Chapter 28: Long Nights

"We know where it is. We will deal with it once and for all."

"I killed it once. I can do it again."

"No, brother. The Master needs tribute. Our plans will go ahead as planned. Gather your offering. And find the children."

"What of their pets? What of those allied with the hypocrite? With the heretic, the traitor, the charlatan?"

"We will break them too. The chaos they invite... it does not suit our purpose."

000

Formora tried to sleep, but the stench of smoke and the muffled roars of distant Eliksni prevented her from finding any rest. When she realized that respite wasn't an option, she opened her eyes and found Xiān had been watching her from the bedpost, standing guard over the unconscious Risen.

"So..." The spirit began awkwardly.

Formora raised an eyebrow. "Yes?"

The Ghost's singular eye blinked. "... Wow."

"What?"

"Oh, nothing."

"Nothing?"

"Well, it's probably something, but I have to be polite."

Formora stared at the Ghost, but after a few seconds of no further response, she gave up and leaned back in the cushioned armchair. Her armour was unusually cosy, a far leap from the steel plate she'd previously employed. She could comfortably wear it outside of battle, which was more than ideal when the king's assassins or foreign ambushers threatened to strike at inopportune moments. It weighed less too.

Xiān's silence lasted all of a minute. "You're intense."

Formora exhaled slowly. "Am I?"

"Similar to Ikharos, I guess. You both act like the world will end if it goes a week without proper supervision."

"I feel it's warranted," she argued. She didn't know why she even bothered. What would a spirit know of struggles that troubled those made of flesh and bone?

"Maybe," the Ghost allowed. "But you can take things easy once in a while. Make life worth something."

"Is vengeance not worth something? Justice?"

"Vengeance is cheap and justice is a bad joke."

Formora paused for a moment. "You speak like you've seen the world when it's not under proper supervision."

"I have. It's far from pretty. Not that this is much of an improvement." Xiān turned and looked at the door. "We have visitors. With a box. Always loved boxes..."

Formora frowned, but a sharp series of knocks on the door interrupted her half-formed question. She stood up and answered it, holding a dagger behind her back. The Eliksni on the other side blinked at her in an indecipherable code and clicked rapidly, then pointed to another pair behind it. They held a crate between them.

Xiān flew over Formora's shoulder and asked, "Ze ta?"

Formora wondered what it meant. She decided to ask for instructions on the Eliksni language later. She anticipated more of this in her future. The Eliksni struck up a brief conversation with Xiān and left soon after, but the heavy crate remained. It was larger than she was and forged of metal, with a handful of green lights dotting the sides. Formora deducted that dragging the thing, let alone carrying it, was beyond her.

Xiān surprised her, however, when she used her own magic to transport the crate from the corridor outside to the middle of their room in an instant. Formora blinked and gaped, but the Ghost didn't give any explanation. Xiān hummed a merry tune and opened the crate with a lance of bright blueish-white light. The metal container opened up with a hiss.

"Our stuff!" Xiān happily exclaimed. Formora shook her head. Foreign magics of other worlds, she supposed. It was a messy topic that only got more confusing the more she learned.

A quick glance inside the crate confirmed it. Even Kida's broken husk was inside. Formora eyed the dead Frame with a conflicted expression. What use was it now? It seemed a waste to just leave it. "You can carry all this?"

Kida looked heavy, but the spirit wasn't deterred. "Yup. We'll be on our way soon enough."

Formora frowned. "But we haven't achieved what we came here for."

"What were... oh yeah." Xiān shook her fins in a manner that Formora understood as irritation. "The Shade. Cabal killed all the soldiers, though. We won't be able to ask them anything. Not as they are."

"They weren't the only ones who would've known about Durza." Formora approached the crate and, to her relief, found her own weapons - Vaeta included. The oak-coloured edge cut the lines of dim light emanating from the room's sole candle. "If we are to remain here while Ikharos recovers, we might as well make the most of it. Lord Tarrant was bound to have been informed, if nothing else."

Xiān perked up. "So we're interrogating him?"

"I am. Doesn't Ikharos need you?" Formora took out her shield and attached it to her magnetic bracer.

"I'm a Ghost, not a nanny. He'll do just fine without me. You, on the other hand..."

Formora raised an eyebrow. "I'll need you?"

"Can you speak Eliksni?"

"... No."

"Exactly." The spirit excitedly flew to the door and looked back. "What are you waiting for? Come on!"

Formora opened her mouth to argue, but nothing came to mind. With a sigh she donned her helmet and followed Xiān out of the room. They strolled through the hallways, passing Eliksni of all sorts, and finally struck upon luck when they found a human by the mostly abandoned kitchens. The butler looked terrified, even before she made her presence clear, and it was doubly so when he caught sight of Formora. She imagined her dark, sleek armour painted quite a sinister image.

"Where's Tarrant?" She asked bluntly.

The butler, a middle-aged man in a dusty uniform, paled fearfully. "H-he's in the lower keep! On the north side!"

"What for?"

"Safer l-lodgings! Please!" He fell to his knees and held up his hands.

Formora left him there. Though she couldn't see the Ghost, she could feel Xiān's presence close by. It was a reassuring sensation, but unfamiliar too. It had been a long time since she'd truly been able to trust anyone even remotely. Every day she'd spent with Enduriel had been fraught with mistrust and hostility.

Xiān was by far preferable as a companion.

Formora knocked on the grand door and waited for an answer. She knew, through a brief mental probe, that Tarrant was in the room with four others, but she decided that opening up with brute force wouldn't be near as efficient as a more subtle approach. She heard footfalls leading up to the door, a lock being unlatched, and it gradually cracked open. A man garbed in chainmail glared at her suspiciously. "Who are you?" He demanded harshly.

"I'm here to speak to Lord Elmys Tarrant," Formora explained in a mild tone. Her voice was modulated by her helmet into something that just wasn't her - complete with warbles and spikes of changes in pitch, which Xiān had said made it sound electronic. It would disguise her voice on the off chance that anyone they met previously recognized her - though that was slim. Elmys Tarrant didn't know her. He had been little more than an infant in swaddling clothes when she'd last been in Alagaësia, but it wasn't out of the question that others from that time still lived. Especially the dark creatures who served Galbatorix directly.

The manservant recoiled at the sound of her voice and stared at her. Finally he narrowed his eyes and replied, "He is tired. Come back another time."

"It concerns the king," Formora lowered her voice. It had the desired effect: the man looked uniquely disturbed.

"Gods' sake, man, what is it?!" Another voice called out.

The man turned to answer, but kept his wary eyes on Formora. "One of the king's messengers."

"Let them in!" The other voice said urgently. "Quick! Before another one of those vermin tries to speak to us!"

The servant opened the door wider and ushered Formora in, then closed and locked it behind her. She looked around the spacious, glamorous quarters, but the scene in the centre of it gave her pause. "Lord Tarrant," she greeted coolly, but her eyes were not on him. Three slaves, wearing only thin clothes stained with sweat and filth, cowered before the noble clad in his ceremonial armour. The three bore collars around their necks and their wrists were restrained with manacles. They were young, barely adults, and they looked scared.

"What do you want?" Elmys Tarrant snapped. "Is this about the four-armed vermin? Disgusting creatures... I hope the king gets rid of them soon. The giants had more manners than they."

Her appearance didn't seem to faze him in the slightest. He was a portly man with black hair and a delicately maintained beard. A sword was sheathed at his hip, but he held a beating stick.

One of the girls bore a horrific bruise on her cheek.

Formora sighed. Subtlety wasn't going to work. She simply didn't have the patience. "Atra nosu waíse vardo fra eld hórnya," she muttered, soundproofing the room. She swung out with Vaeta and caught the manservant in the neck. Before the body even hit the floor she twirled about, drew her sidearm, and fired. The bullet shattered Tarrant's stick. The nobleman gave a surprised yelp. The slaves screamed.

"But... but..." Tarrant mumbled, staring wide-eyed at her. She grabbed him by the collar and tossed him against the far wall.

"That didn't take long," a voice remarked from within. Formora didn't deign to respond to the Ghost. She held out an empty hand in an attempt to placate the slaves, but they didn't heed it. Formora removed her helmet. It had the desired effect and quietened them, but it was more so out of shock and disbelief rather than reassurance.

"You have nothing to fear," Formora told them in a gentle voice. "You are captives no longer."

A ray of hope shined through their eyes, but it had to crawl past the heavy fog of fear that threatened to overcome them. Not one of them said a word.

"I need your help," Formora continued. She ignored the high-pitched yammering of Tarrant. "Do any of you know who the city guildmasters are?"

A few moments passed before one of the girls dared answer. "Kelton of the b-blacksmiths a-and Quipp of the fisherfolk," she answered in a squeaky voice. "

"Kelton is still alive? I thought he would be dead by now." Formora nodded thoughtfully.

A second girl, perhaps spurred on by her fellow, quietly asked, "Are you an elf?"

Formora smiled. She hoped it was comforting. She was more accustomed to dealing with fellow killers and soldiers, those with hardier attitudes and stubborn spirits. Sometimes she forgot the delicate hand one needed when dealing with the common people. "I am."

Awe began to replace their fear, but it was still ever-present. Formora whispered a spell under her breath, "Waíse losnaí."

The slaves' manacles loosed and fell from their persons. The three girls gingerly raised their arms, now free of restraints, and regarded the elf with unrestrained wonder.

"Thank you!" The third exclaimed, tears in her eyes.

"If you are willing, there is something you can do for me," Formora told them. "Can you ferry a message to Master Kelton? I need him to tell the people of Ceunon to leave the city and make for the empire. This place won't hold much longer."

"Y-yes, mistress!" One of the girls stood up and bowed. "I'll deliver it!"

"He'll need the lord's seal to believe it!" Another objected. She pointed to a dresser in the far corner. "The lord stamped every letter he made with it. Kelton will know to look for it!"

"I wouldn't expect anything less..." Formora walked over to the dresser and began gathering together the necessary materials. She dipped a quill into an inkwell and began writing on the exquisite parchment with flowing letters.

"Mistress!" One of the slaves called out fearfully. "Lord Tarrant is-"

"Jierda thierra kalfis," Formora muttered without looking. She heard a sickening crunch and then an agonized howl. "We aren't finished, Elmys."

She signed the letter with Tarrant's name, stamped the seal at the bottom and turned around. Tarrant lay on the ground, his calves shattered, and mewled pitifully. The girls stared at him with a mixture of horror and satisfaction. She handed it to the closest one. "Take this to Master Kelton. After that, you may do as you wish. Go home, if you can. I'd advise that you gather all the supplies you need from the castle's stores and then make your way south regardless. This city will be torn apart - you do not want to be here when it is. The Eliksni, who hold it now, should not bother you. If they do, say Ikha Riis."

It was the best she could come up with, but she knew it would give the Eliksni pause. She doubted there was going to be trouble in any case. The Eliksni had given no inclination for caring about the presence of humans. They'd ignored the denizens of the city, at least from what she'd seen, and focused instead on tending to their own or the captured Cabal machines.

The former slaves dipped their heads. "Yes, mistress." They made for the door, sidestepping the body of the manservant, and the last one cried out "Thank you!" before they left.

When the door was shut and the girls gone, Formora faced Tarrant, who looked up at her utterly terrified. His fear only doubled when Xiān appeared beside her. The Ghost glared down at him with a single burning eye.

"What... what do you want...?" Tarrant babbled, panicking. His voice was tinted with pain. Formora doubted he would ever fully recover without the aid of magic. She didn't intend to give him that aid. "I served the king faithfully! Please, what did I do wrong?!"

She knelt down beside him. "Tell me about the Shade. Now. Or we'll move onto your other bones."

000

"How long will it take?"

"A number of rotations, Sundrass-Captain."

"A number of- If we don't act fast, the Cabal will fall upon us!"

"I apologize," the Splicer bowed his head. "Perhaps a helping of concentrated ether would assist, but Tarrhis has ordered that able warriors receive the first rations."

"It is alright." Kiphoris tried to sit up in the makeshift bunk, but he stopped when his knee started to give out. "You have done well."

"Thank you, Kiphoris-Captain." The Splicer retreated to the other side of the chamber to assist the other wounded.

Sundrass growled. "This is not right. You are a Captain. You should be put before Vandals. Your worth has been proven a hundred times that of they."

"I am only one eliko." Kiphoris told her. "Mine-worth is not equal a hundred enhanced warriors. I will recover, and then assume my place in our war once more. We need not sacrifice extra ether for this... inconvenience."

"I should have killed the human properly when I had the chance." Sundrass perched beside him, her eyes glowing dangerously bright. "I should have cut him down where he stood."

"He would have gotten back up and killed you," Kiphoris told her. "I would not have any other die for mine-feuds. And this feud is over."

"It is over?" She asked, surprised. "You would throw it aside so easily?"

"Easily? No. But I cannot chase it. Tarrhis will exile me, and... and I would be a fool."

"A fool? How? That creature killed your kin!"

"They were mine-kin, Eia, but they were loyal to Skolas. I owed them my loyalty, not my affections. They were beasts who sought only to hurt. To kill. Skolas ordered terrible things, and they carried out his orders with conviction and eagerness." Kiphoris stared at the distant stone wall. "They killed those who were as true kin to me, and dragged me along into their ill-fated rebellion. I followed, for they were all that remained of my home. Now... now Scar is mine-home. It has taken me time to realize that, but I do now. And I would be a fool to drag those I now call kin into a feud built of misplaced righteousness. I will not lose mine-House in a petty affair. For it is petty..." He closed his eyes. "Mine-sister would have jumped on such a chance. She was a hurtful beast who sought only to cause pain. I do not want to be like her, which I very nearly became. The human is right." He hated the words that spilled out of his mouth. "No matter what I feel on the matter, this feud is pointless."

Sundrass stared at him and then, finally, dipped her head. "It is your feud, Kiphoris. It is your choice." She stood, inner eyes closed. She was bitter about something.

"What is wrong?" Kiphoris asked.

She exhaled fitfully. "I must find Tarrhis and make preparations before Palkra arrives. The Cabal might try to counterattack, so I will ensure they are warded off. Recover quickly, Dreamer. There is much work to be done."

With a flick of her cloak, Sundrass marched away. Kiphoris leaned back and closed his eyes, enjoying the sudden silence. If he were a lucky eliko, the pain in his leg might have calmed down long enough for him to grab some rest.

000

"Halchrom-3? We're in. Find the husk. Kill the rest."

000

Cadon absentmindedly twirled the smooth pebble around his fingers and idly listened in as his cell mates grumbled about one another and cursed their captors. The two Uluru felt cramped with the low ceiling, or so they told him, but he thought they had struck lucky with the width of the room. Cadon didn't want to imagine being forced with them into a smaller space. He would have been crushed.

Their equipment had been stripped from them, and the Eliksni posted sharp-eyed guards outside the stone dungeon armed with shock rifles and spears. Escape was improbable. Cadon could hardly move with his pounding headache - brought on by a neurojammer just outside the cell - let alone take on a trained Vandal. Not that he intended to try. He expected there to be an entire House in the city by now. Squatters.

"If I could get my hands around his neck..." One of the Uluru, a Legionary, eyed the closest guard through the energy wall with a dangerous glint in his eye.

"What would happen if you did? Get us killed, that's what!" The second, a Phalanx, snapped. She'd stuffed herself far into a corner, feeling too exposed without her heavy shield. "There's two of the blighters, you idiot!"

"Weaver'd take out the other one. Right Weaver?" The Legionary turned to Cadon.

The Psion groaned. "There's an energy wall. They're armed with high-velocity trace-energy rifles. We don't even have armour - just our biosuits. And they're Eliksni. We aren't getting out. Stuff your dreams."

"Then we wait for rescue," the Legionary sat back, meaty arms folded.

Only if the Primus doesn't level the place first, Cadon thought. He had been in the legions longer than most, even his brothers. He knew the grim realities of warfare, and what his comrades were capable of. There was a motto the officers liked to spout when the going got tough. Life is cheap. Ours or the enemy's, doesn't matter.

As a Soulrazer, Cadon knew it only too well. Half his targets were fellow Cabal. His brothers knew it - Tlac killed his own fair share with his sharp mind and Orche supported them both with logistical support. Their parents had known it, when they were a part of the legions. Even before the empire inducted his people his ancestors were stressing that truth, crushing the worshippers of the Y-goblet under heel like so many ants.

If only he could reach out to his brothers... Cadon had begun to realize in recent years how much he relied on them. Orche was no fighter, but he could produce flawless strategies almost effortlessly. Tlac was a philosopher who tried to understand his enemies and identify their strengths, sniff out their weaknesses, and tear out their secrets. And Cadon took the shot. Always. He needed Orche's plans and Tlac's learnings to make that single fatal blow. It was a combination that had spelled the end for many a Knight. And traitor Cabal.

But he couldn't feel them. Cadon felt lightheaded and dizzy all the time - he must have hit his head during the fall. The neurojammer didn't help things. Ironically, it was likely the reason he was still alive. If he'd still had access to his psionic abilities the Eliksni would have killed him on the spot. Not that being taken prisoner was a better fate. He'd heard nightmarish tales of what happened to those taken captive by the Great Houses of Riis. He expected to be tortured. If not, then to fight against wild beasts or even other prisoners for their entertainment. It depended on whether they thought they could gain anything from him or not.

Cadon wouldn't break, though. It wasn't a boast. He knew he could withstand whatever they could throw at him until they finally decided to cut his throat. He'd been conditioned by the Soulrazers to endure, no matter what.

A sudden crash broke through his thoughts, and he looked up in time to spot one of the guards being pummeled by... something. The second raised his rifle, but before he could even fire another creature grappled with him and slammed the Vandal against the energy barrier. The Eliksni shrieked as the barrier surged into his body and fried his internal organs, and even when the guard was quite obviously dead the attacker still held him there until the barrier short-circuited.

The first attacker strolled into view and smiled at the Cabal. Cadon recoiled; it looked like a mechanical human, but something about its presence felt wrong.

The second gave a laugh and tossed the dead Eliksni aside, though the guard should have weighed twice as much as his killer. That one was visually unlike the first, recognizably human but with bright colourful fur on its head and dilated eyes with red irises.

"Deyja," it whispered. Cadon suddenly felt as if an empty void had opened below him, pulling on his very soul. He and the Uluru collapsed lifelessly onto the cold stone floor.

000

Ikharos woke slowly. He felt comfortable where he was, despite the residual aches from some previous fight, and the lingering claws of slumber prevented him doing anything other than moving an arm and rearranging his pillow. His senses began to awaken, one by one, and he drearily opened his eyes to a blurred world.

A rapid clicking, muffled by stone walls, had him up with a start and what Light he could muster was already shaped into a weapon ready to-

It all came crashing down on him. Ikharos let go of the Void, cupped his face in his hands, and fell back. He only realized, seconds later, that someone must have removed his helmet. Probably Xiān. "Oh hell," he mumbled.

The snarky response he was looking for never came. Ikharos frowned and sat back up. He looked around, but Formora and Xiān were nowhere to be seen. He opened his mind and probed about, looking for her unmistakable Light signature, but he couldn't find it. It was like the world had been shrouded in a soft, velvety barrier around him - which was in itself odd. "Where are you?"

She didn't answer him.

Ikharos reasoned that it was only an aftereffect of Light exhaustion. He still had to recuperate, recover what he'd used up. He certainly felt like that was the case. If Xiān wanted to speak with him, then she would have had no problem reaching out. She had her own reserve of Light, far deeper than his. He didn't like not knowing where she was, but she was smart and resourceful. Xiān could sneak past the Scars without issue.

Still, it didn't stop him from worrying.

Ikharos got to his feet and looked around. The room he was in must have once been a luxurious suite, and it was illuminated in all its glory by a couple of dying candles and a single Fallen glowstick. A crate of alien design had been left in the middle of the room. He spotted the motionless remains of Kida inside. It reassured him, in a way. It meant Xiān had been active recently. She was probably off on an errand.

Maybe Formora needed to talk to the Scars, he thought. She didn't use it as much as he did, but the Ghost was just as well-versed in the Eliksni dialects as Ikharos.

He caught a look at himself in a mirror on the other side of the room. Ikharos grimaced. He looked like a wreck. "No way to fix that," he muttered to himself. No Glimmer.

He stood there, transfixed, and eventually reached up to his hair. It was long, matted down, and in dire need of a wash. His jaw had produced a wild, unkempt beard. With a sigh Ikharos drew his knife and set to work. He cut his hair short, leaving it ragged and untidy but by far an improvement. On a mere whim he decided to keep the beard, though he cut at it again and again to tidy it up. It was maybe half-an-hour before he was somewhat satisfied. He still needed a wash. And a comb too, but those were luxuries now, and he had little time for luxuries.

A flicker of movement in the corner of his vision - just movement on the edge of the mirror - prompted him to spin about with the business side of his knife pointed outwards, but the intruder was faster. He grunted as he was tossed through the mirror with a crash and bit down as shards cut at the back of his neck and head, but he gathered himself for a counterattack.

It was cut short when he felt the icy cold touch of a blade against his throat. A presence, foreign and hostile, threw itself at his own consciousness and coiled around him, constricting his will. It didn't pierce his solid defense, but Ikharos found he was held too tight to throw out his own attacks.

He glared up at the intruder, though he found himself thrown off by the sight of baleful red eyes. The Shade, a woman with her face shrouded by long crimson hair, stood dead still and didn't utter a single word. She wore dark clothes but nothing special. Vermillion blood adorned her hands. She'd killed, and recently. Ikharos had a fair idea whose blood it was too.

It wasn't human, that was for sure.

"Not yet," a mechanical voice ordered. Ikharos's eyes darted to the second figure in the room. An Exo. The door behind the ExSec Exo was still closed. They'd teleported in. The Exo walked over to them and took Ikharos' knife from him, careful not to touch the crystallic dirk held by the Shade. The transhuman soldier wore a victorious grin. His pink optics never left the Warlock. He held a silenced handgun.

"You're here..." Ikharos breathed. "But... how?" Then it dawned on him, and he glanced at the Shade.

"Yeah." The Exo nodded. "It goes both ways. Did you really think we'd miss all that Light? You made it really easy for us. My friend here picked up on it straight away."

"You know about Light?" Ikharos asked sharply.

"Yup." The Exo chuckled. "We've met your kind before."

Ikharos closed his eyes. "Psekisk."

"Though none of them were like you. You're different. Dangerous. I like how you dealt with..." The Exo frowned and gestured to the side, "whatever those big things are."

"The Cabal."

The robot clicked his fingers. "Yes, them! You really showed them, eh?" His optics widened. "Oh, where are my manners? I'm Deacon-3. I've been following you for a while now. You're interesting. More interesting than those other Lightbearers, that's for certain."

Ikharos didn't reply.

"I know who you are. Ikharos, right?" He stiffened with surprise. The Exo nodded. "Yes it is. I guess those farmers were telling the truth."

"What farmers?" Ikharos blurted.

"Some hamlet to the west, I think?"

Ikharos ground his teeth. "You... bastard. You did it."

"Huh? Oh, you found them?" Deacon-3 tilted his head. "Wait a second... you cared about them. You did, didn't you? Aw, dammit. Sorry."

"Sorry?" The Warlock echoed with disbelief. "Sorry?!"

The Shade pressed her blade closer. Ikharos quickly shut up. The weapon felt Dark. Fatally so. "No," she whispered ever so softly. He got the message.

"Well, that's blown it." Deacon offlined his optics. "And here I was, hoping to talk you into helping us."

"As if," Ikharos hissed.

"C'mon, it's a great deal! You're the... scholarly type, right?"

"The hell do you know?"

"The others talked before they, uh... met an untimely end. You can do all the research you want. You can learn about Light and Dark and whatever else you like. If you swear to serve the Master."

"You think I want to research?! I want to help people!"

"We are helping people."

"You're killing them!"

Deacon sighed dramatically. "The others were weak. They didn't last a year. All bluster and nothing else. But you, you are interesting. You move fast, you cover your tracks well, you almost kill poor Durza, and then you tear your way into our city. You even put down Qortho. That's impressive. We could really use that. But..."

"Are you going to kill me for your Ahamkara?"

"For Qortho?" Deacon shook his head. "Goodness, no. He was only a fancy lizard, and we've got more." The Exo jutted his thumb over his shoulder. "Hell, we even have one here. Want to say hi?"

Ikharos didn't dare answer.

"No?" Deacon shrugged. "Suit yourself."

"Why are you doing this?" Ikharos questioned. "Why-"

"Why help an alien god kill my fellow humans?" Deacon asked with a knowing look. Ikharos nodded after a moment's hesitation. "Because he's a god of his word. Because he's going to save us."

"From what?!"

"The Airan. The Darkness. By serving it, we don't die to it. Humanity can live on. C'mon now, don't tell me you haven't thought about it! What's the Traveler been doing for the past million years, huh? Running. Leaving a trail of broken civilizations. They explained it to us - the Master and his people. They showed us the truth. They revealed to us what was happening across the galaxy."

"That's because-"

"Of the Airan, yes," Deacon finished. "We know. When he arrived, Nezarec took us aside and told us all about them. All about the Dark. And he's only ever spoken the truth. If we get rid of the Traveler, the Dark won't have a reason to kill us. If we kill the Hive, we won't be under threat anymore."

"What do you think is going to happen afterwards? With all your built up power, what then?"

"We thrive. Humanity will hold out to the very end. This is a good thing," Deacon told him. "We're evolving. As a species, we're taking the next step, and at what cost? A few lives? An age of not-so-happy-people? We're not shattering worlds. We're not driving entire species to extinction. We're just making the necessary sacrifice so we can live. So we can prosper. So we can win and reclaim what we lost. Is that not noble?"

"You're a monster," Ikharos bit back.

Deacon sighed. "You don't get it yet. Okay, how about this. We're meant to be bigger than just itty-bitty mortals. Humans are meant to be immortal. Look at you! Look at her! Look at me! We won't die like those other humans do. This is our destiny. We just need to grab hold of it. It'll be hard, but we'll get there, and our people will be all the better for it."

One thing nagged at Ikharos. "You're immortal?"

Deacon smiled again. "Oh, yeah. I mean, not in the same way as you two," he motioned between Ikharos and the Shade, "but I can-"

"Stop," the Shade told him. She pointed at the Fallen crate.

Deacon followed her eyes and huffed. "Just a dead Frame."

"Not yours."

"... No." Deacon approached it warily. "Have you been up to no good, Ikharos? Have you been telling tales to ol' Skip?"

Ikharos said nothing.

Deacon stood over the crate and shook his head. "Yeah, just as I said, it's dead. Offline, whatever. It won't pose a-"

"R5 emergency activation!" Ikharos shouted. A tiny insectoid shape leapt from the crate and slammed into Deacon's chest. The Exo managed to vocalize a single yelp before the restraint spider activated. His weapon, and more importantly Ikharos's knife, fell to the ground with a clatter.

Another two jumped out, following the first, and skittered straight towards the Shade. One leapt at her, and she used her glassy blade to bisect it down the centre, but the second latched onto her arm. Ikharos used the distraction to dash away. He slid across the ground and scooped up his knife.

The Shade saw him, but she was preoccupied with the robot arachnid. Ikharos didn't even have to think about it; he tossed the knife just like he'd been taught.

"You've got to pinch the back of the blade."

"Not the middle?"

"Sure, go ahead. Pinch the middle, smarty-pants."

Ikharos held the back of the knife between his fingers. "You're the Hunter."

"Well observed," Lennox grinned. "Now... bend your wrist back toward your forearm. Yes, like that. Pick a target."

"The Baron."

"Thick helmet? You break my knife, you'll pay for it."

"Vandal, then."

"Good boy. Place your weight on your dominant leg. Dominant leg. Dominant leg. Sweet Traveler above, dominant leg!"

"This is my dominant leg!" Ikharos complained.

"Then you don't know what dominant means!" Lennox slapped his shoulder. "Other leg! Damn Warlocks..."

Ikharos grumbled under his breath.

"Raise your arm. Bend your elbow. Don't cut yourself."

"I'm not going to cut myself."

"Sure you won't. When you swing forward, don't throw it like a ball. Oh, and, uh, remember to release the knife, or you'll lose a toe."

"Got it."

"Throw."

"..."

"..."

"Uh..."

"You know, if there was another bad guy standing twenty feet to the side of the first Vandal, he'd be super dead."

"Shut up."

"Again?"

"I hate you. Yes."

He struck true. The Shade's mouth opened in a soundless scream as the knife pierced her heart. She stared at him in disbelief. The restraint spider took advantage of the distraction, but by then she was already done for. She dropped her dirk, allowing the crystal blade to clatter to the stone floor. The Shade's skin turned transparent, fully this time, and Ikharos only just glimpsed five slithering shapes encased in shadow beneath, each of them convulsing violently.

With one true cry, the Shade's pale skin erupted and the slivers of Darkness shot out. They shot past him and slipped under the wooden door, disappearing from view. Nothing else remained of the Dark creature, aside from her cursed weapon and Ikharos's knife.

Ikharos picked himself up and walked over to Deacon. The Exo's optics were wide open, but he couldn't even activate his vocalizer. His body was dead stiff, utterly trapped within the spider's containment field. Ikharos savoured the moment and scowled. "You morons think you own the world. You think you can go anywhere, kill anyone, do whatever the hell you want. Not any more."

He picked up the Exo's handgun. It wasn't the kind of weapon he liked to carry around (not enough of a kick), but it would get the job down. "This world isn't your plaything anymore."

Deacon didn't say a word. He physically couldn't. Ikharos didn't care. He saw all he needed in the robot's pink optics. Without ceremony he put a bullet in the Exo's head. The restraint spider pulled back. Its sibling, who'd survived the Shade, joined it in the middle of the room and stood still. A single green light situated in the centre of each drone looked up at him expectantly.

"Deactivate," Ikharos ordered. The spiders folded up into small discs, which he then proceeded to collect.

A distant roar made him flinch, but it had to be on the other side of the castle given how muffled it was. Ikharos quickly set about gathering what he could, though without his Ghost it wasn't much. "Xiān, where the hell are you?!"

He didn't get any reply. The soft barriers surrounding his mind were still in place. They felt like a thick smog, which made it difficult to ascertain where exactly he was reaching out. He couldn't distinguish where other consciousnesses were. Even if he did miraculously find one, there was no telling who it might have been. Ikharos didn't want to have a run-in with another Shade, so he pulled back and fortified his mind.

His gathering efforts bore fruit, and he was happy to have more than a single gun in hand. Kida's pulse rifle - a Golden Age Baryon MSc - was untouched and the Frame's body still had a few magazines on it. Ikharos shouldered the Frame's fusion cannon over his back, pocketed the handgun and hefted the pulse rifle. He recovered his knife and, on a whim, collected the Shade's glass-like weapon. It was cool to the touch and frictionless, like ice. The edge was deadly sharp. It reeked of Darkness, but the paracausality within was contained. The edge was the medium through which the power was to be channeled. As long as he avoided cutting himself, he reckoned he was going to be fine.

Last came his sword, which he strapped over his back alongside the fusion cannon. Armed to the teeth, Ikharos slowly, and quietly, opened the door to his room and peeked out. The corridor was empty of hostiles, but a dead Dreg lay slouched against a wall a few paces away. Its throat had been cut open in a vicious manner. The Shade's handiwork, Ikharos presumed. Her or one of her cohorts.

000

Cadon awoke with a whine. Everything hurt. He felt like a Witch had crawled into his mind and ran its sickle claws all over his soul. Yet he was alive. Alive. He'd survived whatever it was the strange human did, but only just.

His compatriots weren't so lucky.

With a start he realized his mind felt... broader than earlier. The neurojammer had been shattered during the earlier fight. It lay in broken pieces just outside his cell, scattered beneath the body of a guard. Even so, he felt around him and found himself cordoned off from everything. He still couldn't feel his brothers!

But the cell was opened. A rifle on the ground caught his eye, and he scrambled for it. A quick look around confirmed that the guards were dead and their killers had moved on. He didn't see anyone else. Cadon knew he was in the keep, but he didn't know where exactly. He hadn't spent enough time in the human city to memorize it all. He picked a direction at random and started running.

000

"He bore a letter with the king's signature, I couldn't-"

"Quiet!" Formora snapped. She closed her eyes and focused entirely on her hearing. It sounded like... a roar. And then something else, something close. A crunch.

"Something's wrong!" Xiān burst out. "I can't feel Ikharos!"

"He's dead?" Formora asked sharply. She ignored Tarrant's renewed ramblings, her gaze fixed on the door. Whatever the sound was, it was close enough to worry her.

"No, he... I don't know! I just can't reach him! There's something in the way!"

Formora glanced at her captive. "Sitja hérna," she instructed. He didn't know the words, but he understood what she wanted. "Or I'll hunt you down."

The nobleman rapidly bobbed his head, eyes scrunched up with pain.

Formora left him there and raced out into the hallway outside. She ran up the stairs to the first floor. She found the first corpse at the top of the stairwell. It was one of the castle servants: his head twisted about at a sickening angle. A dead Eliksni lay not far away, having been run through with a sword. Its armour hadn't held in the slightest, which led her to a number of conclusions, none of which were pleasant to think about. Not one boded well for her

"Dammit!" Xiān suddenly swore. She'd disappeared from view, still somehow with Formora.

"What is it?" Formora whispered. She looked over her shoulder. The dead had been taken by surprise. She strived to not make the same mistake.

"Communications are jammed. Can't reach Ikharos. Or the Scars."

"Let me," Formora reached out with a mental probe, but almost immediately found herself blocked off by a strange barrier. It was like a curtain lowered all around her. It was a miracle that she could even hear Xiān. "I... can't..." Formora frowned. "Something here is blocking me."

"That's not good."

"What do we do?"

"Find the Scars. Quickly."

"Not Ikharos?"

"We need to raise the alarm before whatever this is kills everyone. Ikharos can hold out for- Behind you!"

Formora spun around and knocked aside a sword thrust with her shield and flicked out her own blade. Vaeta's edge gouged out a deep wound in the creature's chest, and it retreated with a snarl. The Shade, a man she didn't recognize, sneered at her. "Elf," he spat. His free hand delicately cradled his fresh wound, which bled a dark misty substance.

Formora froze. Xiān took issue with it. "Kill the bastard, quick! Stick 'im!"

She moved on instinct rather than any predetermined plan and closed the distance between herself and the Shade. Formora expected to be assailed by its overpowering mind, but it never came. She realized that the barrier around her mind affected the Shade too.

The twisted monster grimaced as he was forced to mount a frantic defensive. "Malthinae älfrinn!" He hissed.

Formora felt a pressure push down on her wards and was forced to remove them lest they drain her of all her energy. A force grasped her and held her in place. "Brakka du vanyalí sem huildar edtha!" She shot back. The magic in his spell lessened considerably, allowing her to resume moving - albeit sluggishly. As time went on, his spell grew weaker and weaker until it failed altogether.

He didn't have time to use another. Formora, in a fit of colourful imagination, fell back on what Ikharos had taught her and managed to sharpen her intention into a blade, which she forced into the real world in the form of Arc. Her empty left hand cupped the energy and brushed against the Shade. The result she sought was immediate, and the Shade cried out as the potent energy surged through him. His sword arm spasmed and his guard failed, allowing her to make a clean thrust to the heart.

As the Shade fell apart and the spirits held within were released, Formora leaned against the wall and tried to catch her breath.

"Well done," Xiān told her proudly. Formora felt an immediate rush of gratitude towards the little spirit. Without her, she would have died.

"Thank you," Formora muttered.

"No problem. Now we need to-"

"No!" A new voice shouted. Formora twirled around, but the second Shade had already reached her. The dark creature slammed her to the ground mercilessly, and she cried out something inside gave way. The Shade reared above her and brandished a sword.

A tiny lightning bolt tore through the Shade's head, and the once-human evaporated into thin air. Formora looked down the hallway, and her rescuer stared back, Eliksni weapon still aimed in her direction. She had never anything even remotely like it before. It was the same height as she was and had the same amount of limbs, but that was where the similarities ended. It had a bald, veined head, with a single orange eye surrounded by a black trident-shaped crease. Its pupil was in the shape of a Y. It had a series of tiny holes above its thin mouth and no nose. No ears either. All it wore was a tight suit composed of a sleek grey material she didn't recognize.

Formora didn't dare move. The rifle looked slightly oversized for the creature, but it didn't seem to mind. The gun's barrel never wavered.

"It's a Psion," Xiān whispered. "They're part of the Cabal empire. This one hasn't any armour, though. Don't attack; it's too fast."

"Human?" It eventually asked in a high-pitched voice. It spoke in an unnervingly smooth manner.

She nodded after a moment's hesitation. She didn't agree with Ikharos's claims, but she was hardly in a position to debate it.

The creature moved onto its next question. "What's happening?"

"We're under attack," she answered quickly.

"From whom?"

"Shades."

"Those humans are Shades?"

Formora shook her heads. "They're not human. Not anymore."

A furious roar interrupted them, and Formora flinched, but it was some distance away. Even so, it sounded deeper and angrier than even the Eliksni.

"Get up, human," the one-eyed creature ordered. "You will lead me out of this place. Drop your gun and stand up slowly, or I will shoot you."

"Xiān?"

"Psions are damn good shots, and that shock rifle will track you. Play along for now."

000

Kiphoris was woken up by a struggle. His eyes flew open when something crashed into his bed, and he growled deeply, but his anger was soon overcome by shock when he found that it was one of his guards being strangled by a metal human. The Exo's powerful digits dug in deep and, with a pop that made his bile rise, punctured the Vandal's throat.

Kiphoris acted as quickly as he could. He smashed the side of the Exo's sleek skull with a clenched fist and grabbed hold of it. It bucked as hard as it could in effort to break free as the Captain dragged it over, but Kiphoris wasn't deterred. He winced as its heavy fists slammed into his sides, but he persisted and dug in at its metal plating with his claws. In a savage movement that mirrored the Exo's own kill, he dug his claws into the robot's neck and sliced through a dozen wires. The Exo's struggles weakened, though it refused to roll over and die - at least until Kiphoris had practically torn off its head.

He gasped and inhaled as much air as he could, his broken knee burning with renewed pain. He looked around the room, left aghast by the scene that greeted him. His guards were dead, as well as the Splicer that had been tending to him. Each had been brutally slaughtered with a skilled precision that both horrified and impressed him. They must have been taken out within moments of one another, otherwise they would have swarmed the Exo. Even the last guard, who fought to his last breath to protect his Captain, lay dead in a pool of his own blood. He'd bled out while Kiphoris dealt with the attacker.

The Captain waited for other Scars to rush in, but none came. A cold feeling settled in his stomach. He activated his radio, yet no matter which channel he tried, he received nothing but static in return. With as much effort as he could muster, Kiphoris forced himself into a sitting position and tried to stand up. He fell, of course, when his injured leg loudly gave out. Kiphoris hissed with pain, but he resorted to using his hands to drag himself along. He reached the bodies of one of the guards by the door and looted the poor Scar's pistols, tucking them into his bandolier. To his relief he found grenades too, and packed those away as well.

He grabbed the dead guard's shock spear and switched off the Arc generator, then removed the blade. He used an activated shock dagger as a plasma cutter and sliced off a portion of the steel pole. He cut himself a few strips from his own cloak and attached the pole to his leg as a splint.

Kiphoris dug his claws into the stone wall and forced himself to his feet. His knee screamed in protest and he didn't doubt that if he managed to reach the Scars he would get an earful from whichever Splicer treated him, but that was a problem for later. With one last look around the wide room, he hobbled out the door with knife and shock pistol in hand.

The outside was just as grim. He found more bodies spaced about. It wasn't the handiwork of brave warriors but ruthless assassins. They'd mowed through whichever Scars they found on their path, and the trail they left indicated that they were moving towards the central keep.

Kiphoris's initial thoughts were that it was the Light-Thief's handiwork. The world they found themselves on didn't possess the technology to make Exos. It didn't, however, sit right with him. The Exo he killed didn't use Light, and more importantly it didn't get back up. It wasn't a Light-Thief, and though they were pack-hunters, Light-Thieves preferred to work with their own kind. Besides, the killer he met was an Exo. Only Exo who were also Light-Thieves left the city below the Traveler. The mortal kind never left the safety of their walled city, content to live below the shadow of the Great Machine.

Not Ikharos, he decided. It was a disappointment, but he was glad for it. The idea of fighting a Light-Thief was not appealing. Even without their powers they were a force to be reckoned with, as he had so recently learned. Kiphoris's sense of smell couldn't pick up anything other than the heavy scent of blood, but he heard a sudden rustle of boots over a carpet just around the corner. He pressed up against the wall by the corner and primed his pistol to fire. Closer... closer...

He leapt around at the same time as the stranger and only just stopped himself from pulling the trigger.

"Oh," the Light-Thief said in Low Eliksni, a mixture of relief and unhappiness. "It's you."

Kiphoris let out a shaky breath and braced an arm against the wall. He was too frazzled to amass his hatred. "You're alive," he noted in a bland voice.

"Only just," Ikharos admitted. The Light-Thief had dark shadows under his eyes, and his neck was crusty with dried blood. He'd been in a fight. "You?"

"One of your people attacked me," Kiphoris began.

Ikharos shook his head almost violently. "Not mine. No way in hell are they mine. They're Dark."

That caught Kiphoris by surprise. He narrowed his inner eyes. "What do you mean 'Dark'?"

The Light-Thief sighed exhaustively. "You know, Dark. Like the Hive."

"They have powers of the Maw?"

"The Maw? Oh, yeah, no. Not exactly." The Light-Thief suddenly froze. "What attacked you? Exo or Shade?"

"Exo. Shade?"

"You got lucky, then. Shades are the Dark guys."

Kiphoris growled. He certainly hadn't been 'lucky'. "It killed mine-guards."

"They've probably killed a lot more than that," Ikharos replied. "And will continue to do so. Where's Formora?"

"Why should I know?"

"Dammit," the Light-Thief muttered. "She must have my Ghost with her."

Kiphoris' eyes widened with surprise. "You are mortal." His finger tightened around the trigger. "I could kill you now..."

Ikharos angrily glanced up at him. "Or you can help me and save your people. Make your choice."

That gave him pause. To his shame Kiphoris actually considered it. He caught himself before he made the wrong choice. He closed his outer eyes. "So be it," he hissed. "What do you propose, thief?"

Ikharos scowled, yet he dropped the barrel of his rifle all the same. "What do you think? We need to alert your Scars. My radio's jammed, so I don't know what to do. I don't know how many intruders there are. There could be more outside. Where's Tarrhis?"

"The great hall," Kiphoris realized. Worry twisted a knot in his stomach. "The assassins make for the great hall!"

"Psekisk. What about Sundrass?"

"She's with him." His worry only increased.

"Fuck sake," the Light-Thief cursed in English. "Is there anyone else? Kell or Archon?"

"Archon is beyond reach and Kell is only a hatchling. Neither can help us."

"How do you people even survive? This is ridiculous."

Kiphoris growled. "Palkra, another Captain, is bound to be close. And Nyreks commands those defending the city. If they yet live, then they can help us."

"We need to reach them first..." Ikharos trailed off. "Is there any fancy tech you guys have for that?"

"If all radios are jammed then I doubt we can... Servitors. Servitors! We find a Servitor, it can send a message to its siblings!"

"How?" The Light-Thief asked, perplexed.

"They communicate with waves in the Void. It cannot be disrupted."

"Void waves... That'll do it. Know where one is?"

"Yes, in the storeroom. But if it's dead-"

"If it's dead, I'll take care of it," Ikharos told him firmly. Kiphoris, for a moment, allowed himself to be reassured by the human's confident words. His mistrust cut it short, but that mistrust was just as short-lived. He'd given into his survival instincts and now thought only in the matter of practicality. The Light-Thief, as loathe as he was to admit it, was his best chance.

"If you say so," Kiphoris grunted and took a step back. His leg shrieked with every movement. "Come. The storeroom is this way."

AN: Special thanks to Nomad Blue!