Light, harsh and blinding, shone through as the doors were opened and Sylvanni was shoved through.
She stumbled, catching her balance as the dull roar of an alien crowd washed over her. Floodlights lit the space, but as she shielded her eyes, they adjusted, giving her a first real look at where they'd thrown her.
It was an arena. An actual arena, surprisingly, some old ruin from the Golden Age. The area of it just to her right had completely collapsed, large ragged blocks having fallen from the ceiling and buried the stands and part of the arena floor there. No light came from above, just further dark depths of rock. She hadn't realized how deep underground they'd brought her.
To her left, in contrast, there was a half-circle of arena that was mostly intact. Tiered rows of seats held Fallen of all kinds, draped and clad in an almost uniform marigold. A roar rose from the crowd as they saw her emerge onto the floor, though she couldn't understand whether the sound was excited or furious. The sounds of masses were wrong and alien-sounding, indecipherable.
In the very center of the intact sections of the seats, a large square platform had been carved out, set apart from the rest of the audience by a low wall. Upon it, a massive Fallen—the Baroness, presumably—lounged in an uncomfortable looking throne, a construction of welded scrap and weapons. Two guards with spears flanked the throne, standing at attention, and off to one side, Erxaris stood dutifully, a slash of green in a sea of yellow, and the hostility in the Vandal's gaze palpable even from across the great distance. Sylvanni glared back at her.
Her anger at the House Judgement Vandal evaporated instantly, however, as she noticed something else on that platform. The Baroness had, resting on the arm of her throne, a glowing canister, with one clawed hand comfortably resting atop it. She shouldn't have been able to make out anything about it at this distance, and if she was being honest, perhaps she couldn't. Perhaps it wasn't that she saw what was in that cylinder so much as felt it. There was a little speck within, she just knew.
Her Ghost.
A part of her wanted to sprint across the floor, throw herself into a glide over the wall and into the stands. She'd take them on with a shock dagger alone to get him back, to rescue him from their—quite literal—clutches.
She might have done just that if not for a particularly aggressive member of the crowd tried to throw something down at her. Arc energy skittered in a crackling ripple from the point where the object hit the near-invisible mesh that enclosed the arena floor. Sylvanni was certain this space was completely covered. They wouldn't risk letting her escape or harm members of the crowd, the Baroness included.
So instead of doing something reckless, Sylvanni set her shoulders back, fixed the Baroness with a steely look, and strode to the center of this empty dirt floor with her chin held high. Absently, she flipped her grip on the dagger from normal to reversed and back again several times, trying to grow comfortable with its weight and feel.
The number of Fallen filling the intact seats in this massive room was overwhelming. Sylvanni had never seen so many in one place. Out in the wilds, she encountered them roaming in packs, but this mass of hundreds, possibly thousands, was deeply unsettling, especially considering how little they'd known of House Kings. Was this most of the House's members, or were there even more than this, hidden away elsewhere?
The crowd hushed as Erxaris stepped forward on the platform and began to speak. She addressed the audience and though Sylvanni couldn't see anything resembling a microphone, the proclamation carried throughout the space, echoing. It was Fallen speech, unintelligible to the Guardian, so she simply listened to the noise of it and waited for Erxaris to finish. She wondered what was being said of her.
Nothing good, she could assume.
The cheers took up again as Erxaris hissed the last words, four arms upraised in a flourish. Sylvanni's grip on the dagger tightened as another set of double doors opened in the wall across from her, and a squad of dregs spilled out into the arena. It almost felt wrong to feel threatened by them, and yet, here she was. With her powers and equipment, she could have demolished the entire group in seconds, hardly breaking a sweat.
Now all she had was a dagger.
She bounced a few times on her toes, trying to get the blood flowing. The dregs fanned out, chittering to one another as they watched her, but only one stepped forward ahead of the others to meet her. She wondered what had earned them their place down here in the sand, facing her. Was this a privilege to them, a chance to fight for honor? Was it a long-shot hope for the lowest of soldiers, in hopes of winning a promotion by being the one to strike her down? Or were they prisoners, sent to face her as punishment?
She locked eyes with the one who had stepped forward away from the group, and a wordless understanding passed between them. A duel then? Would she face each of these one at a time, or did they all plan to rush her as soon as their friend here had her distracted? She wasn't going to trust her life to the honor of Fallen.
As they neared one another, both of them started to strafe slightly, waiting for an opportunity or for the other to make the first move. Sylvanni never let herself move in a full circle, not wanting to put her back to any of the other dregs, and ensuring there was only open arena behind her. There was some scattered debris on this side, toppled support beams and crumbled rock, though the damage was not as dense as the side she'd come from.
The dreg, either braver or more foolish than her, struck forward first, making a lunging slash. Sylvanni dodged sideways while trying to strike back, but she'd pulled herself too far out of range. That was always the issue with knives: if you were close enough to hit them, they could do the same.
She kept falling back, telling herself she was studying the way the dreg moved, not because she was frightened, until she nearly tripped over a pile of loose rock and realized this wasn't a lasting pattern for her. If she didn't strike back at some point, she'd eventually slip up and be killed.
A sudden change in tactics worked to her advantage. The dreg was eager after seeing her start to slip and it lunged forward. Expecting her to pull back as she had before, it wasn't ready for her to duck into range and finally make a real attack of her own. It screeched in surprise, and though her first swipe missed, glancing off the rudimentary armor, she moved quickly, making another backhand to follow it up. She stayed on the offensive now, trying to push the creature back and stay in range.
Then, an opportunity. She noted the way its head ticked sideways when she swiped to the left, perhaps an old reflex from a wound it had taken in the field long ago. All she needed was to feint at just the right time and come from the other side as it flinched. It worked perfectly, and she went high, throwing as much force as she could into the strike and feeling the dagger hum with energy as it she buried the blade deep in the dreg's neck.
It screamed in pain, writhing as the dagger's electricity coursed through it, rows of teeth visible through its open-faced helmet. In panic, it threw a wild slash at Sylvanni, still standing in close, but she caught the wrist, holding the creature down until its struggles ceased and she yanked her blade back out, letting the corpse fall.
Angry shrieks started up from the other watching dregs, and two of them moved forward. There was a slight pause as they looked at one another, expecting the other to back down, then realized they didn't care and both rushed forward anyway. Sylvanni reached down quickly, grabbing the dagger of the fallen dreg in her off-hand, then allowed herself to glance up at the stands.
What she'd felt from across the arena she could now see to confirm herself. The Baroness' hand tightened around the top of the containment chamber, her Ghost floating perfectly still within. She could have sworn that tiny bit of Light within her stirred to see him. She needed more Light than this to do anything, though.
The dregs were upon her, snarling viciously, attacking with no strategy other than to try to overwhelm her by coming at both sides. In a way, this was easier than facing the more thoughtful approach of her last opponent. Getting a kill had emboldened her, and this time, she didn't pull back at all when they leapt for her.
She ducked a slash from one, scoring a glancing slice on its side as it over-exposed. The other came at her left with a straight stab which she whirled to parry. The first charged her back while she was turned, but she could hear it coming and stepped aside, then planted a foot in its back as it rushed past her, sending it stumbling into its companion.
The Light stirred gently within her, as though it awoke now that she was finally able to do something.
More dregs started moving towards the melee, realizing if there were two fighting her already, any of them could perhaps be the third. She was fending two well enough, but feared she'd be overwhelmed with more. Time to dispatch another of these two before allies arrived to help.
The stumbling dreg she'd kicked went down as its companion shoved it away and she pounced, driving both daggers deep into its back and yanking them down in deep gouges. There was a moldy smell as dark ichor seeped from the wounds, a hissing of noxious steam as ether and the smoke of shock-burned blood rose around her hands. One of the daggers stilled, its charge depleted, but the blade was still sharp.
Light flickered and grew, kindling a power deep down that she'd missed so dearly.
The maneuver had left her open to the other dreg and even though she tried to roll sideways, she felt another dagger graze her upper arm, sending a painful jolt all the way to her spine. It shocked her, quite literally, back to full awareness, and for a moment she lost sight of the situation and the danger and everything simplified in her mind. Just another fight, just like any other time she'd lost her shield and taken a hit.
The stilled dagger was the one she'd used first—Erxaris giving her one with no charge felt like something she should have expected—so as she came up out of the roll, she put the other dreg in her sights and threw the dead blade at it as hard as she could.
It flew completely wide, of course. How in the world do Hunters get that to work?
The dreg watched it fly harmlessly by and let out a chittering sound that was probably akin to laughing at her for missing. It didn't matter though. The intent hadn't been to hit it, not really.
She'd needed to free up her hand.
She dipped into arms-reach as the dreg tried to swipe at her again and pulled that meager bit of Light within her up, praying it was enough. Her flat palm struck the dreg in the chest and she pushed as much of her Light into the creature, watching cracks of purple light shatter across its form, then dive deeper, penetrating every inch of the thing's body and weaving into the dreg's very core of being.
And then she ripped it all free, jerking her arm backward and pulling all of her Light with it. The dreg evaporated in threads of void and Sylvanni let out a small shudder of pleasure as the very essence of its life rushed into her. The wound on her shoulder mostly sealed and now she had even more Light to work with. Not enough to create a nova, perhaps, but enough that things could start getting interesting.
She turned to face the rest of the group of dregs, five of them, now running for her. For the first time since being captured, she didn't feel afraid. Now she felt powerful again. She didn't need weapons or armor, not really. She was a Guardian and this was what she was created to do.
An old worry, an old well-worn thought whispered at the back of her mind: Are you only a weapon, Sylvanni? Is any Guardian anything more than that? Is that why you only feel alive when causing death? A tool rewarded for fulfilling her purpose?
Why is the Light only drawn to you when you're killing?
They were grouped up, running together, and her instincts took over more than anything. She pushed off the ground, gliding up and back as she drew her hand in front of her and poured energy into a smaller cluster of void, tossing it directly into the middle of the pack. The grenade scattered like a firework, killing three of her attackers instantly and her Light sang, urging her to use it again.
The two on the outer edges of the runners were burned, stumbling away from the void as it consumed their companions. She glided forward, landing next to one before it could recover and ramming her dagger into its neck with a savage twist. Perhaps she was nothing more than a weapon, the Traveler's sword, but right now that was all she needed to be.
The final dreg, already burned by the void, screamed at her in desperate anger and she smiled, opening her arms as though to embrace it as it charged her. At the last moment, she threw herself into a low slide beside it, its swing for her shoulders passing harmlessly overhead, before she yanked her blade across the back of its legs.
The dreg stumbled, crashing into the ground face-first, and the Guardian stood slowly behind it, bare feet digging into the rocky sand. The creature struggled weakly, void-touched and hamstrung but alive. Looking back up into the stands, Sylvanni found the Baroness leaned forward in her throne, watching intently with an unreadable expression. Erxaris' displeasure, standing beside her, was far easier to make out.
Sylvanni offered them both an even bow, never breaking eye contact, then knelt and shoved the dagger into the wounded dreg's spine, hearing the sickening crack as it severed.
As she stood again, she left the blade behind. There were others on the ground she could pick up again if she needed them, but for now the arena was empty save for her and the dead.
"Is this all House Kings has to offer?" she shouted, voice ringing clear even above the clicks and chatter. "A handful of dregs, barely trained? I thought this was supposed to be a fight!"
Erxaris snarled, banging her spear against the platform. Sylvanni had a feeling the Vandal was regretting giving her the dagger.
Good.
She wondered what they planned to do with her now, since she had a feeling this had been a fight she wasn't supposed to survive.
Then she heard it, undistracted this time. The telltale crackle of stealth tech.
Out of the corner of her eye she saw a distortion in the air rushing for her. She leapt sideways, tucking into a sloppy roll, every hair on her body standing on end as two electrified swords passed through the air right beside her. She snatched up one of those discarded daggers and rolled into a crouch, listening for the stealth. There was a slightly visible warp around stealthed enemies if you knew where to look, but in the heat of the moment, sound was far more reliable.
To the right this time, it came at her again, blades flashing as it neared. She ducked one and managed a poor parry of the other, earning a bad shock as her short blade couldn't fully deflect the sword. As the Vandal moved past her, she scooped a handful of sand and rock and flung it at the blur. Normally a few good shots would disrupt the cloaking tech and lower shields, but she had no gun. The cloud of dust, as she'd hoped, interfered enough to make the stealth light up with electricity as it tried to deflect, outlining the attacker in flashing white light.
"Let's do this, then," she said, gritting her teeth.
The Vandal had the advantage of superior reach, but Sylvanni kept it in her sights, making sure she didn't lose track of the almost invisible figure. She threw herself back and up into air, hovering with a glide out of reach of the Vandal. Smug that it had her pinned, the it moved beneath her, waiting for her to float back down.
Exactly as she'd hoped.
She conjured another grenade from her Light and threw it straight down. Even as the Vandal dodged out of being hit directly, the ground beneath it lit up in sharp violet bursts, throwing it off balance. She dropped from above, not aiming for the head or the chest, but instead making her attack at one of its wrists, the upper right one.
The Vandal screeched and dropped the sword, which, with a satisfied grin, Sylvanni snatched from the air, twirling it in her grip. Good make, surprisingly. It was no Boltcaster, sure, but it was decent.
She fell into a formal dueling stance, sword held one-handed in front of her. "Now, we can really dance."
She backed up, giving herself space to charge, then leapt forward with elegant sweeps, feeling the hum of arc energy ebb and flow as it moved. The Fallen parried her first lunges awkwardly, obviously used to fighting with two blades. And yet, with one, Sylvanni was perfectly comfortable, certain in her abilities.
At least, until a wire rifle shot punched through her shoulder.
She stumbled as the unexpected pain of the wound threw her off-balance, falling back away from her opponent and barely managing to keep hold on her blade. No! Things were going well!
Which was why they were interfering, of course. These Fallen come to see her get torn apart by a pack of dregs and she hadn't given them the show they wanted. She assumed the stealthed Vandal had been insurance in case that hadn't worked. Now she was about to kill that insurance and the idea of a fair fight was off the table.
She snarled, trying to put pressure on the wound, but she knew this wasn't one her healing factor would be able to seal any time soon, not with her Light still trickling like this. Blood soaked her prisoner's clothes, sticky and hot, but she wasn't giving up yet. Gritting her teeth, she pushed forward with a shout, switching to her non-wounded arm.
Another shot hit her knee, shattering it. She screamed, collapsing completely to the sand. They weren't even aiming to kill, she realized. This sniper was making shots to maim her and had hit them with alarming accuracy. The Vandal's footsteps approached and she weakly tried to push herself up, to mount some kind of defense. A two-toed, clawed boot nudged her and she spit at it, the experience of being wounded to the point of being disabled unfamiliar to her.
The Vandal said something to her in its language that she couldn't understand, of course. With her good arm, she managed to roll onto her side to face her opponent. It seemed to hesitate, four eyes meeting her two, then pried the sword she'd stolen from her bloodied hand and rammed them both through her chest.
She tried to scream again as the electricity coursed through her, but the blade had ruptured her lungs, and the sound was a weak, raw rasp instead. She'd been so lucky, she realized, with all the clean deaths her Ghost had given her, the way he'd kept her from suffering. She thought she'd understood pain and death, but she'd never realized how truly terrible, how agonizingly slow true death could be.
With her last bits of consciousness, she turned her gaze upward, finding that dark dot of her Ghost in his containment field. She stretched her fingers toward him, as though to pull him across the space between them, back to her once again.
Then, the last threads of her hold on life vanished, and everything faded away.