The nights are cold and she can feel the darkness seeping under her skin. Dark dark dark, like the creeping edges of evil that still hold most of Earth.
She prays for death, but in the same breath rejects it. Hope is gone. Spite and stubborness fuel her. Nightcrawler she may be, but she cannot accept that the same darkness that spawns the Fallen flows through her veins. She's as human as most of the Guardians. Or at least as human as they used to be.
The Matriarchs used to sing songs of their origin, of the way the Guardians had turned them aside in the early, ancient days, of how their Ghosts had corrupted the moment they saw them. All a story, she knows now. Ger has shown her that much. That knowledge doesn't help her. She doesn't know where she came from, she doesn't know where she's going.
Death beckons her, and she grits her teeth against it. She loathes her life, but she loathes the Darkness more. It's a battle she fights when her limbs hurt and her soul aches and she wonders what the point is. She will endure. For Mama, for her people, for Ger, her fleeting friend
Magpie came to with sweat running down her back. She could still hear the screams as the wood crackled, the smell of the desecrated village. It'd been a long time since she'd dreamed of it.
She hadn't meant to fall asleep. The burnt orange of sunset dappled light through the trees and the night stretched out in front of her, dark and all-consuming. Her wrist felt tight and unnatural as she shifted uncomfortably in the leaves.
It was only spite that got her onto her feet. The burning desire to live just because she already was. Her only victory, bitter and boring and frankly exhausting as it was. She lived for her people, more than herself.
Her head spinning in time with her throbbing arm, Magpie gingerly picked her way through the undergrowth towards the cliff. She couldn't hunt like this, not when she needed two hands for the bow. How long did it take a broken bone to heal? She thought longingly of rabbit, or deer. Stalked, hunted, roasted over an open fire, tender and
Fire. Smoke. Death. Gunshots. Laughter on the wind, screams, words in Alarian floating on the wind towards her. Help me help me they're killing us no please stop
Her head hit the ground before she even realised her legs had given way and lights popped in front of her eyes as the world turned on its axis.
Bloody Guardians she thought hazily, and then yelped as a searing heat blasted through the still evening air, burning her hands and tightening her skin.
It was happening again. That big bastard from earlier must have come back for her. Shit shit shit.
Exhaustion forgotten, Magpie bolted, launching herself at the cliff with a moan as she instinctively grabbed the rock with both hands. She knew the rock face, but she knew it two-handed, and she was slow and ungainly as she as good as lept her way up.
She managed to force herself over the cliff edge, landing on her bad wrist in the middle of a thorn bush. She bit her lip until she could taste blood and scrambled to her feet, not stopping to pull out the thorns that tore at her skin.
She looked out over the Wilds and her legs promptly gave way, landing her back into the thorns.
An enormous metal creature, monsters spilling out into the huge hole it had made in the dirt, the village destroyed, Mama gone, fire raging, making a terrible grinding noise as it fired a rocket shot into the sky. The Fallen roared, a sea of noise and banners.
Magpie muttered a word Mama would have thumped her for, heart thumping in her chest. The fear flushed through her, making her lightheaded.
The Alaris...they wouldn't be any match for a full Fallen assault, and she doubted the stubborn old coots would listen to a Nightcrawler. But she had to try. They were the last of the old tribes, the old way.
Gritting her teeth against the pain that vined through her wrist every time her feet hit the ground, she took off without looking back. She'd deliberately adopted the land on the outskirts of the main Alaris settlement, thinking it might be prudent in the event of another attack, and she was thankful for it now. Her lungs screamed and she could taste the rawness in her throat. When the village boundary appeared as a pinprick of flame on the horizon she could have sworn hours had passed before it seemed to get any bigger.
Out of desperation she began to holler, the strain cracking in her voice. By the time the guards came into view she could tell by the blades in their hands that it had worked, although she didn't find it particularly encouraging.
"Back where you came from, Nightcrawler." One of the guards spat at her.
"Put…them down," she wheezed, holding her hands up. "Does…does it look like I'm here to f…fight?"
"I don't care what you're here for," the other sneered. "We've been ordered to kill on sight. You're lucky we're both feeling merciful today."
Kill on sight. It was always kill on sight with everyone, as though her very presence was toxic. The familiar burst of resenment started to kindle in her chest. I should just leave you, you bastards, you can sort out your own lives, like I had to sort out mine
"There's…Fallen army…advancing." Magpie panted, hands on her thighs as she gulped down air. "You need to mobilise. Barricade. Maybe evacuate."
"Sure, so you can some come in and raid us?" The bigger one snorted. "Do we look like we came down in the winter, Nightcrawler?"
"I'm not – I don't care about your supplies – "
"Sure you don't, you're skinnier than an old maid and meaner than an alley cat."
"They've got an army, you stupid – "
"You come one step closer to us, freak, and I'll cut you down where you stand."
In the middle distance a cloud of birds took flight. There wasn't time. She jogged back a few paces.
"Alaris!" She roared. "Your village is about to be under Fallen attack. Ready your weapons if you're brave or stupid, but get your families and – "
The punch caught Magpie by surprise; for a second all she was aware of was the low that knocked her to the ground and the pressure between her shoulder blades. She opened her mouth to tell the guards how idiotic they were, but her throat was full of liquid; she coughed and painted the ground scarlet. Something sticky was rolling down her back. Above her, the furious guard's face swam in and out of focus, the scarlet spear end angry in the sunlight.
"The only good Nightcrawler is a dead Nightcrawler," he said, and spat in front of her.
Magpie felt her head drop, but the impact felt like it was happening to someone else. I've lost she thought simply as the world narrowed, and everything slipped out of her grasp.
