforce his personal shield, fueling his defenses - whatever good that would do. He clutched his Lumina in his left hand and drew Néhvaët with his right.
The captive Erechaani shrieked and bit at its captor's hand. The skin was too tough to break, and the owner just looked on with an alien form of curiosity. After a few terrifying moments, it simply said, "Slytha." (Sleep.)
All struggling ceased. The Erechaani went limp, and the Harmony roughly dropped it on the forest floor as it turned to face Ikharos. Each of the Harmony bore elegant spears with glowing white blades. Ikharos had seen what the weapons were capable of. He doubted even his Light could hold them off for long - if at all.
The winged warrior stepped from the dead Goliath with a noble and dignified air, as if it hadn't just brutally murdered an entire tank crew in one savage motion. Its eye - if it even was one - didn't so much as shine as it boasted more colour than everything in the immediate vicinity. Everything was so... grey around it. Devoid of all brightness. Devoid of all life.
"Nógr né-galasön," it said, the sound reverberating from every part of its strange, strange body. "Nógr faedhír. Vae weohnata thort un onr weohnata hórna." (Enough no-song. Enough fighting. We will speak and you will listen.)
Ikharos backed away slowly, keeping all three of the Harmony within view. "How about no?"
"I must insist." The winged one stepped forth. Noticing his surprise, it made an unfamiliar motion with its head to slightly shake its horns. "Yes, I speak your language. It is a blunt thing lacking in rhythm and melody, like all your kind's tongues, but I know it. Now - cease your retreat."
"A fortuitous find!" Another cheered euphoniously. "We came for the War-Bearers and we find the child of the Song-Traitor!"
The previous Harmony flicked its head again, more aggressively. The other speaker fell silent. With a shake of its wings, it stood up as tall as it could, summoning an aura of power and confidence. Ikharos saw it for what it was: cold arrogance. "I am Midha, Consort of Stars and Singer of the Fifth Tidal Opera. I serve Nezarec, All-Song and Orator of the Harmonious Flotilla Invincible."
"You serve a liar," Ikharos spat.
"Hero."
"He's a demagogue, exploiting your wishes to serve his own ends."
"Our desire is united and it is noble. It is vengeance of the highest order!"
"Against what, the Hive?" Ikharos jutted his head in a vague northern direction. "Go on, then. Go get them. You have no reason to be here."
"We have every reason." Midha swept its spear back, towards the still disorganized mess of the Phalanx formation's remains. Rifles were still firing. Not one of the three Harmony so much as flinched as microrocket after microrocket splashed against their steely hides. What was it to them? Nothing more than a faint tickle, evidently. "Kodthr." (Catch.)
The warrior who'd rendered the Erechaani unconscious whined shrilly and leapt to engage. There was a grand shriek of metal on metal as spear carved up shields. The remaining two stayed where they were, preventing Ikharos from disrupting... well, whatever they were doing. Slaughtering, it looked like, with a touch of abduction.
"Against the gods, Light-Child. That is the vengeance we seek. Against the gods who ravage all the worlds with needless cruelty. The end is coming, but it does not have to be full of hate and violence. Allow the All-Song to gather you in, embrace all you are and add you into the Final Sha-"
"Look, nothing you say is going to convince me to join you." Ikharos glared at them. "So save your breath."
"We have no breath."
"You know what I mean."
The self-proclaimed Consort of Stars shook out its - his? - wings like the Keplerian dragons were wont to do. "In time you will wish otherwise."
Ikharos stopped where he was. They were too fast to outrun, to alert to hide from, too focused to fall for any tricks. He wasn't left with many options. "I don't make wishes."
"Kirzen, now!" Out of thin air, two spherical objects were tossed through the air directly at the Harmony. The moment the web mines impacted, they burst out into two growing fields of heavy Arc, distorting the space caught within. The further Harmonic warrior, the unnamed wingless one, stumbled out in time, but Midha's legs were caught and prevented him from escaping - all he could manage was to raise his free hand in front of his head and flinch. Ikharos flashed his gun up and unloaded all twelve Noble Rounds onto the silver creature.
Nothing happened. Midha's hand fell away, and he looked down over himself. "Nettle-sting," he trilled amusedly. "Light-taste."
"Crap." Ikharos shoved his cannon in its holster. Beraskes, newly revealed, retreated as well, swords raised defensively and head held low. That was a grand waste of ammunition.
The second Harmony approached quickly. "Kirzen? And what king have you slain, Traitor-born? The ill-crowned human?"
Midha viciously tore the Arc webbing away. There was an audible pop as the spatial distortion burst. "The hollowed one lives. So what king?" He slowed. His eye shone. "A pretender?"
Ikharos didn't reply, mind whirling. A hand came for him. He swung his sword, nipping one of the fingers. Metal parted beneath Néhvaët's hungry kiss. Blood like mercury flowed from the cut. The Harmony pulled its limb back and cradled it against its chest, just as surprised as he was.
Well, Ikharos thought grimly, at least something works.
"Onr weohnata deyja wiol sem," it whistled sharply. "Ósjaldan, til eka eddyr ilia un heill." (You will die for that. Again and again, until I am satisfied with the result.)
The spear pointed. It spat a jet of plasma, but Ikharos had already moved; he Blinked into the air, beside the warrior with his sword angled down. The Harmony disengaged and jumped away. Néhvaët hit nothing but leaf litter. A return swipe of the monstrously big glaive came for him. Ikharos took the air again, dashing out of the way of the swinging guillotine with a pulse of Solar.
Another blow came for him. He saw it out of the corner of his eye. Ikharos stifled a curse and forced himself down. Midha's glaive slipped just above him. Just as quickly, the thrust twisted into a plummeting strike. Ikharos tore through the veil of space with another Blink, clearing a space behind the two Harmony. He would have appreciated a split-second to catch his breath and come to terms with what was happening, but the silver warriors were not slow lumbering Hive Knights. They were large, but they were quick, and with a flap of his wings Midha closed the distance in a flash.
Arc rounds slammed into his back. Beraskes unloaded her entire rifle's worth. The giant simply didn't care.
Ikharos brought up his blade to ward off the spear, but all he could do was deflect it into the ground rather than lock the weapon down. As well as being quick, the Harmony were strong. Impressively so.
A heavy fist - Midha's other hand - fully caught Ikharos' side and sent him tumbling over the ashy forest floor. His breath was forced from his lungs. There was an unpleasant numbness emanating from his flank. His shields had disappeared and one of his ribs had caved in, maybe two. Not good. The winged warrior towered over him, spear angled down like a harpoon. Someone was shouting in Ikharos' ears, but he wasn't listening. All thoughts were centred on one thing: dismantling the thing trying to kill him. With a subdued snarl, he swept Néhvaët out. Midha began to chuckle; the blade wasn't large enough to reach the Harmony's legs.
The Void more than made up for it. Violet power flashed - and the Harmony was himself sent tumbling back, the metal of his shins ravaged. Ikharos lurched to his feet, blood on his lips and a roar building in his throat.
He almost forgot about the other one. Seeing it suddenly barrel towards him, spear glowing, went some ways to reminding him. Ikharos flushed Néhvaët full of power, allowing the Void to run through the hadium-brightsteel edge. Infinite un-realities rippled out, forming a secondary shield in front of him. Just in time too - the spear smashed down on him, and if he hadn't acted Ikharos would have been little more than a red mess.
The Harmony struck again and again, too fast and vicious to for him to do anything other than weather the storm. Midha was doing something, hand hovering over his injured legs, but Ikharos couldn't act. Couldn't stop the winged warrior from healing himself. Couldn't even muster a counterattack to the wingless one's assault.
Where was-
000
The Harmony were dancing with Ikharos. Playing, like cats having cornered a scorpion - capable of killing it with ease, wary of being stung. They were agile, despite their stature and composition, and they took advantage of that. Glaives flashed. Earth was raked and burned. Ikharos' shields cracked and shattered again and again, and his armour was left scorched, but not a single silver edge tasted his blood. Not yet.
Melkris shifted beside her, getting into a more comfortable position. Two of his eyes were trained against the dual scopes of his wire rifle. A talon tapped against the trigger, not yet commiting to a shot.
"Northwesterly wind," he muttered. There was no sign of the jester she knew. "It flows like Amalax's dust clouds. Cold. Deceptive."
Formora stood, drawing her sword. "We have to-"
Raksil grabbed her arm, staring at Melkris. "Wait," he murmured.
The shockshooter gave no indication of having heard them. "Spinning. Charging. Sharpening. A needle strike. Great Machine watch over me."
He fired. Once. A single flash tore through the open air.
It was answered with a resounding scream. The creature assaulting Ikharos swerved away, clutching its very broken eye. Even miles away, Formora winced at the pitch of its maddened keening.
Ikharos, wreathed in grim power, shot up and ruthlessly separated the hand holding the spear at the wrist. The screams only intensified - and then Ikharos was behind it, no explanation why, and ran his sword across the back of its knees. The Harmonic warrior collapsed - blinded, crippled, weaponless. He teleported in front of it and laid its throat open with a single tugging motion, sliding his blade along its neck. Silver blood flowed from the breakages in rivers. It continued to scream.
It had no windpipe to silence.
000
"Oh, shut up." Ikharos grabbed the Harmony with claws and tendrils of ravenous Void to hold it still, and only then did he plant Néhvaët in its sternum. The silver creature shuddered and tried to remove him with its remaining hand, but Ikharos swatted the limb aside with a blast of Arc. It shuddered again. He forced the blade deeper, using it as an anchor. He could hear Midha bellowing and stumbling about, almost back in the fight. He was almost out of time.
Ikharos pulled all his Void into a single Nova Bomb and funneled it through Néhvaët to reach the softer internals of the struggling giant. Once the Super was spent, Ikharos tore away and left the collapsing Harmony to die. It was pulled apart - every single molecule - by the singularity taking root within the heart of its shell. An implosion was marked by the sharp sound of steel being shredded up like paper. Nothing was left behind.
Midha shrieked uncontrollably. "Onr weohnata waíse given verkr un anglàt! I curse you!"
"You brought this on yourself," Ikharos furiously shouted back. A burning sensation ran up his side - something was certainly broken. Internal bleeding? Very likely. At least his lungs were still going, as painful as each breath was.
The winged Harmony found his footing again, shins repaired. Though its blank face couldn't show emotion, Ikharos knew for certain that the crystal embedded within its sleek skull was glaring right back.
"Né!"
Ikharos twisted around. A thin wall of residual Void flowed up to form a makeshift barricade, but the third Harmony's spear cut through. The silver blade found him and opened him up - he wasn't quick enough to get away. Ikharos heard it before he felt it; the sizzling, searing hiss of disintegration. He would have been glad for the unintentional cauterization if the wound he was dealt wasn't so grievous.
His mouth filled with the taste of ash. Ikharos dropped down to the ground, eviscerated. The pain overcame all his senses. All he could hear was the diminishing beat of his heart. The nullscape buckled beneath the strain. That was fine. He only needed it for a few seconds longer - there! He felt it, a strand of Void linking him back to where the first Harmony had died. The essence of its death, still raging as a hungry, hungry vortex of raw energy, remained yet. Ikharos tugged on it, pulling the energy back to him and falling back on the Attunement of Hunger. The Void, eternally unsatisfied, repaid his sacrifice with power. His flesh was replenished. His armour and shields built back up. Agony subsided entirely.
Ikharos rolled away from the silver warrior's second strike. The spear slammed into the ground where he'd fallen. He could feel the heat of it on his skin through his suit, burning the edges of his robes. His hand filled with anti-gravities, forming them into a handheld Supernova. He flipped over onto his back and loosed. The Harmony took the brunt of the barrage and shrank away, whistling discordantly.
It leveled its spear with him. Ikharos prepared to Blink again, but then the Harmony paused and shuddered, the light on the spear's blade growing dim. He felt something - a familiar aura of magic tethering the silver warrior in imaginative and glorious ways. Ikharos couldn't divine the true nature of it, but one thing was clear: it was the opening he needed.
Arc ran down his arms, sparking between the feathers of his bracers. It shot between the bones and claws of his gauntlets and into the receptive medium of his sword's hilt. It raced up, into the blade proper, and crackled around it in sharp snaps of contained lightning.
The Harmony flexed its body, breaking free of the spell and firing its beam. Ikharos teleported away, Blinking again and again as the plasma stream moved to catch him. He fired back in shorter bursts, scoring glancing hits with bolts from his sword that knocked the giant's aim way off target. Trees cracked and fell around them, and Cabal continued to scream, but he was outpacing it - outpacing the Harmony's power.
But not Midha, who reared up before Ikharos whole and well. A hand shot towards him. Ikharos slashed, finding satisfaction in both the effortlessness with which Néhvaët cut into Harmonic flesh and the cry it elicited. Midha snarled meanly - a sound like an old submarine groaning as the pressure of the ocean's depths crushed it up. The winged warrior's spear came down like a hammer, cracking open Ikharos' shields for the umpteenth time.
"Enough! Waíse edr!" (Be still.)
Ikharos' joints locked up against his will, trembling to a halt. Midha's threatening notes turned to cruel, alien laughter. The silver warrior enforced the spell with inhuman strength and ancient dexterity, fighting Ikharos' attempts to break free every step of the way.
But there was another sound. A mechanical howl growing in volume. Static played against Ikharos' skin - it wasn't the Arc. An electromagnetic lock was in play, singling out their position. Ikharos knew what it was, having been exposed to it for the Red War's duration and for a century more beforehand, during his occasional parols through the Martian front. Midha, however, did not - only that something was happening. The Warlock fought with renewed determination further fueled by desperation, and in one final bid to get out of the way he funneled the Void through him and viciously ripped through matter and space. He flung himself through, clearing away. Midha reached for him, with physical limb and grasping magic, only for the Cabal's fiery retribution to hit home.
Missiles pounded the area. Fire engulfed the winged Harmony. Ikharos' eardrums decided then and there was a good time to burst. Threshers dropped out of the sky and fired with prejudice, filling the forest with booming flak and shattered sound barriers.
A plasma jet clawed out of the smoke cloud and ripped one of the Threshers from the sky. The others veered away as the gutted vessel dropped, bursting open like a cyst full of sickening fire. Another plume of heat grabbed a ship, and by then the Cabal started to realize their mistake, having ventured too close.
Midha leapt out of the smoke, armoured skin cracked and splintered but yet largely intact. His wings furiously fought gravity's pull, and he snagged a hold of a Thresher's wing before it could rise away. The ship shook with mechanical fear - or was that the pilots?
"We need to get away, now!"
"No." Ikharos repaired his broken ears and stepped forward, narrowing his sights. The last Harmony had its hands full. Three Interceptors were pinning it down with a near-constant hail of Solar rockets, while the survivors of the original convoy were summoning courage necessary for a retaliation. They weren't doing near enough damage, but if they could buy him time...
Ikharos raised a hand to the sky. Arc flushed through him. It ploughed forth, tearing a straight route through the air. It hit true, sending the winged Harmony careening back down. The Thresher with him was already gone, a spear lodged in its smoking cockpit, but the others were out of range.
Good.
Midha turned his fall into a glide with frustratingly intact wings, landing more gently than Ikharos had hoped for. The Harmony straightened up, looked around, and upon finding Ikharos rolled his bladed shoulders. He held up one of his scorched hands, all four fingers curled up into a fist. "Hvassa." (Sharpen.)
A swelling growth slipped over the Harmony's knuckles, the metal flowing like water. It solidified into a long slim blade.
"You should have left well enough alone." Ikharos flicked Néhvaët up. He fell back into a comfortable defensive stance.
"It is you who should have avoided this fight." The ground tremored with the sound of the Harmony's furious reply. "Ezyrax, Consort of Sin, decreed that the War-Children deserved a lesson in humility. Dervales, glorious Seneschal and Singer of Form, desired the secrets of their flesh. Elkhon, Purified, sought to understand their martial ways. I am to claim their warriors. It is righteous; it is right!"
"There's nothing right about murder!"
"No." Midha straightened. "There is nothing. But it is the truth they pressed on us. You do not understand, Traitor-Son, what the universe promises. It is entropy. It is of beginnings that will inevitably turn into endings."
"You didn't have to give in!" Ikharos gritted his teeth. "There are other ways!"
"Those ways did not save us. Our Flotilla burned. Our worlds drowned. The Witch laid claim to our dark star." The Harmony pointed its bladed arm. "But we remember. We remember all the lessons they imparted. My spear remembers the bite of our orbit - it remembers the Sting!" He pointed it right at Ikharos. "Nezarec is vile. Nezarec is hated. Nezarec is our last hope. You wrongfully slew a dutiful singer on this day, human, but the Song-Traitor clouds your judgement. Retribution will be had, of this you can be assured, though you need not be scoured from our rising melody. Add your voice to ours. Partake in our orchestra - join the Final Aria. Together, we will not be forgotten."
"Not a fucking chance!"
Midha charged - no pause, no hesitation. Vengeance gleamed in his gem-like eye.
An Arc round splashed against his horns. The charge ground to a halt. Both Warlock and Harmony stared incredulously at the Marauder standing off to the side, fumbling with her rifle.
"Élarksa!" Midha switched targets.
Ikharos grasped at the strings of Arc hovering around him and forced himself into a Stormtrance, closing the distance between him and the stampeding Harmony with a series of Ionic Blinks. His free hand splayed out, setting forth a web of lightning. Midha spasmed uncontrollably and fell to his knees. A wing shot out, slapping Ikharos aside and effectively ending the Super.
Ikharos tumbled, gasping for lost breath. When he stopped, he found himself staring up into a hazy sky. All he could taste was the coppery tang of his own blood. His tongue felt significantly shorter - had he bitten it in half? No, most of it was there... "Beraskes," he growled, "go!"
He heard the patter of receding footsteps. Midha's lurching groan cut off the rest of it. Ikharos sucked in a deep breath. The shouts of distant Cabal war-speak was growing closer. Reinforcements weren't far off.
"They will kill you too."
Ikharos barked an empty laugh as he pushed himself up. "As long as you die with me."
"A waste."
"You asked for this, you bastard."
The Harmony brought a fist down on the ground with a slam and levered himself up. Lingering Arc-sparked spasms continued to haunt the colossal warrior, forcing his digits to twitch involuntarily.
Ikharos kept his distance. He'd burned through his elements too quickly. Midha was right: he couldn't deal with an extended fight. The Cabal were minutes away, at best. He had to end things quickly.
"Xiān," he whispered. "Tell them to run."
"What about-?"
"Do it. They won't survive this."
"Will we?"
Ikharos didn't have time to answer. He locked the nullscape in place once more and threw his battered self back into the fight. The Harmony's knee was his target. Midha was too tall, plainly put, and Ikharos scarcely had the Light to waste on a second Dawnblade activation. Unfortunately, being tall equaled long reach, which left Midha capable of warding Ikharos away with large sweeps of his bladed arm.
It was frustrating.
"Jierda!" Ikharos muttered sharply. He felt something - a tug on his core, punching a hole in his spectral defenses and allowing vitality to leak out. The Harmony had wards, he realized too late, and he'd been fool enough to dedicate to an absolute. Seeing his error for what it was, Ikharos pushed his Light into the spell, empowering it and replacing the taxing effect that had begun to manifest in his body.
Wards crunched. The blade cracked off Midha's arm to plunge into the soft forest floor. The Harmony, for its part, rumbled something fierce. "Short-voiced creature. You speak less eloquently than even an un-molted child." His metal hands flexed. "Hvassa."
This time it was no blade that grew, but talons from the otherwise blunt-ended fingers of the Harmony. All he needed was a toothy maw and he would've been a true dragon.
Another Arc bolt, not unlike the one that had blinded Ikharos' other opponent, slapped against the giant's skull. The angle was off, keeping the eye safe, but it garnered enough attention. Midha twirled around and said, "Rakr."
Ikharos didn't know the word, but the spell made itself very clear. A fine cloud of dust and smoke gathered together, cutting off the sights of the Eliksni shockshooter and the rallying Cabal, who still clashed with the third and final Harmonic warrior. It was just the two of them, cornered and sequestered away in their own little arena. Their duel was to be, as Midha had decided, an independent affair - not for any outside party to sway.
So very Sword Logic-esque. The Hive would have been proud.
"Eka weohnata jierda ono," Midha swore with an empty, metallic voice. "Eka weohnata jierda onr hjarta. Thornessa eka otherúm. Onr weohnata tauthr Nezarec. Onr galasön weohnata waíse nosu. Vae weohnata vergarí du Könungr abr Anglàt saman." (I will break you. I will break your will. This I swear. You will follow Nezarec. Your song will be ours. We will kill the King of Death together.)
The threat was earnest - it came straight from the heart, or whatever Harmony had. Ikharos didn't much care for it. Only the final phrase pulled any weight, and only because he knew it wasn't true.
His opponents believed, with all their calibre, in a falsehood.
"Oryx is dead," Ikharos murmured. He was confident Midha could hear. If not... oh well. "I killed Him. In His ship. In His throne realm. He's gone. Oryx er du könungr eka vergarío." (Oryx is the king I killed.)
Harmony were even harder to read than Psions, what with their lack of faces and abnormal physiology, but the shudder that rippled through Midha was unmistakable. It was the hollow feeling of failing satisfaction times a hundred. Ikharos, who'd tasted what vengeance brought, knew all his experiences paled to that of the creature before him. Both their worlds died, but one jumped right back on the path of healing. The other stayed dead.
Gone was the battle, gone were the Eliksni and Cabal, gone was Kepler - Midha stared at Ikharos with such acute intensity that the latter felt his soul was being physically probed for any hint of deception, of lies, of trickery and deceit. And then, finally: "He is dead?"
"Yes." Ikharos grimaced. "He's gone."
He felt pity for the Harmony just as he did the Eliksni - but his hate persisted. As tragic as the past was, it didn't absolve the creature before him of the crime of subjecting an innocent human colony and an entire Risen Fireteam to death and unwitting enslavement. Too many atrocities had been committed. Too many lives needlessly lost.
"Come on." He balanced his sword over an arm, sliding into a new stance with practiced ease. "Let's just get this over with."
Midha pointed at him with a trembling arm. "You are a thief," he whispered discordantly. "You are a larcenist. Your people are bandits. The Eliksni are right. You stole the Song-Traitor, just as you stole our vengeance from us."
"We didn't-"
"Everything we suffered, we suffered so that He would be brought low. And you... slew Him. Like a common pest. You did not record His song, did you? You did not cement His memories in steel and crystal."
"I'd rather forget ever having met him," Ikharos whispered. He angrily gestured towards himself. "C'mon!"
Midha splayed out his new claws. "I will drag His Voice from your mind. I will offer it to my lordly prince to return what you took from us. You... You are unworthy."
He'd heard enough. Ikharos swept Néhvaët across, sending forth a streaking fan of Void teeth. Midha lifted up on outstretched wings, rising above the ethereal projectiles, and swooped down like a bird of prey - or an unusually mobile gargoyle.
Ikharos darted away, pushing through the air with what remained of his Solar Light. "Rocket me."
"NOW?!"
"Do it." He ducked and landed as colossal talons ripped at where he'd just been. Ikharos swiped at the next hand to come near, severing most of the offending fingers in one satisfying cut and providing him with the split-second necessary to grab the Gjallarhorn falling out of trasmat beside it and fire it point blank. The initial explosion almost tossed him off his feet - it certainly sent Midha back a few paces. The flurry of Wolfpack rounds bought him another couple of seconds, drilling into the Harmony's steel hide and erupting.
He Blinked above the Harmony even before all the rockets had finished exploding, but Midha was quick enough to snatch him out of the air and throw him against the ground with force. He bounced, once, and came to the conclusion that he couldn't breathe when he landed. Everything felt out of place. Everything hurt.
Didn't matter. Had to fight. Had to go on.
Ikharos barely made it to his knees when the surviving hand roughly grabbed him again with a bone-crushing grip and - gravity whipped at him. They were climbing up on drafts of air, clearing first above the battle and then the forest. Threshers fired. Rockets slammed against the Harmony's back, but it could've been a water balloons for all the effect they had
His sword was stuck by his side, cutting through the hand holding him yet doing nothing to help break free. His ribs were giving out, his spine twinged, and-
With one bellowing thought, Ikharos whispered, "Ofan." (Down.)
The spell clawed them out of the sky. They fell hard.
Ikharos wheezed, tore off his shattered helmet, and spat out a globule of blood. Something inside his chest... actually, everything inside his chest was giving out. Too bad. He needed to...
He forced himself up, grabbed the humming blade lying five feet away, and limped over to where Midha sat braced against the trunk of a very old - and now very broken - pine tree. The Harmony defeatedly watched him painfully amble over with a cracked eye. Midha's motionless body reverberated with a wordless, discordant hum. He couldn't form even a single sentence, let alone a decipherable word.
All the better, really.
Ikharos hissed through clenched teeth as he forced himself to climb up onto the giant's chest, just so he could look into its eye and... talk? No, that was beyond him too, what with one of his lungs almost certainly collapsed and the other on its way to join it. There was blood in his throat, so much that he was probably going to drown before he bled out. Unpleasant. Preferable to the alternative.
He braced one hand against a metal horn, fell to one knee, and forced Néhvaët up under the Harmony's chin. Midha flinched. His humming grew shrill. Then, after... Ikharos couldn't count how long, but longer than it should have been, the silver warrior went still.
"We need to go."
He didn't disagree. Ikharos could hear them; the roars of angry ships, the bellows of charging soldiers, the pounding of anti-armour cannons. There was still another giant to worry about, a part of his mind dimly recalled, but that was their problem. He'd done his part.
When he'd climbed down/fallen off of the alien corpse, a Sparrow - his Sparrow - formed in the air beside him. Ikharos gratefully crawled onto the saddle and leaned against the handles. His relief grew tenfold when Xiān took over for him.
It was almost morning of the next day when he found them, laying low in one of the Spine's more obscure valleys with weapons in hand. They called to him, they said things to him, they buzzed around him, and they ultimately watched him disembark, only to trudge over and fall to his hands and knees before the warm reprieve of a heat-lamp. Ikharos rolled over onto his back, groaning loudly.
Melkris' head hovered overhead. "Kirzen?"
"Beraskes here?" He rasped.
"Eia, she is alive."
"Thank goodness." That meant no difficult conversations with Kiphoris down the line.
"Uh, Kirzen... Are you well?"
"Crap," he breathed. Ikharos briefly closed his eyes. "I feel like crap."
"That was, uh... very brave."
"Oh psekisk..."
Melkris yelped as someone pushed him aside. Formora and Javek replaced him, hands gently roaming over the Warlock's shoulders and chest. Ikharos groaned again - his bruises had bruises, and they spiked up at even the barest touch. "Everything's fine," he mumbled, tapping his sternum in indication of all organs within. "Xiān already fixed me."
"He's not fine," his Ghost reported. "Get him up."
Ikharos soon found himself forced into a sitting position, surrounded by faces full of concern. It would have been nice if he wasn't so exhausted. At least his ears had stopped ringing.
Formora grabbed his head, more firmly than he would have liked, and moved it from side to side to check for injuries. "How do you feel?"
"As I said, like crap."
"Ikharos."
"Tired. Achy. Beyond that? Perfectly alive."
"That was..."
"Abrupt," Narí quietly finished, "and brutal."
Ikharos gave the elf a direct look. "Welcome to my world."
"I don't think I want to be here any longer."
"Honestly? Same."
"What... Who were those... those giants?"
Ikharos tried to lean away from Formora and her stern-faced fussing. He loved her, he really did, but her gentle prodding was only agitating his fragile state. It was far from endearing. "Stop."
"No." She forced him to look at her. "You are so reckless."
"Didn't exactly have a choice."
"This plan of yours-"
"The Harmony weren't part of my plan."
"No." Formora scrunched her eyes shut. Her fingers in his hair tightened. Her breathing was shaky. "Narí is right. That was abnormally brutal, even for us. Admit it."
"Which part?"
"The entire thing."
He sighed. "It was... unexpected. Damn..."
Formora's grip loosened. "But we're all alive."
"There is that." Ikharos found he liked the closeness now that he had it. He wrapped his arms around her. She returned it without hesitation, clutching tight. "Sweet Traveler above... Yeah, that was too close. Dammit."
"I'll make sure the Cabal aren't tracking us," Xiān muttered. Her voice had lost its cheer - replaced with cold fear and a whole lot of not-right. Ikharos reached out with a mental probe through the pathways of their bond, meeting her halfway. The after-battle shock surged between them.
Retrospect was one hell of a thing.
Ikharos huddled into the borrowed Scar cloak and hugged his legs to his chest. Formora was on his right and Melkris on his left, with Xiān hovering between him and the shockshooter. The others were all arrayed around the small heater, either checking over their equipment or standing watch. Their position was well-hidden, even taking the Cabal into account, but they couldn't forget that the Cabal weren't the only ones out there.
If a Harmony found them... Ikharos doubted he had the strength to bring another one down before it killed someone. His Light was spent and his mind frazzled; there was no fight left in him.
"That was... a mess."
Melkris snickered. Beraskes elbowed him.
"Thank you," Ikharos muttered. "I mean it. Worst-case-scenario kind of mess. But we now know that the Harmony are sticking around, and that in turn paints a pretty tale."
"The Hive's continued survival has driven them to worry," Formora guessed.
Ikharos nodded. "Exactly."
"But that doesn't explain why they were at Igualda Falls."
"Testing the waters? Cabal might not be paracausal, but they're still a danger."
"They were trying to catch people," Xiān muttered. "Erechaani and Cabal."
Ikharos grimaced. "Oh yeah."
"And Midha said-"
"Midha?" Formora asked, alarmed. "Who is Midha?"
"The winged one," Ikharos explained. "He had a lot to say. While he was trying to, you know, kill me."
"Is he...?"
"Yes."
Narí raised a hand. "Excuse me, but I must ask... what happened? Who were those... those creatures? And..." He pointed at Ikharos' shoulder. "Who's that?"
"Huh? Oh yeah, hi, I'm Xiān," the Ghost told him, She was filtering everyone's words into different languages so they could bypass the inconvenience of being a multilingual group. "I'm Ikharos's dragon."
The elf's expression morphed into one of utter bewilderment. "You're-"
"Yup. C'mon, Narí, keep up."
Ikharos grunted. "Leave him alone. Now's not the time."
Xiān landed on his shoulder. "Fine. But I'm not explaining."
"Formora'll fill him in."
"I will?" Formora turned sharply. "Why not you? You're more familiar with all of this."
"Because," Ikharos said slowly, "I've got to go soon."
"What?! Why?!"
"Plan's a plan. Harmony or no Harmony, the Cabal are about to fall for another Hive trick. I normally wouldn't care, but Carvahall would get caught in the middle and I don't want that, so I've got to find a way to get-"
Beraskes shuffled forward and dropped something on the ground in front of him. It was a slug rifle. "Here, Kirzen."
Ikharos snatched it up, almost dropping his portion of ether. "You... this is perfect. Fantastic work."
Blue light danced over it. Xiān took to the air and hovered closer. "Right, yeah, I see it... You deactivated the BattleNet connection?"
"Of course!" Beraskes nodded vigorously.
"Nice. Hmmm... yeah, I'm going to need to reactivate it. Give me some time; Javek and I will work on jamming the tracker for when we reconnect." She transmatted the rifle away and flew off with the Splicer deeper into the camp. Javek gave a salute as he went.
The rest looked at Ikharos expectantly.
"I guess I'm not going?" He ventured.
Formora leaned close. "No, you are not." Her tone brooked no argument. Ikharos was under the impression she was not pleased with him. "We need to speak of what happened."
"Harmony happened."
"Yes. Why?"
"Looking for captives seems a pretty solid reason. They probably hadn't encountered Cabal or Erechaani before. New people, new curiosities."
"So that... was just curiosity?"
"I think so."
Formora crossed her arms. "I hate them."
"I know," Ikharos said. "So do I."
"Is life so cheap to them?"
"Other life. They seemed to care where their fellows were concerned."
"Did they? It didn't look much like that to me. They invited the Cabal's wrath upon themselves."
"How well did that work out? Harmony are more resilient than I took them for. I'm starting to think Oryx only managed to take them down by throwing brood after brood at them, right up until they buckled under the strain. They're too strong for the average Knight to match."
"And what of you?" Formora's voice fell, became more pointed. More afraid. "You struggled. We saw it."
Ikharos scowled. "Yeah. I did."
A lengthy and uncomfortable pause stretched out. Finally, Raksil shuffled closer and asked, "What did the Harmony say?"
"He invited me to join, for starters."
"And you refused?"
"Of course!"
"Ah. I mean no offense, Kirzen, only that fear can-"
"No fear. I was just frustrated. I had a perfectly good scheme going and they just had to ruin it. Now the Cabal know we're around. Harmony too if the last one survived - or if they were being scryed by their friends."
Formora muttered something along the lines of "oh no."
"And I think I'm starting to piece together how they work, 'cause the lack of mouths was really throwing me off. It's not comforting."
"Elaborate please?"
"Just know that the Harmony's connection with Ahamkara might just be something more than baseless worship. The finer details have evaded me as of yet. I'll need to analyze one of the..." He trailed off, deep in thought. After a moment, Ikharos forced himself back to the present. "Nevermind. Look, new plan: we lay low while Xiān works on that rifle. I don't like the chance that there might be other Harmony out there, so we'll need to set up wards along the perimeter."
"Exactly." Formora stood and patted Ikharos' shoulder. "I will do just that. You can inform Narí of all he needs to know."
"I-... Fine."
"I will go with Zeshus and send out the Shanks," Raksil added.
"And I will go to sleep," Melkris declared. "Because I am tired."
Ikharos offered the shockshooter a dirty look. "You're lucky I owe you."
"Eia, I am."
Ikharos rolled his eyes. "Nice shot, by the way."
"It was, wasn't it? Incredible work if I do say so mine-self."
"No praise like self-praise." Ikharos leaned back, switching to English. "Right, where to begin..."
Narí sat down opposite him, on the other side of the heater. "What were those giants you fought?"
"Oh those? Grey Folk."
"Grey Folk?!"
"Yes. Alternatively, they go by Harmony. Or... what was it... Qulantnirang in their tongue."
"The Grey Folk are extinct."
"Mate, my broken bones say otherwise."
"Are you wounded?"
"Not anymore. Xiān put me back together. So formerly broken bones, I guess..."
"I don't..." Narí took a deep breath. "I do not understand. Ikharos-Faedhr, would you please explain it to me?"
It was an innocent question, even if the answers were damning enough. Ikharos dipped his head. "Alright. It's a long tale. Older than your world, maybe."
"My world?"
"Yeah."
"You speak in riddles."
"Everything I'm telling you is the truth. In a manner of speaking. I'm going to be using metaphors a lot here, just so you understand, because the events I'm to speak of are... very alien. You want to know about the Grey Folk?"
"Those are not Grey Folk."
"Tell them that. You going to listen?"
Narí nodded reluctantly.
"Right, they're from another world. The reasons for their forced relocation is because of another people from yet another world. And their story's shaped numerous events currently unfolding around us. It all began with three little princesses..."
"... that's why I subscribe to a healthy condemnation for all non-democratic monarchies."
Narí was pale with fright. He hadn't spoken for quite some time.
"Psekisk," Formora breathed out. She was in much the same situation: aghast at what she'd heard.
Ikharos, for his part, was rather proud of his tired self. He'd managed to squash down everything important in the core Books of Sorrow into something more manageable for his audience of skeptical and semi-skeptical elves. No mean feat, that. Oryx's writings were incredibly meticulous when it came to matters of philosophy/slaughter, of which the books almost entirely consisted of.
Of course, there were a myriad of other books and writings, but they weren't immediately necessary to recite, especially to those uninitiated in paracausal folklore. If he unloaded too much there was always the chance he'd unintentionally push those listening in down a dangerous and Dark road.
"Those monsters are here," Narí finally whispered.
Ikharos nodded. "Yes they are."
"How do you hope to crush them?"
"I don't. I'm going to let them crush themselves. Right now we're playing to cut our losses, but the moment the chance to kill one of their leaders rears up, I'm taking it. With the Broodqueen out of commission they'll find it hard to birth armies for themselves. Wizards will compete with another to take her place, weakening the brood altogether. If we knock out the Darkblade too... then the Knights will get involved. It'll pit Hive against Hive - and all we'll have to do is wait for an easy clean-up."
"How far will you go?" Narí looked genuinely conflicted, caught between horror and compassion. "Is there no way to lead those who survive to change their ways?"
"No. Even if there is, that time is long past. Now I'm not fond of attributing the crimes of an individual to an entire race, but for the Hive I'll make an exception. They all need to go."
"You truly hate them."
"The Hive," Ikharos began slowly, "are antithesis to good life. Either they die, or everything else does."
"... I think I understand."
"Do you?"
Narí exhaled shakily. "I imagine my days will be a little less bright from now on, knowing all you told me. Those beliefs are despicable."
"That is why we must expunge them from our shores," Formora followed up. "It is a distasteful and dangerous business, but one I will be glad to see through." She looked at Ikharos, eyes narrowed. "And it is the same for the Harmony."
There was a question there. "They aren't the same," Ikharos said. "But yes, they both follow a similar set of tenets. The Hive are the worst, though the Harmony aren't much better. Not as they are."
"How do we kill them?"
Narí turned on Formora, shocked. She stolidly ignored him. Ikharos grimaced and thought back to the unfortunate skirmish not a few hours before. "Again, if those I crossed are any indication then they're more capable than even Hive warrior-morphs. Perhaps Wizard-morphs too. I can't speak for reproduction or growth rates, so the Harmony might be more manageable in those aspects, but what soldiers they have are problematic enough."
"They have magic."
"Well, yeah. They did pioneer your magic after all."
"How much did they rely on it when you fought them?"
"Not very much offensively-speaking, aside from a couple of nifty traps, though that may be because they've reached the conclusion that the ancient language would prove less than effective against Light. And they wouldn't be wrong. From what I could tell, they relied on wards and their natural armour to protect themselves. What few spells they cast were to change themselves."
"So I saw. The winged creature-"
"Midha."
"Right, Midha. It created a blade from itself?"
"Yes. And when I broke it, claws."
"It also had wings."
"That's... not a natural Harmony thing?" Ikharos blinked. "... Wait wait, hold on, magic can form wings?"
Formora gave him an incredulous look. "Yes. We discussed this."
"I thought... Wait, so magical alteration isn't just superficial, is it? How far can you go?"
"When we dove to reach Scipio, I told you that given more time I could form myself a set of gills."
"I thought you were joking!"
"That would have been a poor jest." Formora crossed her arms indignantly.
"I know!"
"You went all this time thinking I joked about growing gills?"
"Yes!"
"I... don't know what to say. I'm capable of far better humour than that."
"I didn't really know you back then!" Ikharos sighed. "Look... okay, gills are one thing, it's not impossible… not entirely impossible to link it up with the rest of the respiratory system, but wings? That's a whole other set of limbs."
Formora looked up at the dawning sky, stance easing up. "I thought about forming wings before," she said wistfully. "I might yet do that."
Ikharos tried to imagine it. It was very, very difficult. "What kind?"
"Hm?"
"What kind of wings? Something draconic?"
"No. Like those of a great bird."
"What about a bumblebee?"
"Those would be exhausting."
"True." Ikharos shifted forward. His interest was piqued. "What else can magic do?"
Formora looked very tired all of a sudden. He could relate - but science took precedence. "A lot. Almost anything you can imagine. But the greater the change, the more complex the spell necessary to bring it to pass. There is a great cost in energy, too. Changing the flesh is no simple procedure."
Narí cleared his throat. "Surely there are more pressing matters to speak of."
"It's pressing enough," Ikharos defended. "If the Harmony can mutate themselves on a whim, I want to know their limitations."
What he didn't voice was how morbidly interested he was in uncovering more of the fantastical topic.
Formora grimaced. "With their level of control over the ancient language? They may not have any."
AN: Thanks, as ever, to Nomad Blue for editing!
Phew. I had this part planned out a long while ago, almost since the start, but I expected to get here far earlier than I did. Goes to show how planning just doesn't account for how much actual writing gets done. Anyways, this feels overly bold of me, but I will say that this is the part that marks a change in the overall story. I'd like to say this is the halfway point, maybe, but who am I kidding, I've no more idea than anyone else.