Chapter Four

The Lies We Love

Marci stared up at Slyrak, barely able to believe or comprehend what he was telling her. Even if she could have spoken, she would have not found the words.

How could she have a dragon's blood? That was impossible! There had to be some other explanation! There had to be!

She couldn't hear any songs in her head, not like Davion. She didn't transform, she didn't…

But what other explanation was there? Nobody else knew where the strength hidden in her deceptively small frame came from.

'That can't be right!' Mirana protested, giving words to Marci's thoughts. 'Marci isn't a dragon! Nor is she host to one!'

'Of course she is not.' Slyrak rumbled. 'I did not realise at first, because she is not connected to the Thunder. But it is true. I can only suppose that one of her forebears ritually mixed their blood with the blood of a dragon. Obviously, it was a radiant dragon, which means that they set about their task intending to commit murder, for radiant dragons do not seek fights without need, not even when the Madness is upon them. The things your kind will do for power sicken me.'

'I thought that was a myth.' Eserren murmured.

'But it makes sense!' Caewyn exclaimed excitedly. 'The wurm-forged were said to be stronger than most people, and they gained an iota of the dragon's power, more than a Dragon Knight would get out of their scales. And the gift would remain in their bloodline. Their children would inherit the gift!'

'But that's impossible!' Mirana insisted. 'I knew Marci's family. I met her parents and brothers. They didn't have her strength, they didn't… didn't…' her voice trailed away and ended with a feeble: 'No…'

Marci staggered back a step, as if the truth was a physical force, her eyes wide and flaring erratically.

Slyrak chuckled. He was enjoying this. 'They lied to you, mongrel. It is as simple as that. You mortals are so easy to fool, with your limited minds and brief lives, you cling to any lie you desire to be true. But this is irrelevant. I will stop Terrorblade, and you are only slowing me down.'

'That is Davion's choice to make, dragon.' Eserren growled. 'You are hiding in his body.'

Marci shuddered, her thoughts and memories fighting within. Slyrak had to be lying!

If he wasn't… then her entire life had been a lie.

It was almost enough to break her. It all came crashing down around her, a glass pillar toppled and shattered upon the dragon's words.

Anger burned in her breast, anger at Slyrak for his callous disregard for her feelings, anger at being lied to her whole life, anger at finding out that she was a lie.

Golden light filled her eyes as the rage overcame her. Slyrak became a vague shape in her vision and she threw herself at him, her mouth tearing open in a voiceless scream, her fist driving into the dragon's scales.

Crimson shards flew through the air and Slyrak fell back against a tree, rocking it and nearly tearing it from the ground.

'Marci! Stop!'

Mirana's voice was barely audible above the blood storming in her ears, but it was enough to make her halt. Within the blinding light in her eyes, she could see Slyrak shrinking.

The light and strength fled from her as shame and regret flooded her. Though he had transformed, she might have hurt Davion too.

Blind, she fell to her knees. She wanted to cry, but the shock held back her tears.

All this time they had lied to her! Why? Why?

As her vision started to clear, Marci felt a large, warm hand settle on her shoulder. 'Marci?' Davion was kneeling in front of her. 'Marci… I'm so sorry.'

It wasn't enough. Nothing would be. A gaping chasm had opened in Marci's heart, the truth rending it apart. She had never been loved, not really, and nor could she be.

Kaden had been right. She was a freak. She was a monster.

Marci pushed his hand back and stumbled away. She did not hear them call out, nor did she care now. She just had to get away, she needed to get away from those damning words, she had to try, even if she could never be free of them.

Marci did not make it far. She tripped on a root and fell, nearly landing face-first in a stream.

Marci dragged herself up onto her knees and remained there. Tears ran down her face as she tried to think, tried to rationalise, tried to tell herself that Slyrak had been lying.

She had loved her family, she truly had. Leaving them behind to die had been the worst thing she had ever done.

But it seemed that they had not loved her in return, nor trusted her with the truth.

Perhaps they had been right not to.

Why had they taken her in then? If she was what Slyrak said she was, surely they would have been better off leaving her to starve? They should have thrown her down a well!

Why let her live to feel all of this pain? She wanted to yell and curse. She wanted to scream. But she couldn't do even that.

The end of the world. Davion losing his soul to Slyrak day-by-day. Mene's return and the coming of the Dark Moon. Her failure to protect the lotuses. Her failure to stop Shabarra from forcing Mirana to flee the Imperium. This was all too much for her!

How could she, a failure in everything she did, have a chance of saving anything?

Marci gazed down at the stream, her tear-streaked face reflected in the rippling water. Her reflection was distorted by the flowing water.

She did not even know who she was any longer. No. She knew something about herself. She knew that they had been right all along.

She was a freak. Even her own family had known, and now she knew why they had always been distant with her, why they had treated her strangely, why they had kept trying to keep her out of fights. They had known that she was dangerous, a danger even to herself.

She was so lost in her despair that she did not hear the soft footsteps approach. Mirana or Davion? It did not matter. They could not help her, not now. They had no idea how this felt, how these damning thoughts tortured her.

Marci's eyes streamed with tears as a blurry figure knelt before her. It was much too small to be Davion, and smaller than Mirana too. Marci wiped her eyes and saw that it was neither of them.

It was Caewyn, and there was something in her light grey eyes Marci had not expected to see given how cheery and optimistic she was: pain.

Even though Caewyn had not spoken, Marci could see that she somehow understood at least a fraction of Marci's feelings.

Caewyn moved closer and carefully put her arms around Marci. Marci leaned forwards and continued to weep into the elf's blonde hair.

'I know what you're thinking, Marci. I know.' Caewyn told her. 'Mum might have done the same if it wasn't so obvious that I'm not human, and she hates lying. Yes, they lied to you, Marci, but they did it because they loved you. They wanted you to be one of them.'

Something in Caewyn's words rang true, resonating in Marci's heart. Though her family had always been a little distant with her, there had been genuine affection.

Family or not, she had been the youngest, with four brothers, of a poor family from the slums. She had been the troublemaker, the one who was always getting into fights, the one who had nearly gotten herself killed.

How much easier would their lives have been if they had cast her out? They might even still be alive if they had.

But they had not. And the only explanation for that was simple: they really had cared about her. They had loved her.

Marci felt ashamed of herself now. How could she have been so blind?

She hiccupped on a sob and tapped Caewyn on the back. Caewyn released her, looking relieved. She smiled sweetly at Marci. 'Family is more than blood, Marci. It is so much more.'


Davion hated waiting like this, but Eserren had been adamant. She seemed certain that Caewyn was the right person to help Marci.

Davion had not been so sure at first, and Mirana clearly had her doubts. But now that he thought about it, it made sense. Caewyn was an adopted child after all.

Mirana sighed. 'I can't believe I never realised. I couldn't even see that much of a resemblance between them.'

'We believe what we want to believe.' Eserren said sagely.

'And you believe that Caewyn is your daughter.' Fymryn muttered.

'She is my daughter.' Eserren stated. 'Does that bother you, Fymryn? Nobody else would have taken her in.'

'Her people would have cared for her.' Fymryn said. 'You know nothing of elves, Dragon Knight. You've denied Caewyn her heritage.'

Eserren showed little emotion as she spoke. 'You are right. I know little about elves. But I do understand responsibility. As I said, nobody else would take her in. I know how you raise children among the Coriel'Tauvi, but I could not find any. The Dark Moon Order was too thorough.'

Mirana glared at her. 'You seem so certain that they wronged Caewyn in some way.'

Eserren could not hide her own glare as she turned to Mirana. 'Why do you think I adopted her, Princess? The Dark Moon Order murdered her family, along with the rest of her people.'

Mirana shook her head. 'I don't believe that. Selemene would never condone that.'

Eserren scoffed. 'As I said, we believe what we want to believe. Would you believe me if I said that I once considered Selemene a worthy deity? It's true, I did, right up until I stumbled upon that burning village and saw soldiers of your Order finishing off the wounded. They were killing children, Princess, and Caewyn would have been one of their victims if I had not acted.'

Mirana paled. 'What did you do?'

'I killed them.' Eserren answered bluntly. 'I killed them all, all of the Dark Moon soldiers in the village. And I'm glad that I did. They murdered the innocent. As a Knight, I could not stand by and do nothing.'

'But they were fighting followers of Mene!'

'They were innocents.' Eserren grated. 'Only an insecure leader chooses to kill those who disagree with them. Your goddess acts out of fear and spite, nothing more.'

'Shut up!' Mirana snapped. 'I won't hear your lies! Selemene took me and Marci in and protected us. All She has asked for in return is my love. I will not believe that She demands the murder of innocent people. I will not!'

Eserren narrowed her eyes at Mirana. 'Truth is hard to accept when you want to believe the lie. Your handmaiden is ample proof of that.'

'Enough of this,' Davion finished fastening his jerkin. 'We need to talk about Terrorblade. I know what Slyrak told you.'

'Davion,' Mirana held up a hand. 'I know this isn't… can you just tell me something, please? Was Slyrak telling the truth about Marci? Is she what he claims she is?'

Davion sighed. 'If you're asking me whether he was lying, I don't know for certain. But I don't think he was. I know even less about the wurm-forged than most. But now that I think about it, his claims make sense. If Marci has dragon's blood, then it would explain why she is so strong.

You saw what Kaden was capable of. You've seen what Eserren can do. The scales used in a Dragon Knight's armour imbue it with the strength of a dragon—their strength is mystical as well as physical.'

Mirana glared at Eserren. 'Does that mean that you're going to try to kill Marci?'

'No.' Eserren answered flatly. 'We are allies, Princess, and she saved Caewyn's life. No matter what she may be, she has proven herself to be trustworthy.'

Mirana relaxed, but only a little. She was still angry with Eserren for casting doubts on her faith.

Eserren did not waste any more words. She reached into her saddlebags and produced a scroll Davion recognised: a teleportation scroll.

'What are you doing?' Fymryn frowned at the scroll.

'I'm going back to Steelpoint Vigil to warn them, and then I will come back here. They will need to prepare the defences. Terrorblade's un-dead army will only grow larger between Trestaine and the Sword Hills.'

'Wait!' Mirana snapped. 'What are you going to tell them about Marci?'

Eserren looked her in the eye. 'The truth. She is no Demon, and nor is she an enemy of the Order. That is what I will tell them.'

Mirana's expression softened. 'Thank you.' Before Eserren could read the scroll, she spoke again. 'I'm… I'm sorry if I offended you.'

Eserren sighed. 'I did believe in Her once. I really did. I know how hard it is to have faith tested. And you are worried about your friend. I sympathise. Davion, make camp here. I'll be back shortly.'

Eserren read the words on the scroll under her breath. Rings of coruscating light surrounded her, flashing with runes which swam and merged before their eyes. Light enveloped Eserren, and then she was gone. The now blank scroll fluttered to the ground.


As soon as she landed in the courtyard, Eserren knew that she was too late.

She lifted her bardiche into a two-handed grip, searching for the enemy which had reduced much of the castle and its defenders to ruin. The stonework seemed to have melted, but she could see no scorch marks. No fire dragon had done this, and few held power enough to melt stone like this.

Eserren forced herself not to panic. Though this place had been a home of sorts for her and Caewyn for years, she could not afford to lose her head. If the aggressor was still here, she would need to be ready to fight.

The remains of men were everywhere. Some had been so thoroughly melted that she could not even guess who they might have been. Even the ones who had been shredded by claws and savaged by teeth were so horribly ravaged that she could not identify them.

Dragons, afflicted by the madness or not, only obeyed their natures. This was an act carried out by something intelligent, something cruel.

An Eldwurm.

Eserren was glad that Caewyn was not here to see this. Neither of them had really been friends with these men, but they had been comrades all the same.

The keep had almost entirely collapsed, and Eserren could not see any safe way in. If there were intact warblers or other useful items inside, they were lost. It was too dangerous to venture in. She knew what her priorities were: find out what had done this and whether it was still around, and then return to Caewyn and her allies. Dying here would put them all in jeopardy.

Steel-willed as she was, Eserren felt sick at the sight of the destruction. She had seen death before, many times, but never like this.

Around the next corner, she found what remained of Castellan Nolen. She could only tell it was him because of his distinctive void dragon scale armour. Something had split his head apart inside his helmet.

Eserren sighed and picked up his greatmace. It was much too heavy for somebody without dragon-scale armour. Marci could have managed it, but she preferred to fight with fist and foot.

Eserren instead knelt, placed the weapon on Nolen's chest, and placed the hand of his remaining arm upon the haft. 'May the gods watch over you, Castellan Nolen. You have done your duty.'

His armour was too badly damaged to be of use, and she had no wish to take anything from the dead. If she could reach the armoury, she might find something of use.

Eserren made her way across the courtyard, her weapon at the ready. The devastation was so complete that she was startled to find a survivor. She only knew he was alive when he gagged and coughed up blood.

The Dragon Knight ran over, seeing even from a distance that the unlucky sentry would not live for much longer. He had been thrown from the wall, and the impact had smashed his ribs and ruptured organs. He had somehow clung to life for hours, but he would die soon.

Eserren knelt at his side. 'I'm sorry.'

He coughed and choked. Eserren helped him to sit up a little. He did not deserve to choke on his own blood. 'Lady… Lady Eserren?'

Eserren nodded. 'Can you tell me what happened?'

The sentry gagged and stared at her. 'A dragon… a dragon like none I have ever seen. It came from above,' he lifted an arm feebly and pointed up at the clouds. Two of his fingers were bent and broken. 'We couldn't hit it with the ballistae. Nothing could… could stop it. It melted us and the castle.'

Not Terrorblade then. He had possessed a sky dragon, and they were incapable of doing this even when used by a Demon. This could only be the work of Vylgranox.

'Where did it go?' Eserren asked. 'Sentry? Where...' she broke off. The man was dead. She had not even noticed him breathe his last, nor had she known his name.

With a sigh, Eserren closed his eyes, released the body, picked up her bardiche and stood. Vylgranox was long gone. If he had been waiting, she would already be dead.

The armoury was lost, she could see that from here. Vylgranox had melted that too.

Eserren set off for the spot where she had appeared, tugging the second teleportation scroll from its case. Without Steelpoint Vigil, and with Trestaine abandoned and King Dendrall as good as dead, Kestren was doomed.

If they failed to stop Terrorblade, the inevitable fall of Kestren would be but a small loss.


Marci was still subdued when she and Caewyn returned. Though Caewyn had helped her, she was still dismayed by what Slyrak had revealed.

Davion could not blame her. He had been horrified when his draconic side had been revealed, and though his affliction was worse, he still felt pity for Marci.

He took over cooking duties as they waited for Eserren to return. Fymryn took the first watch.

The skeleton of the chaos dragon was still visible from where they rested. Even dead, it exuded a sense of menace and wrongness. Chaos dragons may have been physically weak and small compared to other dragons, but they were malicious, cruel, and cunning. They made up for their size with speed and lethality.

Davion had only faced one during his time as a Dragon Knight. He was not keen to face another. But to this day, he was glad that he had never been tasked with fighting a void dragon. They were the most dangerous by far.

Marci had already apologised to Mirana. She felt ashamed of her behaviour, even though they understood her dismay. She was too hard on herself.

She was also distancing herself from them now. She wasn't sulking, she was trying to come to terms with what Slyrak had told her, and what it meant for her past and future.

Davion had only heard the vaguest rumours when it came to the wurm-forged. In a way, what had happened to him was similar. But wurm-forged did not harbour the souls of Eldwurms, they just mixed their blood with that of a dragon. This was why Marci did not hear the Thunder as he did now.

Slyrak grumbled under the surface of his thoughts as he took a bowl of stew and carried it to Marci.

Marci accepted it and poked listlessly at it as Davion sat next to her. She sighed and looked round at him. Even if she could have spoken, she would have struggled to find the words.

Unsure of what to say, and not wanting to sound grim, Davion went for humour. 'Look on the bright side, Songbird. We have something else in common, apart from our thick skulls.'

Marci did not laugh. She only shrugged. She had not stayed by Mirana's side for long, and Mirana was not up for chasing her around the camp. She would not bother Marci if Marci did not want to talk.

Davion understood. Marci felt as though her memories of her childhood were tainted, including what she had shared with Mirana.

He found her hand and held it. 'It doesn't change who you really are, Marci.'

Marci sighed again. She let go of his hand, drew her dagger, and scraped words in the dirt.

If you had known what I was when we first met, would you have still wanted to know me?

Davion struggled to believe that she was asking him this. She really was too hard on herself, and this was not something she could do anything about. 'Marci,' he looked up from the words and into her eyes. 'You gave me a chance, despite what I am. And as far as I am concerned, you're still amazing.'

That brought the hint of a smile to her face. At the end of the day, she had a tough spirit. She would endure.

Marci angled one hand down, fingers flat, then mimed a punch.

'You punched Slyrak, not me.' Davion assured her. 'And he deserved it.'

Marci huffed softly.

'Hello,' Caewyn sat on the other side of Marci. With her circumstances and the truth about Marci laid bare, the two of them had struck up a quick friendship based on understanding. Though Eserren had made the truth plain to Caewyn, she knew how it felt to be part of a family, though not by blood. 'I don't think Davion is as good a cook as you are.'

'I try.' Davion shrugged.

'Oh, you're not bad at all.' Caewyn mumbled through a mouth full of stew. 'I'm just saying that Marci has more of a knack for it.'

Davion heard shuffling and looked round to see Fymryn helping Mirana over. Fymryn sat Mirana down opposite Marci. Davion nodded to her and indicated that he would keep watch.

'How are you feeling?' Mirana asked Marci tentatively.

Marci wobbled her hand, indicated Caewyn, and raised her hand a little.

'I know, I'm an interfering busybody.' Caewyn shrugged. 'But I don't like to see people upset.'

Mirana held out her arms. Marci shuffled forwards, avoiding Mirana's injured leg, and embraced her. Mirana did not need to say anything else. No matter what she was told, and no matter what happened, she would always be there for her, just as Marci was always there for her.

'Since Eserren raised you,' Fymryn began after Mirana had released Marci, a mischievous glint in her lively eyes, 'I take it that you don't know about pods?'

Mirana groaned. 'Oh, here we go again!'

'I do, actually.' Caewyn said. 'And I'm flattered, but you're not really my type.'

'Oh, I see,' Fymryn indicated Davion with her eyes. 'I understand.'

'Well—no offence, Davion, you are good looking—he's not really my type either. Too tall.'

'You can't be too picky, Caewyn.'

Caewyn raised her brows and waved both hands around her torso. 'Fymryn, I'm tiny.' This was very true, Caewyn was the smallest person present. She was even shorter than Fymryn, less than five feet in height, and maybe a year or two younger. 'I'll know the right man when I meet him. I hope.' She looked up at the darkening sky. 'Mum's been gone for a while. Much longer than I thought.' She stood and retrieved her crossbow. 'I'm going to take a scroll and go after her.'

'Wait,' Davion held up a hand and stood. The grass where Eserren had teleported was fluttering strangely and the air was fizzing, sure signs of the displacement caused by somebody teleporting.

Eserren appeared in a crack of sound and a flash of light. Marci helped Mirana up as Eserren staggered, trying to regain her balance. Even as he blinked his eyes clear, Davion could see that the normally stoic Dragon Knight was distressed.

'Mum?' Caewyn hurried over. 'Mum? What is it?'

Eserren swallowed. 'Steelpoint Vigil has fallen.'

'What?' Caewyn squeaked. 'How can that be possible?'

Eserren did not answer at once. She moved over to a large stone, propped her bardiche against the nearest tree, and sat down heavily. 'The stones were melted, as were many of the men, but not by fire.'

'Vylgranox.' Davion breathed. 'He must have thought we'd be there.'

'Mum?' Caewyn faltered. 'Was there anybody left?'

Eserren sighed and shook her head. 'Not a soul. I'm sorry, Sweetheart. They're all gone.'

Caewyn sat down next to her and put her arm around Eserren's armoured shoulders. Davion stepped towards her too. 'For what it's worth, I'm sorry, Eserren.'

Eserren nodded slowly. 'There's only one place we can go to fight Terrorblade and Vylgranox now.' She met Davion's eyes, her gaze intense.

Davion knew what she had in mind. Though it might mean his death, there really was only one place which might be able to withstand either threat.

There was only one fortress strong enough they could reach now, only one bastion which had men and arms enough to repel an army of the dead led by a Demon, or an attack by Vylgranox.

Davion nodded slowly and spoke the name which was almost sacred to the Dragon Knights, the place where they had first founded the Order: 'Dragon Keep.'


Luna strode into the Temple, her armour clean once again. She left her blades outside with the guards. Nova waited obediently, cleaning her fur with her broad, bristly tongue. The night-beast could still taste the shed blood of the Coedwig elves in her coat.

Luna stepped into the perfectly circular throne room and dropped to one knee, her head bowed, waiting.

Selemene's cool voice glided through the air. 'Do you love me?'

'With all of my heart and soul, my lady.' Luna narrowed her eyes slightly as the pure white and silver light of her goddess flooded the chamber, gathering in the seat of the flawlessly sculpted throne. Luna remained stationary until commanded to rise.

'You have done well, Luna.' Selemene smiled at her almost indulgently. It was a beautiful smile, but others would have seen that there was no warmth in it. 'You are, as ever, the pride of my army.'

'I am glad to be of service to you, my lady.' Luna stated. 'What would you ask of me?

Selemene stopped smiling. Her delicate brows contracted and Luna briefly feared that she had annoyed Her somehow. She stood straighter, if that was even possible. In some corner of her mind, this still felt strange. She had not been a soldier before, she had been a raider.

'Though I am loathe to admit, I believe that you may have been right, Luna.' Selemene glanced down at a perfectly proportioned hand, her nails sharp and flawless. 'Mirana is taking too long to find the lotuses her handmaiden was charged with protecting.'

'Forgive me for saying so, my lady, but the Princess' handmaiden was never truly one of us.'

'I had my reasons for allowing her to remain.' Selemene mused. 'If only to understand her power.'

Luna frowned. 'What power, my lady?'

'It is no matter now.' Selemene leaned back on the throne, her amethyst eyes fixed upon Luna. The Moon Rider felt insignificant, pinned by that intense gaze. 'We have other enemies, Luna. We have worse enemies than a few heretical elves. If Mirana cannot find the lotuses soon, then our hands will be forced to one action: war.' Selemene stood, towering over Luna. 'That is what I ask of you, Moon Rider. Prepare our forces for battle and ensure that the defences are prepared.'

Luna bowed. 'As you command, my lady. It shall be done.'

She closed her eyes as silver light flowed around her once again. When she opened them, Selemene had departed. Luna straightened up, wondering who would be so bold as to openly declare themselves an enemy of a goddess.


Prillen was a ruin filled with unidentifiable remains now, far beyond anybody's help.

Even the Omniscience had limits.

Purist dismounted from his horse, his warhammer in hand. Striding amongst the ruined buildings, he moved without fear as he searched for any clue which lead him onwards.

From what he could tell, some sort of caustic agent had been used here. It was something more powerful than any acid he had seen before. Even the likes of the Venomancer had not witnessed anything like this.

Though the Omniscience protected him, Purist knew that even his blessed armour would not withstand such an assault.

But these signs were not from the creature he sought. This was the work of some other monster. Though he would have gladly crushed it with his sacred hammer, it was not the threat the Omniscience had warned him of.

He would have to look elsewhere.

He stopped, aware of something approaching. The Omniscience was watching over him. He was not safe here.

Purist turned to see a trio of men in unkempt leathers approaching, armed with clubs and hatchets. His brow furrowed with disapproval. These men were looters.

'Lost are we, sir knight?' One of them sneered as he smacked his club into a meaty hand.

'No,' Purist responded, his voice deep and slightly roughened by years of shouting challenges, commands and proclamations of his patron. 'The Omniscience sees all.'

The man laughed. 'Will it see us bash your head in? Give us that fancy armour and hammer of yours, and any gold you have, and that fine horse of yours, and we'll let you be on your way.'

Purist almost sighed. This was hardly worth the time it would take to clean their blood off his armour. But he could hardly let them loot and pillage with impunity.

He hefted the hammer, a bright glow forming about the golden head. 'The Omniscience sees your sins. Turn back and repent, or I will smite you.'

'Get him!'

Fools. They thought they could win with the simple advantage of numbers.

Two went straight for him, making a poor attempt to flank him. The third was slower and lagged behind.

Purist swung the hammer, crushing the chest of the first man, then brought the hammer around and pulped the second man's head into a meaty mess, the hammer smashing through his collarbone too.

The third man skidded to a halt, his confidence erased by the sight of what remained of his friends lying in the dirt.

Purist lifted the hammer and glared at the man.

'I-I...' the man stammered as he tried to back away. He tripped over his own feet and fell onto his backside, dropping his weapon. Purist's shadow fell across him as he advanced on the man. 'Wait! Please! No!'

'You made your choice.' Purist raised the hammer. 'The Omniscience knows your sins, and I shall dispense the judgement. Make peace with your gods, for now you go to meet them.'

With those words uttered, he brought the hammer down upon the whimpering man's head.


This was a difficult section. I can only speculate on how this must feel for poor Marci.

This idea of where Marci gets her power from was a long time in the making, though the thought started as impulse when I was doing my research into DOTA dragons. Feedback would be vastly appreciated, as it is not only a major break from canon, but is also still an idea I have my doubts about.