Chapter 9: Rebellion III

They were twelve and the Iron Lords were nine. Ikharos stared at the one opposite him, garbed in chainmail and cloak. Her helmet had a horsehair plume, worn like some sort of trophy. He knew her kind. Good with knives. But what was a knife to the ravenous beyond? Not much, he reckoned. But she wasn't defined by a knife and he wasn't just a wielder of the Void. No. They had guns. That was how it would be settled. With bullets and charged plasma.

Persaeus spat on the no man's land between them. His fire was already burning, melting the frost at their feet into a mucky sludge. One of Radegast's lackeys snorted derisively. Ikharos almost attacked then and there, almost cut down the upstart, but Socrates touched his arm. He calmed. The older man was right. It was not a fight he should have rushed.

Footsteps behind them. Shaxx circled around the Warlords and looked at each of them in turn. "People are going to die."

"Them." Persaeus took one step forward and-

Shaxx knocked his head clean off. The self-styled King of the Ishim's body slumped over. A horned helmet lifted up to regard the rest. "Leave."

Socrates sighed and threw Persaeus' body onto his Sparrow. The dead man's Ghost piloted it. Ikharos took one last glance back at the mountain, at Shaxx and his new friends, and went all the way home.

It really didn't take much to set Kuasta off. Rendan's speach had hardly been that inspiring, but it what it was. Not even a day later and the rebels were receiving reports of mass riots all across the land. Village militias, with the full support of their kin, turned on the stretched-thin Imperial garrisons. Rendan's men were hard at work to reach each settlement and help as best they could, but not all were victories. Melbet and Relhin, two separate hamlets, had been overcome by the Imperial soldiers and locked down. Cabadh had been entirely razed to the ground.

Ikharos didn't react as he otherwise should have. He was being held in reserve. They had to get the timing right. The violence continued to escalate over the course of two whole days, and yet he forced himself to stay still, to do nothing. His only consolation was that most of the settlements were released from Imperial control and the soldiers couldn't do anything about it. The majority of the army was in Kuasta, preoccupied with trying to keep the mob from overrunning everything within the city walls. The diversion could be exploited, but they needed to wait for the right time. Ikharos, Rendan, and the inner circle of the rebels planned to stage an incursion and thus made the necessary preparations, moving closer and closer to the city.

Ikharos just waited for the word. Just the one. Go.

Kuirst and Tellesa found him at a small freshwater pond polishing his sword. It was an imitation of the Hive cleaver, but it was refined with Light and superior materials. The hadium blade was the same in form, but his was clean and well-maintained, with an edge laced with carbon nanotubes that channeled thermal energy at temperatures over three-hundred degrees Celsius. Golden spinmetal had been cast in places to reinforce the lightweight frame. It was the Eternity Edge, a hungering blade, and he had made it to specifically to kill the servants of the Darkness. It had forged it with Mare Ibrium fresh in his memories, still seeing Wei Ning impaled on Crota's blade, still hearing the scream of Erianna-3 ringing in his ears. Death had been the only thing on his mind for weeks afterwards. Everything he'd done had been in the name of that one terrible term.

"That sword!" Kuirst exclaimed. He plopped down next to the Warlock and shamelessly gawked at the weapon. "It's incredible!"

"It is..." Tellesa looked at him dubiously. "You did not arrive with it."

Ikharos shrugged. "I've got an armoury's worth of weapons just in case. The things I carry are just the tools I rely on most regularly. This... I haven't used in a long time. I think it was a Fallen Kell on Venus. Yeah, that makes sense. I hate Venus. Too many Vex and Wolves and Ahamkara bones." He lifted up the sword effortlessly and looked down the blade. The edge was so sharp it cut the air, cut the sunlight, cut everything it touched. It was a heavy tool of death to carry, all that hadium in one primitive weapon, but in his hands it was as light as a feather. "I made it after my people lost a battle. We took hard losses. So we prepared for the next fight, did our research, and designed weapons to surpass those wielded by our foes. This is the result of my desire for vengeance. A blade to take to the monsters of the night..."

The Guardian stood and swung the weapon. It passed through nothing but air and left a hazy trail of superheated gas after it. "I might pick up the sword again."

"You'll have the chance to use it soon. Rendan wants you."

The Warlock lowered the weapon. "It's time then? Good."

The outer gates were unguarded; the soldiers had higher priorities. Namely, the city was tearing itself apart. Ikharos looked around the near-empty cobblestone streets. He could smell the smoke from the fire to the east, hear the din of protests to the northwest. He ignored it all. He, and the rebels with him, knew where the bastion was. The angry Kuastans had gathered before the portcullis of the fortress and were yelling at the Imperials hiding behind the defenses. Many had picked up farm tools and kitchenware to substitute weaponry, but with this many people even these second-rate blades and spears could be used effectively.

The Warlock wore his armour and carried his own kit, sword in hand and guns holstered. He went unnoticed in the sea of angry faces, all aimed towards the soldiers manning the walls. Archers held bows fitted with arrows, but had not yet drawn. They were afraid, Ikharos thought. The people they had been policing had just risen up against them as a unified force.

"What now?!" Edmont questioned, yelling to be heard over the sheer volume of the mob.

Rendan jutted a thumb towards the metal gate. "We need to get inside, before they start a slaughter! Ikharos, can you-"

He had already Blinked inside the gate house and thrown a guard inside down on the floor hard enough to hear a crack. Ikharos planted his sword in the stone beside him and started rotating the winch up. The portcullis slowly inched up and up, and with a great cheer it was pulled open enough for the rebellion to storm in. Two more soldiers raced inside. Ikharos drew his Lumina and fired twice, dropping them both.

The fortress was still protected, with a moat fed by the sea and more steel-wrought barriers past the dainty drawbridges. It was one of the largets buildings he had seen on Kepler, but nothing like the strongholds his kind used to have. At least the army was divided. Many had been stationed on the outer defenses and were now fighting a losing battle with the commoners, but he and Rendan's rebels ignored them.

"The top," the Warlock said, pointing to the tower over the bastion, where distant figures watched from the battlements. Rendan nodded and ordered a small group to reinforce the mob. He then held onto the Warlock's shoulder, as per Ikharos' instruction, and the Guardian teleported them onto the top with a rather explosive entrance. The nearest Imperial soldier was sent stumbling away, buffeted by the sudden force of reality trying to mend itself. The rebels sprung into action and cut down the soldiers without mercy. The Warlock located the hatch leading down into the building and rushed inside, with Rendan hot on his trail.

He ran down the corridor and slammed into a group of Imperials coming around the corner. Ikharos didn't freeze up, just redirected his movements, and his sword swung with flashes of bright death, killing all but one within seconds. The last Imperial he grabbed and pressed against the wall.

"Where's Lord Madlin?"

"Th-th-that way!" The Imperial pointed to where he came from. "D-d-downstairs, in h-his office."

Ikharos bolted down the hallways and the stairs, leaving Rendan to dispose of the soldier. He found more guards at the bottom.

Lord Madlin chugged from the wine bottle, gazing hopelessly outside the window of the fortress. Ikharos wasn't exactly quiet entering the room, but the man didn't openly acknowledge his presence. The Warlock grabbed a wooden stool and sat down, at ease, and waited for the rebel to arrive. He had left an clear trail behind him. Rendan joined them a few minutes later, his sword stained red. His eyes instantly locked onto the form of the resident Imperial. "Lord Madlin."

Madlin turned around, slowly. He was a heavyset man with dark bags under his eyes. His hair going grey. He didn't look very surprised to see them. The Lord gestured to the outside and laughed humourlessly. "I have you to thank for this?" His eyes darted over to Ikharos. "You and the wizard."

"This isn't your city anymore."

Madlin shook his head. "Perhaps, perhaps not. I don't imagine I'll survive, will I?"

"No."

"Barbarians. The empire is order. Your Varden will tear down all we've built." He tried talking firm, but his fire just wasn't there. "It doesn't matter. The king knows what is happening. He will stamp this rebellion out very soon." He refocused on the Warlock. "You've caused me great hassle, you know. My mages, taught by the king, are dead because of you. They were of his Hand. He will not be pleased. He will have his hunters after you, now. You've made a terrible enemy."

"I'm not sure you quite understand what I am," Ikharos breathed softly.

The nobleman grinned. "It doesn't matter. They're already coming. I've served for thirty years, so I know a defeat when I see one. I must applaud your efforts, but I'm afraid you've damned yourselves." He drew a knife. Ikharos leapt up, thinking the Imperial intended to kill Rendan, but the nobleman instead turned it on himself.

It was not an easy death.

Rendan paused. His previous bravado melted away. "He really seemed to believe that..."

"The port is close to being yours. The Imperials won't be able to field an army easily. It would cost them too much for land they will never be able to truly control."

"Yes... yes, you're right." The rebel nodded to himself. "What do we do next?"

"Secure the city first. Consolidate power. Restore order. Then, and only then, liberate any villages still under their control."

"Will you help us?"

There was only one answer to that. "Yes. I intend to finish what I began."

"I... thank you. None of this would have been capable without you."

Ikharos shrugged. "I am a Guardian. This is what I'm meant to do."

Kuasta turned into a slaughterhouse. The soldiers were soundly routed. Ikharos cleared them out the bastion from the inside and the rest either surrendered or fled to the fortified villages under the control of their fellows. Most of those did not get far.

The Kuastans were a vengeful people. A century's worth of hatred had been unleashed. Ikharos liked their open-minded personalities, their appreciation for professionalism and knowledge, but they had been pushed to the brink and it showed. On the plus side, they had enough common sense to know when to stop. Many volunteered to join Rendan's rebellion proper to reclaim Relhin and Melbet, while all the rest gave a shambling attempt at rebuilding society.

Ikharos laid back for the next few days and watched from a distance. The Kuastans were free to choose their own fate. He could only offer support and advice. He had felt the urge to move on, head for the next settlement in his search for understanding and wash his hands of this, but he needed to remain if only to ensure that stability returned to the region.

They began with Melbet. The Imperials inside had erected barricades of upturned carts and wood ripped straight from houses. They were trained soldiers in a defensible position with quality equipment and experienced leadership. The rebels gathered by Rendan outnumbered them, but they were not used to the weapons and armour they had looted from Imperials, and few had any knowledge on how to wage a war. They were incredibly fortunate that their leader was one of those few, having been conscripted into the Imperial army for many years some time ago. Ikharos was surprised to find himself spending time discussing tactics with the rebel leaders rather than doing any fighting. The operation posed an opportunity for the Kuastans, to train in live warfare and learn to better fight off any future Imperial incursions. He exercised his experience to instruct those Rendan assigned as officers in common military maneuvers and familiarize the volunteers with the realities of conflict. He couldn't disagree with the logic of it, considering he had humoured the idea of moving on, but still...

When the time to fight came, the new rebels took to it with ease. Ikharos blasted open the barricades with a simple incendiary grenade and the rebels poured onto the disorientated Imperials. It was over within an hour, with the remaining soldiers rounded up to join their captive comrades in the bastion's dungeons. The villagers were lucky to have escaped the wrath of the empire's men, with only minor wounds and a couple tales of harassment. Ikharos liked to imagine the next settlement would be so easy.

Tellesa accompanied Kuirst to the next training session. The Warlock was happy to see it. She had the attitude and traits of a fighter, and the makings of a leader, but she was held back by her society's backwards expectations. He hoped his influence on the region would change a few things. Despite his optimism, though, she still had a ways to go to be a soldier. A fight was one thing, but to survive a war one needed to get strong, get in shape, and get used to running. It had been a hard lesson for him to learn; he hoped it would be less punishing for her.

"Who taught you to fight?" Tellesa inevitably asked. They were all curious, but few asked the right questions. The rebels wanted magic. She wanted plain information.

Ikharos half-shrugged, still locked in combat with another recruit. "Fallen. And the lessons were bloody, but I can't blame them. Not for... well, some of it."

"Why?"

"They wanted to survive. So did I and my people. We fought for the right to live. I just figured out how to win our fights quicker." He swept the rebel's legs from under him. "This is much safer, but slower. Fear can speed things along."

"You were afraid?" Tellesa's eyebrows rose out of disbelief. "You don't seem that way now."

"Every opponent I killed, there was a bigger one waiting down the line. Always another challenge. It's gotten to the stage where I can almost always expect to fight something bigger than my jumpship every few years. It's... annoying."

Rehlin was no different to Melbet: weak barricades, fortified position, about to turn into an easy victory for Rendan. The rebels could have put the village to siege, but the burhs had supplies for just that occasion. And the soldiers likely wouldn't share with the Kuastans inside. Thus: the tried and proven method of blowing up their defenses and giving the rebels experience at open melees.

When it was done there was a small... he hesitated to call it a party. A feast, maybe. All Ikharos knew was Tellesa brought plates with cuts of cooked beef and roasted vegetables, with two mugs of ale to boot, up to where he sat on the palisade. The region beyond the walls looked so peaceful. The people were free of the Imperial oppressors and free to continue supporting the Arcaena. There were still logistical problems, but that would be left for a fellow named Eist. He had been one of the slaves in the hulk's galley, and he had since displayed a skill with such matters. He would have made an excellent military officer, if his leg hadn't been broken one too many times in captivity.

"What will you do now?" Tellesa asked out of the blue.

The Warlock waved in the direction of the spine, northeast of them. "I'll head that direction, I think. The Reliquary is impressive, but it doesn't have what I want."

"You won't stay?"

"I'm afraid my search continues."

There was a lull in conversation. She switched topics. "I've heard you speak of other warriors like yourself, and the people you protect, but don't you fight for your family?"

Ikharos shook his head. "Guardians don't have any natural family, save those they choose. We're raised by our Ghosts with no concrete memories, only vague recollections of concepts and skills from our previous life. But we can forge ties with those around us, those we care for, though one should be wary. A Risen's life isn't an easy one."

"Why is that?"

"There are a few I held ties with. There was this child, Josef. His mother died on the road to the Last City. It was my fault. I was trying to keep a horde of hungry Devils off our backs and... there were too many. We couldn't do anything but keep going. I promised her that the boy would survive. I kept that promise. He was taken in by a kindly family in the City. I checked in on him, sent him some presents whenever a holiday or birthday came up - usually souvenirs I'd pick up from all around - and tried to teach him a few things." Ikharos smiled ruefully. "He was a brat. Utterly spoiled with affection. He straightened out, though, and I was proud of that. I watched him grow, fall in love, start a family, design custom Sparrows that sold for a tidy sum, grow old and die."

The Warlock paused. "I watched his children grow, some of them fell in love and started families, and continued the family business and died. I watched their children. And their children. And their children. They grew, they lived, and they died. Each and every one of them."

"I'm... sorry.

"Hm?" Ikharos shrugged. "It doesn't really matter to me. If I couldn't take the loss, I'd never have lasted as long as I have."

"How does... Does magic enable you to live so long?"

"I... guess?" Ikharos shrugged helplessly. "In some ways... There are others, though, that I cared for. Lennox was one. She was a Guardian, raised on the tail end of the Dark Age. Really dodged a bullet there. We met when I delivered Josef and the other refugees to the airport in Normandy. We didn't get along at first." A strong pulse needled at him. "Okay, I didn't get along with her, stat. She didn't mind. I think she was excited to meet a real life Warlord. Weren't all that many at the time. Iron Lords, Devils, and the sudden onset of Hive wiped most of them out. I must have disappointed her." He paused. "I met up with Shaxx in the City. I used to know him way back in the old days. He is a bit like me, but bigger. And louder. Titans usually are. And there was Jaxson. And he, well..."

They had been hunting Riksis for weeks. Big bastard. A veteran just like them. Lennox and Ikharos had poked away at the Archon's operations for years now. With Solkis long dead, it was their next step towards dismantling the Devils once and for all. Their Ghosts picked up the distress signal and hurried. It was so clearly Kinderguardian, so it didn't matter that it ruined all their hard work. The plan went up in flames.

They found the Titan, still wearing basic armour the Vanguard just handed out willy-nilly, standing over the dead Archon's body with his shotgun still smoking. He twirled around in a panic when Ikharos's boot sent a pebble skittering across the ground. They stopped in place and Lennox held up her arms. "Friendly!"

"I... sorry..." The Titan wheezed out.

Ikharos walked past him and studied what had once been a thorn in the City's side for centuries.

"Zes di..." He muttered, crouching next to the Eliksni's head. "Riksis pak Shas."

"What is he..?" The Titan asked the Hunter in a hushed voice.

"He speaks alien," she explained. "Now forget him, let's talk about you! How the hell did you manage this?!"

"... he's someone I trust to keep the City safe, no matter what comes his way."

"Do you miss them?"

Ikharos hesitated. "There's no use in regret. Those bridges have been burned."

He helped himself to his supper. It was still hot to the touch and cooked just right, medium-rare. He finished most of it and tossed the remains to the waiting crows. Then, sated, he mulled over a question of his own. "What government will you put in place?"

Tellesa thought for a few seconds. "Rendan leads the rebellion. I doubt he'll be Duke, but for now he will defend Kuasta from the empire. We may turn to Surda in the south."

"That's too far."

"Everywhere is far for us. None can enter Kuasta but for the sea. Or those who brave the Spine, like yourself."

"I suppose in that regard it will be easy to defend, as long as you remain vigilant." A thought struck him. "What will you do?"

"What?"

"Your vengeance is sated. Your rebellion has won. What will you do with your life?"

"I... hadn't thought of that," she muttered. "I thought it would never end. I've been caring for Kuirst and helping the rebels since... since forever. I... don't know anything else."

"Help Rendan. The empire isn't gone. Kuasta needs people with ability. With some practice and studying you could... Huh..."

"What?"

"Look." Ikharos pointed. He had spotted a horse rider, alone, thundering down the road towards the village. He brought out his rifle and peered through the scope. "A rebel. I remember. He was at Melbet. But why... Something's wrong. Get Rendan."

The Warlock Blinked down to the open gates of the burh, waiting for the rider to arrive. The young man was pale-faced from exhaustion, his shirt streaked with blood. "Sir..." He gasped. His steed snorted and swayed as it slowed to a stop.

Ikharos grabbed the rebel and, as gently as he could, slid him off the saddle and onto the ground. "What is it?"

"I... the v-v-village..."

"Was it Imperials?"

"No... Urgals…"

Rehlin and the two other villages closest to Melbet were reached in time by determined outriders. Burhs, as defensible as they were, only worked with small raiding warbands. A few thousand Urgals was an entirely different matter. The palisades wouldn't keep them back.

"We need to spread word to the other settlements, quick. The food stores need to be emptied and transported to Kuasta," Ikharos ordered. "And tell them to destroy whatever crops remain."

Tainvay looked horrified. "But that's their livelihoods!"

"If we feed the Urgals it will be the it'll mean our lives," the Guardian snapped. They hadn't the manpower or training to take on an army like that in the open. Their only chance was settling for a siege. Kuasta had an advantage in that regard. The people were smart. They had enough food stockpiled that Ikharos wasn't immediately concerned. They only needed to transport it, as well as the civilians in the burhs, behind those high city walls with as much speed as they could muster. "A scorched earth policy will starve the Urgals, while we'll still have food. We even have access to the sea, we can fish or find secluded areas to forage along the coasts."

Rendan nodded, albeit reluctantly. "The wizard is right. It isn't easy, but this is the only way we can survive. Go!" The second set of messengers rode out. Rendan sighed and practically collapsed against the motionless cart. "This is some luck, eh?"

"The Urgals see an opportunity," was all Ikharos said. He was stuck on the sheer inconvenience of the entire thing. Something was going on - something suspicious.

"They're like that. True pests. Do... Do you think we can do it?"

The Warlock shrugged. "I've been in sieges. We have all the advantages we could want. Their numbers will become their own downfall when hunger sets in."

"Aye... I never thought I'd see anything the likes of this."

"It will be educational, I'm sure."

Ikharos stayed with the rearguard. He could see the signs of the Urgals by then, a black wave flowing over the distant hills and villages. The evacuations were going smoothly, but their pursuers were fast. They would overtake the supply lines and refugees within a few hours if they kept their pace up. That... was a problem. Not one he could abide

"I'll try something," he told Rendan.

The rebel nodded. "Don't die. We'll need you."

Ikharos didn't reply. He wasn't making any promises. He split away from the marching rebels and headed straight for the invading army.

Two Risen in a covered position could take on an army indefinitely, but faced with the onslaught of Urgals Ikharos was alone, and the grasslands of the Kuasta region didn't provide him with any adequate position to hit them from. On the other hand, the Urgals didn't have the firepower to hit him at any significant range, which in turn left him in relative safety to use his Zen Meteor out in the open.

He studied the Urgal lines. Those at the front, faster than their brethren, were the larger Urgal morphs he had seen at their camp far north. They seemed to command respect from their fellows, but there were still too many of them. Instead, he inspected their equipment. Basic armour and weaponry was of no interest to him, but the moment he saw one with chainmail, he fired. The beast's head disappeared in a flash. Its fellows reacted with fright, halting their course. Others carried on, having missed the incident for the incredible distance the front line carried, but the Warlock sought to rectify that. He switched tactics, instead going for their legs. The screaming attracted more attention and the injured needed others to carry them. It was a grim tactic, but it produced results.

He noticed that one of the beasts finally sighted the muzzle flash and pointed, so he shot it down mercilessly, but its brethren caught on.

Time to move?

"Only forward," Ikharos muttered. He put away the rifle, drew in the Void en masse, and raced to meet the horned hominids. The distance was closed within seconds, but he Blinked past the first Urgals and appeared within their ranks, then unleashed his Super. Violet energy encased the Warlock, lifting him from the ground, and he hunched over to focus his willpower on the blackhole within his hands, growing and then... he burst the bubble, allowing the Void to erupt outwards, disintegrating a dozen Urgals, all of them giants. He warped away, further into their horde and repeated it again and again, scarring the very earth below with the devastation he wrought. Finally, he glided up into the air, brought all his remaining Void into a colossal orb, and tossed it down into the centre of the mob below. Many were caught in the blast, and those who barelysurvived were torn apart by the lingering matter-venom or the shattered seekers flying for new targets.

Ikharos landed with a stumble, gasping for breath. He was in the clear, for now, with a couple hundred added to his kill count. He was no Ikora Rey, able to annihilate a Cabal contingent within seconds, but he always found the Void malleable, easier to extend his usage than others than it was for others. It was a sweet taste, this power, and that was why he had changed to Arc so long ago. Arc was angry, it fought with him and that gave him the satisfaction of keeping control. This was too easy, and he didn't like that.

"Now we leave..." He said, having caught his breath. He made to escape during the confusion as the Urgals recovered from the terrifying attack, but something stopped him. He didn't understand it at first. He felt it with his Light, hazy and full of smog, bitter, the taste of heavy smoke. It took him a few moments to identify it, but he saw the man before then.

The figure was thin and dressed in black, with red hair and red eyes, his skin deathly pale. He stood some distance from the Guardian, in front of the disorganised host. There was something... wrong about him. Not quite human. The way he held himself like a Reefborn Crow, quick and nimble and dangerous. But it was that aura he had that made him most unique.

It was Darkness. A small concentration, pure and yet not as refined as that which he had seen before. It was far from the sickly pungent scent of infection that were the Scorn or the ancient and malignant presence of Hive, but he knew something to compare it to. A Dredgen. The only thing that stopped the man before him from being a Shadow of Yor was the absence of a Thorn copy. They worshipped those weapons and flaunted it, but not this man. He was different.

He held a pale sword, Ikharos noticed, with a long scratch down its otherwise clean blade. The metal was light and pure, but reminded him of scoured bone. It was cleaned with cruel methods.

"You idiot," the Warlock bit out, narrowing his eyes on the stranger. "You should have let it rust, get damaged, take notches. The experience would sharpen it."

The stranger regarded him curiously, a cruel smile contorting his otherwise fair features. "You are the rebel mage, I presume."

Ikharos paused. "You're Imperial?"

The stranger's grin widened and he bolted forwards. Ikharos almost flinched, but he managed to draw his own sword and parry the blow that would have disemboweled him. That the pale sword didn't shatter upon the Eternity Edge confirmed his suspicions. This one was different. He moved with the same increased speed and attacked with the same increased strength that Guardians had, held a weapon of some power, and...

The stranger had that magic and he was trying to attack the Guardian's mind. Ikharos scowled and counter-attacked, but the stranger must havebeen experienced in such matters, for he deftly avoided it. In response, the Warlock brought up his mental blocks, the very tactic he used against Psion Flayers.

Their blades crossed again, with the Guardian staying on the defensive. He wasn't going to open himself up before he could gauge his opponent's ability, but it was difficult. There was just too much he didn't understand about this new enemy, but he reckoned it didn't understand him very well either.

He held the Eternity Edge in one hand to block the next blow, which came in at speeds too fast for any normal human to react to, and quickly discharged the Lumina three times into the stranger's abdomen. The bullets sliced through the creature's body with bursts of dark mist, and his foe buckled beneath the unexpected attack. Ikharos pressed his advantage, kicking the inhuman creature's leg hard enough to shatter the bone, rained down another few blows with his blade that were just barely fended off, and slipped past the stranger's guard to knee him in his already ruined stomach, dropping the creature. It recovered quickly and tried to stab him on the way down, but the Warlock deflected the strike and stabbed his blade down into the stranger's arm and pinned the limb to the ground. The Warlock planted a boot on the creature's chest to keep it down and aimed his cannon at its head, but its free hand shot some sort of energy at him - of an element he couldn't identify - and tossed the Guardian back into the grasp of an Urgal.

Ikharos reacted viciously, elbowing the Urgals chest and shattering its ribcage, grabbing one of its horns and snapping it off, then burying it into the skull of another. He rolled from a third and raced back to the stranger, who was quickly healing his wounds with an unfamiliar method, using its free hand to direct the magic. The Warlock snatched hold of the limb and tore it away at the shoulder, eliciting an animalistic shriek from the agent of the Darkness.

Another Urgal slammed into him, tried to force him to the ground, but the Warlock broke free of its grapple and slammed a fist over where its heart should be twice, killing it near- instantly. Two more ran to him, and more beyond, keeping him from his quarry. With a snarl, Ikharos coated his hand in Void and used it to slice through three in quick succession,emptied the rest of his Lumina into those closest, and then exchanged it for his knife. He ducked and dodged past the encroaching beasts, almost reaching the stranger, when one of the big Urgals grabbed his leg and tugged him back. The Warlock stabbed the beast twice, slashed another, and finally destroyed one with an Atomic Breach.

The stranger screamed once more and then was inexplicably beside him, completely whole - arm included - and now looking very pissed. Ikharos tried to kill it quickly, but Urgals kept running at him with no regard for their own safety, as if compelled by another force to impede his movements. It worked well, because try as he might, the Guardian found it difficult to keep the sword away from him with just a knife. It was inevitable that his opponent would find a chance to slide his weapon between the Warlock's ribs. It hurt, badly, but he still had the energy to fight back, slamming the knife into the stranger's neck. It hissed in agony, but its fortitude for dealing with pain was commendable, just like his. The Guardian used his free hand to pummel the powerful mage's face as it jerked the hilt of the sword around, attempting to find an organ. It must have succeeded, because next thing Ikharos knew, he felt very, very weak. His vision began to fade in a way he knew well, and the stranger breathed a sigh of relief.

The last thing the Warlock saw was the creature tugging the knife out with a grunt of pain.

When Xiān brought him back, the sun was almost out and there were a handful of normal-sized Urgals nearby, staring at him like he was something from their worst nightmare. Maybe he was just that. He spared no hesitation in killing them with his hands.

He came to a stop when they were all dead and he was drenched in their black blood. His Ghost appeared before him and, without a word, dropped him his Lumina, now fully loaded. He could feel the prints of the beasts on it. They had tried to figure it out. Of course it failed on them, it was his.

Ikharos glanced around. The ground was flattened by an army's passing, utterly covered in deep footprints. A small camp had been set up, once populated with the creatures he killed. "What's happening?"

"He killed you..." Xiān trailed off.

"He had friends with him. I didn't. I'll get him next time."

"He was too Dark. I waited until he left. He ordered this bunch to watch your body. They're... headed for Kuasta."

Ikharos nodded mutely and looked around. "How long was I out?"

"Four hours? Five? He was so Dark..."

"Where's my Edge?"

"He took it with him."

"Then I'll go take it back."

Tracking the Urgals was not an issue in the slightest.

He saw the smoke plumes climbing into the sky before he saw the city. Ikharos pushed himself to the brink, running as fast as he could, but even then he could tell it was too late.

One of the gates of the city had been smashed open by something big or something like a Guardian, and he had a feeling he knew what it was. There were bodies filled with arrows outside the gates, all Urgals, and the crows were having a feast. There were more bodies inside, but the corpses steadily changed from the horned creatures to humans. The streets were awash with blood, black and red, and the buildings weren't much better. A part of the city was on fire, the rest was ravaged by a tribal army.

There was nowhere to go but the former Imperial fort. The bodies piled higher the closer he got. The rebels must have made a fighting retreat, but it was a bloodbath. Urgals cut down everyone, rebels and desperate townsfolk both. The gates and drawbridges had been opened with brute force. The Urgals were determined. The Warlock strolled through the carnage in muted silence. It was worse inside. An utter bloodbath.

"Shit..." Ikharos felt the Void he had readied for a fight slip from his grasp, but he was past caring about that. There wasn't anything left to see him. He collapsed against the wall of the fort and despaired.

Xiān landed beside him, uncharacteristically silent.

The Warlock slouched. He felt tired again. More than before. "I... shouldn't have left them."

"There was no way to know they'd have that with them."

"Perhaps not, but this is still on me." He slammed a fist into the stone wall. "DAMMIT!"

"All the people..."

"It's just like the Red War..."

His Ghost perked up. "There's got to be survivors."

"What?"

"Survivors. Like the Red War. Someone must have escaped. I know it."

Ikharos waved around them. "The Urgals were thorough."

"But..."

"The ships are on fire. The Urgals poured in the gate. They killed everyone."

"But..."

"The Urgals will find any they missed. There's enough of them."

"There is somewhere. The Arcaena."

The Warlock lifted himself up with great effort, swaying on his feet. "Fine," he mumbled. He wasn't near as fast to leave the city of Kuasta, burdened with the weight of this failure.

It looked worse from the mountains. They afforded him a wide view of the destruction. Kuasta's fire was overtaking far more buildings, lighting it up in the night. The Urgals must have moved on to abandoned villages, because they were quickly joining the region's capital in blazing up in the darkness.

The only thing that he could count as fortunate was the survival of the Reliquary. It hadn't changed, but for the monks now outside the monastary, frozen with horror at the sight of the land before them. As soon as Ikharos stumbled into their sight, one of them hurried over and took his arm.

"You survived..." He heard the young man say. "You are fortunate to have escaped their cruelty."

"Has..." He found it hard to get words past that lump in his throat. "Has anyone else arrived?"

"Yes," the monk told him. A sliver of hope entered his heart. "There are others, but they are so few. Many of them were injured. Tell me, are you hurt?"

"No."

"Good, good. Come, sir, this way."

The monk led him into the monastery, past the abbey and to the collection of smaller buildings. He supposed the one they entered must be the infirmary, if only because of the people inside. Monks tended to the injured, which consisted of almost all to varying degrees. The survivors were so few, a mere handful, nothing compared to the hundreds of thousands that once populated the Kuastan region.

Edmont, the only one free of any wound, sent him a tired glance and then gave a start, shooting to his feet with a surprised expression. "You're... you're alive!"

Ikharos shrugged, but didn't get the chance to answer. He was glad to see familiar faces amongst those that lived, but Tellesa must have thought differently. Given the absence of Kuirst, it didn't take a genius to know why.

She shot up, limped over and jabbed him with a finger. "Where were you?" She demanded. The left of her face had been burned. It must have hurt. Her clothes were stained with blood, most of it Urgal in origin.

Ikharos exhaled shakily. "Dead."

Her eyes flashed dangerously. "Dead?"

"Yes."

"But you're not dead now?"

"No," he said quietly. "No I am not."

"Please, tell me," she asked with mock-politeness. "How is it you were dead and yet alive before me?"

"Because I'm a Guardian," he told her. That didn't feel right. "A Risen," he corrected. "We live many lives... The Light brings us back again and again, until it can't."

"Why don't you-"

"Master Borro!" One of the monks cried out. His patient, a rebel by the name of Diamanda, was bleeding profusely from a dozen unpleasant wounds. Without professional intervention, he would die within a few hours. The monks didn't seem to know what to do, even the lead physician, so Ikharos mustered the strength to walk over beside the bed. He held his hand above the wounds and grasped the Void around him. The hushed talk of monks and those patients still conscious fell to a halt as the Warlock's hands glowed purple. He couldn't seem to grab the nothingness, to empty his mind and walk the nullscape. His mind was shaken by recent events. Still, he could try his best to summon even a minor rift.

Ertharis was led inside by two other clergymen and brought beside the Risen. If he knew what was happening, he didn't give any indication.

"There was an attack?" He asked aloud.

"Yes," Edmont answered, his voice cracking. "Urgals."

The abbot nodded understandingly. "I see. But our lands have survived their scourge for generations. How did they pierce the walls?"

"They came in numbers. I've never heard of them doing that. And... they were led well."

"By whom?"

"A Shade," Tellesa spat. "A thrice-damned Shade."

Ikharos couldn't help himself. "The man with red hair? And the pale sword?"

"He carried your sword as well," she said accusingly.

"I know..."

"What are you doing, Ikharos?" Ertharis questioned.

The Warlock turned his attention back to the rebel under his hands. "I'm trying to save Diamanda."

"What ails him?"

"He has multiple lacerations, broken bones and possible internal bleeding. I am attempting to create a Warlock rift to mend that."

"Your magic, will it work?"

"In all likelihood, yes." He could see the wounds slowly stitching themselves together. "But it is... hard."

"Hmm. Aethal, what of the others? Are their lives at risk?"

The monk blinked. "Not immediately, master. They need rest and care for now."

"Then please bring our friend here to the guest house when he is finished. He sounds tired."

Ikharos let go of the Void. "I... can help the others."

"I am blind, not a fool. I can hear it in your voice. You need rest as much as they do. We will speak when you have recovered."

The Risen offered no further argument. He could barely stand. Aethal pointed him to another house and then raced inside to tend to another survivor. The Warlock entered and picked a room at random. His will to keep going, keep fighting and keep healing crumbled the moment his head hit the pillow.