Chapter 51: Battle of Magnus Vae II
The lead Er'kanii never left her sight. She didn't allow it to. It was a massive, fearsome thing - all tooth and maw and muscle. It appeared to send instructions to its subordinates solely through the movement of the quills affixed to its neck and spine. The lesser Er'kanii scurried around it with lowered heads and trembling growls, but the moment its attention strayed they went right back to bickering amongst themselves in the most savage of fashions.
Formora despised them. She was surprised by how vehemently she detested their presence, having only known of them for less than an hour. They weren't human, dwarf, urgal, elf, dragon, or werecat. They did not call Alagaësia home. They were not clever as the similarly foreign Eliksni were. They had none of the awareness of a Risen. Even the Cabal could be capable of some degree of decency, given that they hadn't slaughtered the populace of Ceunon wholesale. But not they. Not the Er'kanii. All they had was a need to bite and bully.
They didn't deserve Alagaësia. They had no right to it. And, above all else, no right to the Ahamkara's corpse.
"Bad," Melkris hissed. "High-bad."
Formora said nothing. 'High-bad' went some ways to describing how dire the situation was. She had no inclination to see what devastation Wish-magic could cause in the hands of the Er'kanii. Or worse: the Hive. Ikharos would have probably said something along the lines of... No. He wouldn't. All he would have done would be to walk in among the Er'kanii and destroy the body - along with whoever tried to stop him.
She almost wished for him to return, only to viciously cut that line of thinking off. Formora's mouth went dry; the Ahamkara, even dead, was too close to take any chances with. She forcibly looked down and concentrated on a single blade of grass until all thoughts drained away and the uncomfortable nullscape slid into place.
Melkris nudged her. His head had turned to stare at something else. Formora followed it to the valley leading to the Cabal camp. A sizable group of vaguely humanoid figures were marching towards them. And towards the Er'kanii. One of them was floating above the ground. A ragged dress fell from its midriff, coloured too darkly for her to make out the runes dotting it.
Formora inhaled too quickly. Wizard.
It wasn't the only Hive there. Other three-eyed beasts loped beside it, behind it, but never in front. It was their leader. Their mother. Except for the Knight. The Knight didn't hold to the same rules. It marched ahead of her with a loose hold on its nightmarish weapon.
Formora knew it was a Knight from the first glance. It was larger than all the others, just as she had been warned it would be. Where the other Hive were human-sized, it was taller than a Kull. Where their limbs were thin with hunger, its were bound with dried muscle and dusty armour. It bore a large helmet, revealing little else of its skull besides its mean eyes and macabre grin. It dragged a monstrous blade after it, easily large enough to behead a grown dragon in one vicious swipe. The sword tore through the hard ground and gave metallic shrieks whenever it found stone.
It was the creature from her dream. Or one of them, in any case. They weren't many, especially compared to the huge pack of Er'kanii, but they still outnumbered all the present Eliksni. Even if they hadn't, Formora suspected that it wouldn't have mattered. Not with the Knight and Wizard both there.
The rest of the Hive growled and hissed. The Er'kanii heard them coming and fell silent. The smaller beasts nervously retreated towards the treeline. Only their leader and his lieutenants stood their ground, flanking the Ahamkara body.
We need to destroy it, Formora decided. Her heart hammered and her chest tightened, but she knew - she knew - that the Ahamkara couldn't be allowed to go to the Hive. Ikharos's tales of his ancient foes painted a terrifying picture of what letting them have it would look like. Even without his warnings, even without having heard of the Hive before, she would have known it just by looking at them. They were worse than the Er'kanii. Worse than Shades. Worse than anything. And everything. Something had to be done.
She told Melkris just that.
"Nama!" He hissed. "Cannot! Will not!"
"We have to-" Formora sucked in a breath. The Wizard, still some distance off, paused. It turned its head this way and that, and then looked in their general direction.
The wind was blowing in a northwesterly direction, and it carried their scent away from Er'kanii and Hive both. But that wasn't what the Wizard focused on. With a sudden helpless feeling, Formora realized what the issue was. "Melkris." She got to her feet.
He grabbed her wrist, as if fearing she'd charge right ahead. Formora resisted the urge to shake him loose. "What?"
"It can sense us."
Melkris's grip trembled. "Nama. You hide us."
Therein lies the danger. "That's why. It can sense my magic."
000
Kiphoris watched as his Marauders herded the insolent Cabal into the far side of the bridge. Each of them had been thoroughly searched and disarmed, then shackled with Arc bindings. His assistance was largely unnecessary - save for the occasion where one of the Legionaries bucked against his warriors' instructions. In those rare cases all he needed to do was raise Ka'Den and activate its shock cores. The Uluru complied much more readily after that.
It was, however, the Psions that truly gave him pause. For all the strength of their masters, they were cunning creatures capable of far more than their diminutive and fragile frames boasted. A neurojammer had been activated in the centre of the room. He wasn't certain if any of them were Flayers, but he wasn't going to take any chances.
"Name your legions," Kiphoris pressed.
Not one of the prisoners answered him.
Kiphoris drew a pistol and aimed it directly at a Psion's head. "You. Name your legion."
It glared at him and huffed through its gills.
He tilted his head. "Stubborn." Kiphoris grabbed the neurojammer - a small device that fit snugly in his palm - and brought it closer. All three Psions cringed with discomfort. "Legion. Tell me. Now."
"Worldbreaker!" The first hissed.
Kiphoris stepped back. Not all the way. He wanted them to feel the neurojammer's teeth against their throats. "Why are the Hive here?"
"I-I don't know!"
He held it out towards them. "Are you lying to me?"
"No! Please!"
One of the three slumped over, gasping for air.
"The Hive arrived here with you," Kiphoris continued, "and they came from your ship. How?"
"Castaways!" Neuroc gasped. "Tricked us!"
Satisfied, Kiphoris retreated two long paces. He gave her a hard look. "Did you know about the cult?"
"We-"
"Ha!" Arxiks trilled from where he messed with the communications array. He turned around and waved. "Mine-Captain, I have it!"
Kiphoris clicked slowly. One step closer to victory. His gaze lingered on the Cabal. He motioned for Beraskes to keep her eyes on them, flicked his cloak behind him and marched over to Arxiks. The terminal at which the Marauder worked was alight with Ulurant numbers and letters. Kiphoris tapped it with a single claw and watched it shift.
Arxiks quietly chirped, "Shall I send the message?"
"Do it." Kiphoris stepped back and returned to the prisoners. He put the neurojammer down and leaned on Ka'Den. "What else do you know of these Hive?"
This time, the Psions were more willing to divulge their knowledge. "Small cult," one whispered, "but with a Broodqueen and her coven of Wizards. They'll spread like wildfire."
"I know this already. Give me more."
"I-"
Neuroc cut the technician off with a strained look. She reluctantly turned to Kiphoris and narrowed her single eye. Ka'Den's flickering blade reflected off her Y-shaped pupil. "They're infiltrators. Meant to poke holes in the Empire's stability. They've infected soldiers and gathered them under a single cause."
"I still know all this." Kiphoris was fast growing impatient. "Do you truly not understand your foe? Have you never looked into their reasonings?"
The not-Gladiator looked up. "They're your foes too," he spat.
Kiphoris went quiet. He pressed his mandibles against the sides of his battlemask. "Mind your tone," he warned.
"Or what? You'll kill us?" The Uluru laughed without humour. "You'll do that anyways."
"Almost certainly in your case."
"You're afraid, barbarian."
Kiphoris tilted his head. "Afraid?"
The not-Gladiator stuck out his chin. "Of having a fair fight."
A challenge. Kiphoris clicked to himself, eyes only for the audacious Uluru. He gave it thought and, with deliberation, pressed Ka'Den's point against the Uluru's throat. "I've defeated you once already. And the fight was in your favour."
"I knew it. Afraid."
Kiphoris narrowed his inner eyes. "Cabal: always so eager to die." He pressed the sword closer. "On your feet or on your knees? How do you want to end?"
"With my blade in your skull." The Uluru glowered at him.
"On your knees, then." He pulled back in preparation for a swing to take the Uluru's head. The other Cabal panicked, but the not-Gladiator remained as he was. Glaring.
A panicked call stopped Kiphoris in his tracks. Arxiks looked at him from across the room with all four eyes wide with panic. "Mine-Captain!"
He rushed over. A thousand different scenarios ran through his mind; the Skiffs were gone, the Hive had noticed them, Tarrhis was under attack, Krinok's forces had come to see what had befallen the Cabal. "What is it?"
Arxiks tapped at the screen as if willing it to change. "Communications remain cut!"
"But..." He ground his teeth. "Was this not the place it came from?"
"Eia, but this is new! It is not Cabal work. Something else is-"
000
"-blocking us," Nyreks solemnly reported. "Cannot reach Skiffs. Must use fire-shot."
The Wizard was getting closer, Formora noted. Slowly, but surely, the Hive were making their way up to the Er'kanii, but it hadn't stopped looking their way. It wasn't going to be long before Formora's spell was seen for what it was and they were revealed.
Nyreks exhaled fitfully. "But fire-shot too bright. Er'kanii will see. Hive will see."
"Is there anything else we can do?" She pressed. A heavy rain had begun to fall and droplets splashed against the glass of her helmet to blur her vision.
"... Ikha Riis?"
"Not here," Melkris whispered. "Hive are. Take much-long."
"Then what can we do?" Formora cut in again. The spell was going strong, but she didn't think she could keep it up much longer. There were too many senses to fool and too many people to hide. If pushed, she could turn to the energy she had stored in Vaeta's garnet, but that was a reservoir she had saved for something else. Something closer to the heart.
But there wouldn't be a heart left if the Hive took it out.
"So be it. Signal the Skiffs," Formora whispered with a grimace. "We can't let them have the Wish-Dragon."
"Cannot fight Hive and Er'kanii!"
"Can the Skiffs?"
"Eia, but... they reveal themselves. We be discovered. Kiphoris and Ikha Riis be lost."
Nyreks pointed past them.
The Hive had reached the largest of the Er'kanii. No blood was spilt. Neither side came to blows. The Wizard turned her attention to them, momentarily, and hissed loudly. The lead Er'kanii hissed back. Formora was left under the impression that they were speaking somehow.
The Wizard motioned behind itself. The pack of three-eyed predators parted. A Cabal soldier stepped forth. Its helmet was gone, leaving its brutish face bare. The Uluru's face wasn't like those of the Eliksni, or Er'kanii, or Hive. It was remarkably similar to her own, considering from whence it came, but the differences were still vast. Its grey skin was thick and leathery and utterly hairless. Its two eyes - complete with pupils and irises - were in line with its nostrils. It had no nose, no visible ears, and barely any chin what with its thick neck. Its limbs were like tree trunks, and it had a massive body fitted into a colourful suit of snug body armour. It walked forth to listlessly stand between the Wizard and the Er'kanii pack leader and stare away into space. The alpha Er'kanii pounced. The Uluru didn't cry out as the beast's massive jaws closed over its head and crunched.
Formora winced and sucked in a deep breath. She looked away as the Er'kanii began to eat. Looked at the Wizard. Who stared back. Its three eyes were burning stars, utterly baleful and nothing else. The skull around them was skeletal. It looked dead, but the way it swayed in the air told her otherwise. Its jaws clacked uncontrollably.
It raised a bony finger and pointed. The Knight turned and started marching forth. Towards them.
"They have decided for us," Formora muttered darkly. "Signal the Skiffs, now!"
Nyreks pulled out a pistol and shot it into the air. Whatever had been fired from the gun lit up the entire valley in a bright orange flash. A wild cry came from the Er'kanii gathered by the treeline - surprise mixed with trepidation. Formora dropped her concealing spell and took aim. Their cover was blown and the Hive were surging; the chance of evading discovery was long gone.
000
If he kept moving, he'd be fine. If he kept fighting, he'd be fine. If he kept his grip on his new sword, he'd be fine.
Ikharos was far from fine. Fine insinuated a level of control over the situation. He controlled nothing beyond his own body. He couldn't even control how quickly his Light expended itself. Solar was the first to go; it loved to burn and roar and dance. It was useful where Hive were concerned, with them being as flammable as they were - like living, moving, biting firewood. Firewood with eyes. Not the normal two eyes, or semi-normal four eyes. Three eyes. Or five. Or none at all.
He was on the verge of panicking. His grip on Arc was the only thing keeping him at the surface. It was angrier than Solar. More volatile. Solar could heal just as well as it could hurt, but Arc? Arc just wanted to destroy, to run wild, to break free. Arc's struggle to break out was familiar. One Ikharos had lived with all his lives. It paired well with his rage, with his anger, with his need to hit back. He used to be quite the Stormdancer, when he'd first joined up with the idea of the City.
But, like all things, Arc ended. The miniature storms he summoned could only keep back the horde for so long, and wounded as they were, they rushed in when it faltered. Which left... nothing but the Void. Which was, in itself, nothing.
Ikharos knew how to use it. It was beyond despair, beyond grief, beyond fear. It was emptiness. Seeing the bodies fallen on the wayside, so many years ago, helped him find it within himself. A gaping abyss where no feeling, no ambition, no humanity could ever persist. The Void was where aspirations went to die. It wasn't Light, even if the Light led him to it. It wasn't the Dark, for though the Dark destroyed it always wanted something to continue on in the stark nothingness. The Void was neither, and yet both had a hand in it. It was not the passion of fire, nor the rage of storms. It was the endless hunger of that gap between realities; of jaws leading to a bottomless stomach.
At least he had a sword to go with it. Having something between him and the murderous masses was nothing short of a relief. Even if it was a wicked Hive blade. Ikharos needed to learn how to stop breaking his weapons. Especially his swords. It was fast becoming a habit and not one he wanted to keep.
"Eyes front," Xiān chided. As if he needed any convincing.
The Hive had driven him back. Not to the medical wing, but into the side of a dead Thresher. They'd effectively cornered him and eagerly pressed at him from all angles. It wasn't possible to keep them back. All Ikharos could do was kill those who got too close and pray he'd find a way out before the mounds of bodies drowned his Light. The cleaver was good for that, in any case. If the throng of Thrall limbs threatened to trip him, all he needed to do was give it all a few swipes. There was nothing that could resist the blade's keen edge.
Nothing but an equally sharp blade.
The Thresher tilted and, without warning, was effortlessly tossed aside. The wave of hungry Thrall hesitated; their father or uncle or whoever the Darkblade was to them had stepped in to take its dues. And they would be foolish to get in its way.
"Skyyyyborn," the Darkblade throatily growled. "Death-clad. Life-broken. Tongue of trickery. Eater of gifts."
"Shut up!" Ikharos brought his stolen sword up. There was no flourish in his strike, only rage. He hated it. Hated them all. There was no end to his abhorrence for their twisted kind.
And no end of them in sight.
He knew, deep down, that the hate was the wrong thing to focus on. It brought to the surface a power he'd already spent, rather than the one he needed. The Darkblade caught the blow on its bone bracer. Chitin crunched and flesh parted. The pain did nothing; Ikharos swore there was something close to pleasure in the green gash running down the centre of the Darkblade's helm. A flicker of something other than hunger. Something delighted.
The axe came around. Ikharso Blinked away, taking his cleaver with him. The Darkblade didn't care. It trudged after him, in no hurry at all.
"Yessssssss." If it had a mouth behind its helmet, then Ikharos imagined it was smirking. Could Hive smirk? "Fight me. Battle me. Hurt me. WORSHIP ME!"
Ikharos cursed. Realization fell on him like a hammer made of ice. "It's one of Hers. War's pawns."
Xiān yammered something. He couldn't hear past the din of chanting - of prayer. The Hive, all of them, were practically screaming with anticipation. It wasn't just battle to them; it was faith. It was myth. It was all they were born to do - to snuff out the Light and bring about an endless Dark.
Fear and anger. More and more. It was all he felt. A need to kill and a need to get out. He'd fail at both if he couldn't find the Void. And the Hive were unknowingly keeping him from it with every shouted verse of their endless mantras. Ikharos fell back on what he had left. Lesser magics and a general understanding of where he was. He needed them to bide his time and-
Thrall ran. For him. Ikharos focused the Void in his offhand and loosed it. The vortex of antimatter voraciously ate the Hive hatchlings up. But not the Darkblade, who stalked on the edge of his vision and waited for the opportunity to strike. It was pissing him off. For a creature of war, the Darkblade was so hesitant to commit to a fight. It was a shark, testing his defenses with little nips, ever circling. It was waiting for him to die. He saw its purpose and his anger faded, because how could one be angry with something so small-minded?
"To hell with it." Ikharos pulled on the Void - not as a veil, nor as a blade, but in its most potent form. It washed over him like a torrent of absences. It scourged the fear from him, the hate, the desperation, the hurt. All of it was wiped away. The Void pulsed and thrummed and hummed and whined. He couldn't breathe; it was around him, banishing the very air. He didn't need it. It was in his blood, in his bones, in his mind.
Those foolish enough to press him died. Whips of nothing and tendrils of negation ripped through chitin and bone. No wards could protect them. Ikharos singled out the Darkblade. It stood in place, axe held before it, and it waited for him. He didn't disappoint. With a flicker of three consecutive Blinks, he was before it and forcing the attack. His cleaver swept to and fro, clad in infinite unrealities and propelled by a need to bite.
The Darkblade put up a fair defense. No, more than fair. Exemplary. It was fast and clever but ultimately unprepared for the sheer presence of the Void. Its armour cracked and burned. The glow in the centre of its helmet flashed with alarm. It wasn't readied for this. It didn't know how to fight him. It had no reason to - it had never tasted of the berserk experiences of Sol before.
Its children rushed to save it. Dutiful to the end, they marched straight into the concentrated singularity surrounding Ikharos and were summarily torn apart by black-indigo flames and inescapable gravities. The Darkblade raged at the sight of its dying spawn. Darkness fell upon them; a mist of gloom so thick that even the eyes of all the other Hive couldn't pierce through it. It was only the two of them in the centre of the maelstrom, enacting an age-old duel. Axe swings pummeled the Void wards guarding Ikharos. Some broke through. None killed.
They exchanged blow after blow, rendering one another weakened and bloodied. Ikharos was faster. He Blinked so rapidly that he wouldn't have known where he was if not for the glow of the Darkblade's eye drawing him in. There was nary a mark upon him, aside from a handful of shallow scratches scored into his skin. He bled, he hurt, but he did not falter. The axe's edge may have burned with a treacherous energies, yet he did not collapse.
Ikharos's Light flared. It swam beneath his skin, suffusing him with godly power. He didn't need much, but he used it all regardless. The Void only required a beckoning call. So he called it all. The feathers upon his bracers twitched with potency. Power ran through them and out of the blunted claws. Death was dealt - though the Darkblade refused to die. It thundered through his efforts and trampled his grim aspirations. Armour broke from its body and flesh hung in burning strips, but it fought on.
Even when Ikharos brought it to its knees and shattered the spells it sent forth, it fought on to the very end.
An end stolen from his grasp.
Ikharos didn't know he'd been shot until he tried moving his arm and realized there was a hole in his shoulder. Bone and tissue crystallized around the grisly wound; it was Voidburn. A perfect cylindrical hole. A perfect round. A perfect shot. His gaze drifted to the shooter, standing on the other side of the hanger. An Acolyte, but larger than was the norm and crowned with heavy horns not dissimilar to the Broodqueens. It held a soulfire rifle rippling in preparation for another strike.
Ikharos seethed. He Blinked aside as the overgrown sniper fired. A Knight jumped him - and he ducked under its blow, grabbed it by the throat, and pulled its life out to replenish his grasp over the Void. The warrior morph disintegrated and fell away. Satisfied, Ikharos lobbed an Axion bolt towards the offending Adherent.
A colossal hand grabbed the Void missile out of the air and allowed it to burn itself out on thick chitin shell and curse-engorged flesh. Up rose yet another monstrosity, and it was easily the most gargantuan abomination present. It wore heavy armour of bone and chitin, but warped meat bloated between the plating. A single glowing eye glared out from its massive head, which was attached to a crooked spine and grotesque torso. It resembled a failed attempt at an Ogre someone had tried to hide away beneath a suit of Knight armour - and it was Phogoth-sized, give or take a couple of feet. It didn't look pleased to see him.
"We need to get out, NOW!" Xiān screamed. "Ikharos, Warp us out of here! Ikharos!"
He couldn't. Not with the Broodqueen still alive. His eyes sought her out and found her just where she'd been floating when the violence began. Her and her Echo. Ikharos dragged the Void closer. It turned into fangs around him, adorning the violet haze that wreathed his figure. "If she doesn't die tonight, we'll never be able to stop them."
"We can't fight this many- MOVE!"
An axe - that damn axe - planted where he'd been standing a split second before. Ikharos glared at the Darkblade. The gall of the creature! The Void laced around him and sharpened its tendrils like a scorpion preparing to sting. And he would have stung, if not for the half-Ogre opening its eye. Malevolent energy surged forth and sheared through the hanger floor. The beam swept towards him, cutting and melting whatever caught in its path.
He Blinked aside. Right into the fiery scream bursting from the dual Broodqueen's throats. His armour was left seared and where it had been torn away his skin was burnt to black ash. Ikharos choked on the smoke filling his helmet and briefly cocooned himself in a burst of purple to catch his breath. A soulfire round burst through his Void-shell and shattered his focus, leaving him bared to their sight.
The Darkblade lurched to its feet and hefted its weapon. The half-Ogre loomed behind him, and beside it marched the oversized Adherent. The Broodqueens flew above, more spells readied behind clenched teeth. And all around them - and him - waited a hungry horde.
He almost formed the Void into a Warp. Ikharos almost gave in. But he couldn't. Not with-
The hanger, and the entire carrier around them, shook. A shriek of metal on metal filled the chamber. It came from... Ikharos didn't know anymore. But not the way he'd come in. Light, blessed light, cut through the dark. It was a stunning yellow and orange melting through the far wall like divine thermite. The nearest Hive - from what he could see of their eyes - raced closer. Those who ventured too near were crushed when a segment of wall was pushed in.
Something stepped in. It was big. Darkblade-big. Silver-skinned too, as if formed from liquid metal. And it boasted cranial horns cresting on either side of its featureless alien skull. A gem of some kind was affixed to the centre of its mouthless, earless, noseless, and eyeless face. A glaive was clasped in one of its four-fingered hands. The blade at the end of it glowed with unnatural brightness.
A lean strength lay beneath its strange metallic covering, but the musculature was all wrong. The bone structure too. Though it stood on two legs, it was as far from human as anything could get. Its shoulders were so sharp they were almost blades. Its legs were digitigrade and lacked toes or claws. Its elbows were pointed, just a little beyond the joint, and were held close to the body as if the arms were fragile wings rather than grasping limbs.
Another creature climbed in after it. It didn't seem to care about touching the molten metal left in the wake of the first. A third waited behind it. Ikharos gave a start. He'd seen them before. Or rather, he'd seen something like them before. In a city devoid of colour. He remembered the sheen of their strange exoskeleton. The broadness of their horns. The eerie glow of the crystals affixed to the front of their skulls.
Except the one he'd seen had been much larger.
The temperature dropped. Ikharos was almost positive it wasn't just him. The nausea building in his skull rose up to almost painful levels. He unconsciously made his Light signature smaller, as if to hide away from the ocean of Dark all around him.
The chanting had stopped. The Hive shrieked and roared, but their leaders did nothing. The Darkblade slowly looked between Ikharos and the newcomers with obvious indecisiveness, and Ikharos could almost see the gears turning in the monster's head. The shadow Broodqueen hissed in Ikharos's direction, but the half-Ogre bellowed at the intruders instead. The Adherent took aim at the first creature, who in turn raised its glaive.
White-hot energy shot from the blade. The plasma jet killed dozens and the half-Ogre fell aside, roaring and batting at the burning chunk taken out of its midriff. All hell broke loose. Ikharos could scarcely track what happened next - either it was too dark or too bright, and he couldn't hear a thing past all the incessant screeching. Hive clashed against the silver-skinned warriors, that much he knew, but whether the battle was going in their favour or not was beyond his ability to tell.
What he did know was that the Broodqueens were fleeing. Both of them. They flew in the opposite direction of the silver warriors, likely to lose themselves in the carrier's labyrinth of corridors and tunnels.
It was perfect. The exact break he needed.
Right up until another glaive-beam crashed past him and caught the edge of the shadow Broodqueen. She convulsed, twisted around to deliver a scathing spell, and caught sight of him running after them. Her five eyes cut right through him. She darted after her still living twin, screaming at the top of her lungs.
Thrall pounced. Acolytes opened fire. Knights charged. In response, Ikharos pulled the Void into his hands and let himself give in to an unmodified Nova Warp. Abyssal energies enwreathed him with reformed wards and devoured any foolish enough to get close. Shredder-fire cracked upon his shields with no effect. Not a single cleaver reached him. His Light-turned-Void pulsed out. Hive died. He carved a path through those who moved to protect their coven leader and raced after the dual queens. They had taken a path through a ruptured service tunnel and left it ringed in Void teeth. It looked like the maw of a giant cosmic lamprey.
That was problematic. Ikharos didn't fancy dying to oversized caltrops.
"Can we track them?" He pressed.
"Track them? Are you insane?! How am I supposed to-"
"She's still bleeding, right?"
"... Well you did cut off her arm," Xiān said deadpanned. "Argh! Fine, HURRY!"
Ikharos hurried. Removing the Void spikes was next to impossible, but he didn't need to. He diverged the tapering end of his Nova Warp to form a single lengthy Blink past the obstacles and landed on his feet. He broke out into a run. Thrall jumped after him and caught themselves on the spikes left by their mother.
It was an irony he could savour.
000
Eliksni did not fight as elves did. Formora had been aware of that since Ceunon. They did not war like humans or dwarves either. Neither did Hive or Er'kanii for that matter. Different peoples perfected different strategies to wage war. But the way the Eliksni fought was so ruthless that when the fighting started she was left stunned for a moment too long. The instant Nyreks signaled them, the Skiffs dove out of the air like massive birds of prey and opened fire. Spikes of Arc flew from them and into the treeline, eliciting cries and roars. The Er'kanii initially tried to fight back, but when they started to sustain losses their order broke and they fled. Not even the roars of their leader could keep them in place. Eventually, the pack master disappeared too.
The Hive, though, were of a different calibre of warriors. Melkris had taken out three of them by his lonesome and still they didn't care. Not for the Arc rounds that burrowed into their bodies. Not for the casualties they took. Pain did not stop them. Death did not stop them. They were fearless, in the truest sense of the word. It unnerved her. Perhaps even frightened. What savage sort of beginnings could produce killers without fear? Without bodily self-interest of any sort?
The Knight led the charge. It was the bravest of them all - and the most resilient. Its armour blackened with soot and cracked under pressure, but it did not slow. Formora fired upon it herself, and to little effect. Nothing could stop it. Nothing could slow its charge
An Eliksni leapt forth on nimble legs and shot forth with two buzzing blades. The Knight met it, shattered the weapons without issue, and crushed the Eliksni's head in its fist. Ether - white and frosty - shot from the dead Eliksni's neck in a vague silhouette of its own body. The Knight kicked the still-twitching body aside and resumed its stampede.
"Vëoth älfrs bennar," Formora heard herself whisper. Slow his legs. The spell took effect for all of five seconds, and the change was nigh on unnoticeable. Her spell shattered upon the Knight's incredible strength - but it wasn't just that. It was like trying to fight a Ra'zac or Lethrblaka, both of which were almost immune to direct appliances of magic.
What was worse was the Hive's ability to sense magic. The Knight's three eyes found her. It knew what she had tried to do - and it hungered for her soul.
Melkris tossed something at it. The cylindrical object erupted and showered the Knight in Arc. It didn't care. It was close enough to smell blood and eager to draw some itself. Formora haphazardly tossed her rifle aside and drew Vaeta. She rapidly retreated, but it was useless - the Knight was already bearing down on her with its sword held high.
When it brought its weapon down, she stepped aside. Formora refrained from attacking, focusing instead on avoiding its strikes and trying to identify any chink in its armour. The Knight almost made her regret it - goodness, it was fast! More than that, it was strong. It threw itself wholly into each attack and expended the entirety of its focus on the act of killing. Of killing her.
As she moved around it, as fast as she could to avoid being struck by its massive weapon, Formora found herself cultivating a grim respect for the Dark creature. Everything about it was designed to kill. Its claws were blunted, it breathed no fire, it had no wings, and it cast no spells, but it was still the perfect killer. It devoted itself entirely to its barbaric swordcraft. It was simple. Dangerously so. But it left the Knight open. For while it was in itself a deadly blade, it was ultimately fragile. All one needed to do was find a way past the initial bite and shatter its spine.
An ambitious horizontal swipe came for her. Formora ducked below and circled the Knight. It continued, attempting to cut her down with a flurry of wild blows. She kept moving, never stopping, and struggled to put some distance between herself and her opponent. She summoned up another spell and breathed out, "Efla du deloi durna."
The ground below the Knight's heavy feet muddied and lost all cohesion. The Hive creature slipped and struggled to keep its balance, and she darted in to plant Vaeta in its side. Her sabre sunk in up to the hilt. Blackish-green blood dribbled from the entry point.
The Knight jerked and tried to swat her aside. Formora grimaced and fell back, taking Vaeta with her. The mortal blow wasn't quite as 'mortal' as she had hoped it would be. She had aimed for its stomach, and its Worm, as she had been advised, but she fell upon the realization that perhaps its stomach wasn't in the same place as it was for a human or elf.
The Knight forced her back. It bled fiercely and fought fiercer. It didn't appear fazed in the slightest, only enraged that she would dare strike it. Just like its kin, it did not fear pain. It didn't fear anything. Not her. And certainly not her magic.
Melkris scrambled in to join their duel. Formora felt the beginnings of a warning - "Get away!" or "No, back!" - forming on her lips, but the sharpshooter was already close to the Knight and swinging his four knives. It was beautiful to behold. An Eliksni beauty - formed of centuries-forged skill and effortless speed and a sly intelligence. Melkris did not make the same mistake as the other Vandal, because he saw all with his four bright eyes and didn't let a single thing slip by him. He was always aware of where the Knight was, where its sword was, what it was doing, and he worked with all that that in mind. His knives left shallow marks and scars. It was not enough to kill, not even enough to spill blood, but it drew the Knight's dangerous attention.
Formora moved in for the kill. Its flank was exposed and she could-
The Knight finally caught Melkris and swatted him aside. Almost simultaneously, it whipped around and caught her with its elbow, knocking her to the ground. Formora rolled and the foot that would have surely crushed her ribcage merely stomped on bare earth, but its sword was raised and she didn't have time to get out of the way.
"Skölir!" She cried out. The blade bounced off the hastily erected ward. Formora knew she couldn't stand another strike. The first had already sapped her of her strength; her limbs felt leaden and her lungs burned for air. She couldn't get up, because that would have taken a precious half-second and the Knight was far too fast. She tried to scramble away, but its blade was already falling to claim her head.
Melkris leapt onto its back, jostling the Hive monster, and Formora moved just enough to avoid its off-kilter attack. The Knight snarled gutturally and tried to both cut her down and shake the Eliksni shockshooter, but the opening was all she needed to find her footing and get close.
Close enough to drive Vaeta up under the Knight's chin.
It jerked, again, but it was a death thro. The beast's three eyes winked in unison once, twice, and burned out altogether. Melkris let go. The Knight stumbled. Formora ripped Vaeta away with a shower of alien dust for her efforts. The nightmarish warrior stumbled and collapsed, dead. She stared at it, lungs heaving, and half-expected the monster to get back up.
A scream tore her attention and next she knew stinging claws had wrapped around her throat and snatched her from the ground. Another set of three eyes glared at her, full of malice, and below them a skeletal mouth shrieked so loudly that a blinding pain manifested in her ears. The claws pressed closer. Formora struggled for breath and tried to stab the Wizard, but Vaeta was gone, gone, gone. A burning, rotting stench filled her mouth and nose, and she would have coughed it away but for the lack of air reaching her lungs.
It ended just as suddenly as it began and the Wizard fell away. Formora dropped onto blessedly cool grass and sucked in lungfuls of sweet, sweet air. A new smell was assailing her - burning again, but more intense. She looked up. The Wizard floated in the air, staring uncomprehendingly at the bright blade protruding from its sternum. A glittering hand of pure silver settled on its shoulder and tore the weapon back out. The Wizard fell aside and didn't get back up.
In its place stood an immeasurably large creature the colour of fresh-forged steel. Formora stumbled back; she knew what it was. It, too, seemed to recognize her to some extent. The creature tilted its horned head and said, "Aí litil älfa verrunsmalí thorna sem jierda allr söngr." (The little elf fights those who break all song.)
There was no mouth on its head to utter the words it had spoken, nor did it communicate with its mind. Rather, the voice of the creature seemed to emanate from all its body at once. It echoed and echoed, even if there were no surfaces to bounce off, and it sounded like nothing Formora had ever heard before. It was a high-pitch and low rumble all at once - genderless, emotionless, and guiltless.
Formora gave a start. It spoke the ancient language more fluently than she'd ever heard anyone do before. Gone was the battle, and the Hive, and the Er'kanii. At that moment, only the creature standing over her mattered. And she knew what it was.
"Eru ono du Eyddrkyn?" (Are you of the empty-kind?)
The creature made a keening sound, like metal scratching on metal. It took her some time to realize it was laughing. "Né. Vae eru abr mor'ranr. Vae eru du adurna. Vae eru du söngr." (No. We are the peace. We are the water. We are the song.) Its keening faded to a low whistle. "Vae eru du dautar un sönnar abr Nezarec Könungr, du söngr-daéda. Lang atra älfr gala." (We are the daughters and sons of Nezarec, the Song-Lord. Long may He sing.)
What remaining reservations she clung to disappeared entirely. Formora first felt terror, but then anger muscled its way into her heart. A desire for vengeance. So, as scathingly as she dared, she snapped, "You are a wretch. A murderer and a brute, following an even more wretched excuse for divinity. Ono eru daeamr." (You are evil.)
The living, breathing Grey Folk fell silent. It leaned forward, as if to get a closer look - even if it had no eyes. "Ahhhh…. Ono tauthr eld domia dauthné. Du sönna abr du Söngrfell. Du Himmenburthro. Thornessa älfa eld fellr vér wyrda." (You follow the dominator of the avoidance of mortality. The son of the Song-Traitor. The Sky-born. This elf betrays its fate.)
Formora stood. Her hands were empty, and her energy reserves precariously low, but she could no more stay silent than she could fly. Her anger was a twisting knot in her stomach, and it burned for release. "Älf er iet wyrda eom faedhír onr. Älf er iet wyrda eom vergarí Nezarec. Eka weohnata taune iet efthaina." (It is my fate to fight you. It is my fate to kill Nezarec. I will take my revenge.)
The silver warrior made a sound like a colossal tree cracking beneath a hurricane. "Thenaer onr wyrda weohnata waíse endiro." (Then your fate will be ended.)
The Grey Folk hefted its spear. Formora hastily stepped back, realizing her error. A part of her roared to fight, but the rest instinctively knew she was at a huge disadvantage - the warrior was almost as tall as the nearby trees.
Arc rounds hit it in the centre of its massive chest. They were both the work of lazy shock rifle darts and wire rifle lasers. It had no effect besides stealing the Harmony's attention. It turned its head a mere fraction and regarded the offending Eliksni coolly. Melkris loudly snarled back.
"Die, big-horn!" He snarled in Low Speak. "Or I make you a chair!"
Something had surely gotten lost in translation.
The silver warrior whistled sharply. "Du Élarksa faedhír edtha? Thenaer älf weohnata deyja medh du älfa." (The Eliksni fights me? Then it shall die with with the elf.)
Another keening split the air. The silver warrior turned almost leisurely. Another of its kind waded through the smaller Hive, cutting them apart with effortless swings of its spear. It reached the Ahamkara corpse and tossed it over one shoulder. "Nosu eru kláraí hérna. Eitha medh edtha, aegór eld galasön." (We are finished here. Leave with me, sea-singer.)
The closer Harmony gave Formora one last lingering look. "Eka kenna onr. Eka weohnata manin onr." (I know you. I will remember you.)
It marched away and shrugged off the Arc coursing through it. It was a fantastical giant, and it moved with a sleek alien grace that did not befit a creature of mortal design. Formora glared at its retreating form. Melkris ran to her with Vaeta in hand, but she never took her eyes off the two Strife-servants. Oh, how she hated it. How she hated them. Just as much as she did the Hive and Er'kanii. More, even. For all they'd intentionally and inadvertently done.
It was a night full of new hatreds.
000
Much of the carrier had been left powerless in the aftermath of the crash and the Hive infestation. The route taken by the Broodqueens had been plunged into complete darkness. Ikharos activated a light on his helmet, but the gloom had the eerie resilience of paracausality to it and it fought against his efforts. They didn't want him to see a thing. Thus, it was to his Light he inevitably turned to and operated solely on tracking his targets through the artificial labyrinth by the traces of Dark and magic they bled out. And it was his Light that alerted him to the presence of others in the dark. Not close, but not far either. And they were heading in the same direction he was. They too were hunting.
Somehow, he didn't feel he and they were on amicable terms.
Corridor after corridor flashed by. Ikharos's body screamed for relief, but he couldn't stop. There wasn't going to be a better chance to cripple the Hive again. He had one job - and only two targets - to see through. He vowed to get it done. Nothing could stop him.
Nothing but a locked Cabal door.
"Yeah yeah, gimme a second." Xiān flew to a nearby console and started zapping. "You do know this is another trap?"
"Sure." Ikharos bobbed his head and tightened his grip around the cleaver.
"Not a smart one, this Witch. Oh this is blatant."
"If Cabal are all she's had to fight, can you blame her?"
"Right." The doors creaked. "Kill her quick." Xiān dematerialized.
The room beyond could have been an armoury, but more likely it was just some room for antsy Cabal to hit stuff around. He knew the queens were in there. Waiting for him. He could feel them. He could smell their putrid breath, their scorching voices, their rotting bloo-
Movement. An attack. Somewhere from the left, but he couldn't tell where. Ikharos lit up the room in Voidfire. A Nova Bomb sailed above, fat with insatiability, and turned the scene cataclysmic. Violet was everywhere. The orb shattered. It sought out prey. The queens both screamed fiery wards up to protect themselves.
Ikharos sucked in a breath. One voice was weaker than the other. More shrill. He went for that one. Five real eyes glared at him past a silhouette clasped in craving energies. Her wards cracked. All it took was a shove of pure Light to smash them apart entirely.
She reared up - deathlike, furious, desperate. Daggers of Dark flew from her palms. His own shields held, and when they didn't he tore through the fabric of space to get out of the way. The entire room was alight in liquid amethyst. Her twin tried to help. He tossed down a Voidwall to keep her back. She didn't matter. A mere Echo. Not flesh and blood like the real thing.
The real thing he put to the sword. She was a wielder of terrible magics, but no duelist. Her battles were fought in comfort at the back of a horde. She challenged others through puppets and pawns - but there was no horde to hide behind now. No minions to enact her will. Just the two of them, depleted of Light and Dark respectively through exhaustion and injury.
Ikharos didn't give her a chance to recover her wards. He struck and savaged with his blades, and forced her to the ground through sheer will. A Blink brought him up and gravity dragged him down, sword angled for her neck.
A five-eyed head hit the floor with a wet smack.
The Echo screamed with horror as if he'd just killed her favourite child. She spat out a curse in her alien tongue and fled - gone for better grounds, Ikharos supposed. It didn't matter. She was a shadow thing, incapable of birthing anything. The primary spawner was dead and that was all he cared about. Xiān plucked the head into transmat without a word. Proof of the deed. Barons always liked that. Maybe they'd get a toss of Glimmer for their efforts. Traveler knew they needed it.
The unnatural gloom fled - banished by the Witch's death. Dim light from flickering bulbs danced in the air, not quite sure if it was doing a good job. But it was enough for him.
And enough for the woman leaning in the doorway.
"You got her?"
Ikharos straightened, blooded cleaver in hand. Xiān disappeared. "Who-"
She pushed away from the doorframe. She was large. Musclebound, with a suit of high-quality plate around her. The pauldrons were ridiculous. Her helmet boasted a polarized visor. There was a shotgun clipped to her back. "She's a big one... nice work."
Titan.
Guardian.
Lightbearer.
"Kelf." His tone was hopeful and giddy all at once. Ikharos smiled and undid the clasps on his helmet. He let it drop to the floor, forgotten.
The Titan paused, cocked her head to the side, and shrugged. "I prefer Elkhon."
"El..." Ikharos frowned. Something was wrong. "I thought your name was... Kelf? You came here with Gunther, right?"
"Once upon a time ago, yes."
"So what's the reason for you to-"
She removed her own helmet. Her eyes were pools of black in the sparse lighting, but when it reflected off the short wires of her hair...
"No." Ikharos raised his cleaver. His blood turned to ice. "Hezran's notes said-"
"Hezran-4? That old machine?" The Titan grinned. He caught a glimpse of teeth filed to points. "He didn't know half of what he thought he did."
"It's impossible!" Ikharos refuted. He could still feel her Light, hidden as it was.
She took a confident step forward. "There's a little Darkness in all of us." She proffered to him an outstretched hand, covered in a protective glove. "Come with me. Please."
He shook his head. Her face fell.
"Oh well," she lamented in a bored voice, "I tried."
She shot forward. Ikharos wasn't prepared. Not really. The Hive cleaver was a heavy weapon, perfect for lopping limbs and staving back hefty foes. The Titan was a big woman, as per the norm, but she was human. And when compared to his usual foes, humans weren't that large where the ranks of aliens were concerned. She slipped past his meagre defense and set into him with fists like sledgehammers.
Ikharos's body moved of its own accord. The primal instinct to 'just get the fuck away' was strong. He already knew from the onset that it was going to a hard, painful fight. Because she was Risen. Not Cabal or Eliksni or even Hive. As dangerous as all those were, his own kind were worse. Humans were smaller. Weaker. Slower. Even with the Light and all that it entailed, they were put at a distinct disadvantage. The only thing they really had going for them was the ability to come back from death. And the capacity to learn. How to get faster. Tougher. Stronger. Meaner.
He reckoned a millennia-old Titan must have learned more than a few things. Maybe more than him.
The cleaver was gone; she slapped it out of his hands. Ikharos's shields didn't last all that long either, and when they broke it was his ribs turn to take punishment. Ikharos fought back as best as he was able to, and with a flourishing kick she was on the floor. A pity she had to grab his collar on the way down. His forehead bounced off her nose. Nose cracked. Forehead bruised. It gave him a splitting headache.
They rolled across the floor, trying their damnedest to put the other in some sort of lock. A chokehold didn't seem right for what she was, so he went for breaking her arms just to stop her pulverizing further organs. One of his lungs had already collapsed; Ikharos needed the other, for however long he had left. He managed to twist his opponent's leg, eliciting a spittle-filled snarl. By some miracle he managed to crack her knee but at the cost of a couple more ribs.
"One way or another," she growled in his ear, "we'll reach that little spark in you!"
Ikharos had no idea what she meant. He didn't care to find out. Besides, her shoulder looked oh so breakable - so he broke it, with an open palm filled with what dregs of power he had left. He managed to draw his knife between them, but she got hold of it too and the fight devolved into a struggle for the weapon.
A few shallow slashes pierced through the front of his robes and dragged across his chest. Ikharos wheezed desperately. His mouth was full of blood. Death was just around the corner, but if he brought her down with him, he was going to stand a chance.
She shattered his arm, but only managed to do so by taking one hand off the knife. It was good and bad - but the result of it was solidly decided when they rolled into a wall and Ikharos ended up on top. He pushed all his weight onto the knife and aimed it into her chest. It pierced her cuirass without issue. Her eyes widened; he could finally see the red in them.
A small, quiet squelching sound signified the knife cutting through her. She redoubled her efforts and tried to push him off, but he was not to be denied. With one lost shove, Ikharos plunged the blade into her heart. She screamed and fell apart.
He hit the floor. Ikharos rolled onto his back and, with his remaining hand, finished himself off with a quick flick of his blade.
Xiān brought him back - and a knee caught him in the jaw. The back of his head slammed off the wall. A fist drove into his stomach and banished the breath from his recently repaired lungs.
The Titan was back.
But I stabbed her in the-
She forced his head into the wall again. His fight-or-flight instincts settled in immediately. Ikharos thought around it, and with the edge of a mind dulled by pain, grabbed the Hive cleaver and pulled it closer. He broke the Titan's hold on him and dove to the side as the Hive blade ran her through and pinned her to the wall. She came apart as a fine shadowy mist for a second time around. And he was certain that the sword hit her heart that time around. He'd been aiming for it specifically.
Kelf/Elkhon returned right in front of him. She materialized out of nothing and charged in with her shoulder covered in Arc. He rolled out of the way, grabbed his dropped knife, and jumped back up into a defensive position.
She angrily blew air out of her nose like a pissed-off bull. Her hand went behind her back and procured a knife of her own. But something was off about it. It was clear and translucent, almost as if it wasn't made of metal at all. Like... the Shade's knife.
"Psekisk," was all Ikharos managed to say before she was on him. Her maneuvers were fast and well-aimed, and he was hard pressed to defend himself. No, not even hard pressed; it was utterly impossible to stop her from reaching him, and half a dozen cursed cuts were carved into his skin within mere moments. Ikharos winced with each and every blow. She was fast, yes, but it was her strength he couldn't handle. Every attack crashed through his defense and left him scrambling to pick up the pieces.
But he'd killed her twice already. Somewhere, in his mind, he believed he could do it again. The rest of him knew she'd come back - she'd done that twice as well.
So where was her damned Ghost?
"GET OUT, NOW!" Xiān yelled into his skull.
For once he did exactly as she said. Ikharos made as if to offer a counterattack, forcing Kelf/Elkhon to form a shield of raised bracers and angled blade... and he Blinked away, outside the room. A moment passed. Then, a wordless roar and heavy, quick stomps. She was giving chase. And though she wasn't faster, she could keep up. Ikharos darted through winding corridors, following Xiān's trembling guidance. The Titan was hot on his heels.
"DUCK!"
Ikharos dropped his head low. A purple discus sliced through the air above him and kept on going, right through wall and hull. It was too close for his liking, and only served to remind him that she was still fresh on killing power. His only saving grace was that Titans dedicated towards close-combat disciplines.
But, as he realized too late, Shades were not.
"Jierda!" (Break.)
His legs snapped below him. Ikharos didn't so much cry out as he hissed through clenched teeth. His tongue got caught between, and he tasted blood. Again. He hated the taste of it. He flipped himself over, but the Titan was already there and-
And a cold, cold pain lanced up his spine as she drove her Dark-drenched knife into his belly. She straddled him and forced it deeper, with a glint of victory in her crimson eyes. He couldn't breath. Couldn't draw on his Light, couldn't lift his own knife, couldn't do anything. He couldn't even speak. So he thought.
Burtu. (Away.)
For the third time, she was gone. Far away, this time. And she'd taken her knife with her. Ikharos clutched the gushing wound and curled in on himself.
A light shone in his eyes. Warmth enveloped him. The pain in his legs faded. Everything else remained as it was - like the gut wound. "Get up! Ikharos, get up, now! Or I-I'll... IKE, GET UP!"
He couldn't summon a response. But he did try to do as she said. Ikharos slowly, and painfully, propped himself up against a wall.
"Stand! We need to get out of here!"
He could hardly think. Everything was so grey.
"Come on, please! It's not far! Literally down the hall, let's go!"
"Fuuuck..." He tiredly thought. Ikharos got up. He hobbled his way down the hall, following Xiā's needlessly loud voice. His lifeblood dripped between his fingers; he couldn't keep it in. A pounding filled his eardrums. It was slow. And getting slower.
At least he didn't feel nauseous anymore.
He practically fell into Xiān's chosen room. It was a loading bay of some kind. He looked around. A railgun-esque thingy pointed out into the broiling night sky, already loaded with a circular metal platform.
Ikharos gave Xiān an incredulous look. But she wasn't taking any of it. "Just get on!"
He stumbled over and crawled onto it. She fiddled with the controls and, when it was all set, flew over and planted a new helmet on his head. "So you don't choke on oil," she explained.
A bubble of transparent liquid flowed up around him, and another layer of metal folded up around the bubble. There was a low whine from outside, and then... Vertigo. His stomach was in his throat. Gravity was a forgotten memory. So was warmth, but that was probably because he got stabbed.
Ikharos didn't even last until the Ripper Pod hit solid ground.
AN: Massive thanks to Nomad Blue for editing!