Hey there

I know, it's been two years since I wrote the last Travellers fic! I had hoped to get to another chapter before this, but real life is not to be denied and I'm writing other long term fics and there just never seems to be enough time to go around. But I put the long term fics on hold to work on this one as a Christmas / New Year treat [which I hope you will consider it as].

Hope you enjoy.

Merry Christmas and thank you for reading through the year.

Karina

000ooo000

Title: Travellers

Author: Karina

Pairings: Zechs + Duo

Ratings: M 15+ [In Australia] Rated for a bit of violence.

Disclaimer: I don't own Gundam Wing or the characters.

Warnings: Extremely AU. Use of magic and a bit of violence. Basically, Swords and Sorcery.

Many thanks to ShenLong Deb for her work betaing this fic.

Originally written as a birthday present for Dark Song, Travellers will continue with occasional updates as a succession of complete one off style fics. Not sure how many of these there will be, but while the muse wills it, there will be the occasional Travellers update which, I hope, those of you who asked for more will enjoy.

Title: Travellers:

It was a cesspit of humanity. Disgusting.

Reeking with the sour stench of unwashed humanity. Open sewers lined the streets, human waste mixed with copious quantities of animal urine, manure, offal from the butchery stall, the wretched waste from the tanner, overripe, rotting fruit and vegetables that passed for prime merchandise in this district. In this quarter generally everything foul that could be found in a city overfull of humankind lent itself to the reeking atmosphere.

It might have been any city on the continent. Sometimes he found it hard to tell where he was, one stinking cesspit so closely resembled another, and he had seen entirely too many of them.

He skirted the baker, eyeing the still steaming flat loaves and considered the filth surrounding him before he decided that, no, he really did not want to chance it. They were staying at a ramshackle Inn on the edge of the poor quarter where it was, thankfully, at least possible to guarantee the food to be a bit more wholesome than in this slum. Hungry he might be but he could wait a time, until he completed his errand, before he sated that hunger.

They had come to, hopefully, clean out a den of daemons, amongst other things, not contract a dose of fire belly. The One might have given him a body that defied age, but one could still contract bodily ailments that left one feeling like a wrung out rag. Purging his body from either end was not something he desired to experience in a hurry.

The crush surrounding him was unbearable in the market square and he kept his hands close to his purse and the hilt of the sword securely bound by the intricate knot. He had other weapons with which to defend himself, but he was not of a mind to have another's inquisitive fingers investigate his pockets and possessions. Coin was hard to come by at present and they needed every coin they had to make their way through this country.

Someday, if he was lucky, they might get to wander pristine, courtly halls and sweet smelling streets instead of the ramshackle, stinking hodgepodge that made up the slums. Every city had them though not generally as bad as this example.

He was uneasy about leaving his companion at this time, but he had little choice. It was simply impossible for Him to slip unnoticed through these crowded narrow ways. This part of their duty he alone must attend whilst his partner hid himself away, binding himself with protections that would deceive their quarry, and those who might be curious at the use of magic. If Milliardo could remain undetected by their prey, then their task would be that much easier.

It was a rare time. The rarest. A rare month, a rare year. A rare millennium! Only twice before that he knew of had this event occurred. He and his companion had been closer to the focus of the event than their counterparts, thus it was their responsibility to oversee the affair.

It was unfortunate that a den of the daemons was within the same city walls, complicating matters.

From beneath the shadow of the cowl he watched with a calculating gaze as the beggars, and those who classed themselves a step or two above beggars, threaded their way through the narrow streets, brushing against each other, rarely talking, always wary. Here life was cheap. Everyone knew it. Everyone awoke each day wondering if it would be their last, if death would release them from the hopelessness of their existence and perhaps surprised, perhaps disappointed, that they had awoken to see yet another day.

He had walked through many cities whose streets were filled with the hopeless. They were the maimed, the poorest of the poor. In this city many were country folk, refugees displaced by war, who had sought out the city in hopes of a better life, only to find their hopes crushed, trampled on, and discovered themselves to be trapped. They were the petty criminals who preyed on others, some knowing no better, others hoping to fight clear of the underworld even as they knew it was hopeless. The most pitiful of all had to be the second generation refugees who knew nothing of life in the country their parents had left behind which, in his opinion, was far better than this city swill they all waded through. They knew no better life and meekly accepted it as being the will of The One.

The One never intended for anyone to live worse than cattle bound for the slaughter yard. Cattle were at least tended, fed and protected from the dangers to be found in the world, until they were brought to their final day to feed humanity.

Well, the wealthier of humanity, that was. None of these poor sods would know the rich flavour of prime cuts of beef, hog and venison, or the richer flavoured juices of perfectly seasoned and cooked roasts oozing with gravy... Enough of that, he was hungry without making matters worse. Even the stench was not enough to put off his growing appetite.

He watched with more than a little despair the children, some barely able to walk, playing in the mud and filth of the open sewer, marvelling briefly that even in this stinking cesspit a child could find something to laugh about. Here, tragically, innocence did not last long. He stepped over a body stretched out, stiff, decomposing, gradually being swallowed by the mud and refuse those same children played in.

It was not a welcoming place and he was glad that his companion need not see it. As it was the reek of the place was distressing the man whose senses were a great deal more developed than his own. The sooner they were done here the sooner he could get the man out of the overcrowded city where the sheer weight of human numbers were pressing on his senses, distressing him, stirring the ancient magic sourced within him.

He had no idea how his partner wielded the magic he did, but he was well aware that it most often was not a comfortable thing to carry, let alone work. Somehow the man was tied to the magic of the world itself, mystic bonds bound him to the soil, the wind, the water. He could feel it all, live it, experience it. He was no human, having lived long in the past, and was one of only two survivors of that mythic race that Duo knew of; though to be honest he was not quite certain that The Khushrenada was of the same race as his Milliardo.

But if he was not, then... But no, he was thinking too much, and that was not what he was meant to do. He was the Shield, guard stone to the Catalyst. He needed to be quick to complete his errand and return to his charge.

It would not do for anyone to realise how different that particular traveller was from the dozens of others walking the streets.

His lower lip curled at the acrid stench of magic wafting amidst the stink. Magic had a peculiar smell, one he had learned to identify long in the past. This was it then, his destination. Magic should not stink like this, putrid, somehow deformed, unwholesome. He knew what real magic should smell like and because of that he dared not permit Milliardo to be anywhere near the wielder of this malformed magic.

Humanity claimed to have mastered the Art, that legendary element the ancients had wielded to great effect. From the meanest hedge wizard to the exulted Court Magus standing behind the King's throne, they claimed mastery over the most dangerous element of the planet... and he knew they collectively knew nothing.

They were a danger to themselves and to the people they professed to 'help'. Magic was a drawcard for the daemons; they were drawn to it like leeches to blood, and with much the same result. A daemon who sucked a Magus dry was a powerful, frightening thing, and it was all too easy for them to take out a magic wielder overconfident in his skills. And what mage, of either the highest or lowest standing, was not confident in his skills?

Mages could be useful, he would admit that, they certainly had their uses, but they were insatiably curious. They could not leave well enough alone and they actively sought out power. The softest, shortest whisper of ancient power and they gathered like crows to a carcass, slavering at the jaws like hunting wolves, eager for the feast. He had not known many who wielded magic whom he could say he held any respect for until he had met The Khushrenada, then his Milliardo.

He had heard a whisper the night before that worried him. The Moon, he had heard, might be found in a nearby ruin. The Moon was his Milliardo and that name had long appeared in the texts of human magic as an ancient artefact of great power, long lost. Not the man himself, but whispers, rumours of the power this 'artefact' contained, could be found on the tongues of the learned throughout the world. Careless whispers gave rise to rumour and the Magus came hunting, seeking for the artefact to own, examine and use.

None of them suspected this priceless artefact of pure magic was a living, breathing soul. It was best it remain that way.

There was word on the street already that three magic users had entered the city in the last two days, by his count that would make at least fifteen, perhaps more, now resident within the city walls. More would gather to investigate the rumour, giving birth to more rumours that would spread, bringing in more magic users.

A dangerous cycle, made more so given their business within the city.

They needed to keep this event low key. There was no way the Catalyst could be passed off as a hedge mage should someone sense the quality of the presence of the magic he wielded. Remaining at the inn, binding himself in protections, was the best they could do. If matters did not go well, then he would have to get Milliardo out of the city as quickly as possible, as soon as possible, even if it meant they did not deal with the daemons they knew nested somewhere here.

And that was another danger. The more magic users that entered the city, the more the daemons would feast. The ether that carried the magical currents stirred and strengthened with each additional magus, presenting the daemons with the perfect feasting ground. It was like hanging out a sign the size of the city's main gates saying 'free meal, come and get it'. A few daemons would die in the frenzy, yes, no doubt of that. The human mages could defend themselves after all, but against these creatures of darkness... So alien to their world. Defending against them was no easy thing and, should they come in force, as they usually did and most certainly would here, then a great many of the common citizens of the city might become collateral damage.

He paused, looking around him, smelling the ozone that overpowered even the stench of the sewers. It was a ramshackle dwelling, just like the others that surrounded it. The homes here were more a collection of lean-to's and sheds constructed of whatever the builder could get his hands on. This one was a little sturdier than most, strengthened by magic to keep out the unwanted, be that weather, vermin or thieves. A hedge mage, or at one time a hedge mage, one who had seen fit for some reason to set up an apothecary in the district. A few did, in various cities and towns across the country, usually those too old or infirm due to some injury, to travel and seek knowledge any longer.

The reek of the protections overpowered the stench of the streets, though he supposed few, if any, of the locals could tell the difference. He was more sensitive to the use of magic than most, after all. For a moment his fingers tightened around the small money pouch he carried at his chest, ensuring that the contents were still there. He almost felt like a child entrusted with an errand, the success or failure of which determined his standing as child or adult. It had been a long time since he had felt that inadequacy, but in this environment, one could never be too careful.

There was no bell to announce his presence, and he supposed it could be the rise of the streets stench that marked his entrance into the hovel, whatever the cause before the door had even closed the hedge mage was there. Robed in rags stained with unthinkable things, possibly the last years worth of meal droppings and whatever concoctions the hedge mage sold to the poor as medicine. Standing framed in the far doorway, cowled, stinking and wretched... and trying his damnedest to look mysterious for the gullible local who was desperate enough to seek him out.

Him? Well possibly, the gender was a little ambiguous beneath all that shabby, stained material. Often it was hard to tell until someone opened their mouths if they were a him, her or it, he mused with sarcastic humour. It was much the same with he and Milliardo. They shrouded themselves not against the weather, but against being identified. Anonymity was a much valued commodity.

Silently he moved from the door, across the small space to the rude counter, placing the pouch there and waited. After a moment the hedge mage moved, almost gliding to the counter to take up the pouch. The long robe fell over the hand that reached for it, shielding it from view, no help there for identifying age or gender, and the individual half turned, not quite putting their back to him, but shielding the pouch from view as it was examined. After a moment the figure retreated into the inner room, returning a few minutes later and laying the same pouch on the table before stepping back.

That was what Milliardo had told him to expect. Satisfied he swept the pouch up, sliding it into the secret pocket over his heart and, without acknowledging the other, he swept out of the hovel and back into the ever moving sea of humanity.

He cast a glance up at the sky, noting the position of the sun and the advance of the dark clouds that suggested they would not have the comfort of a moon for this night's work. He could feel the weather front closing in, long experience warning him only the desperate, and those determined to work nefarious deeds, would be without shelter this night. Pity that, with the fall of night, he would need to class himself amongst those numbers, though neither desperate nor intent on thievery or murder.

The darker the night the more ease the daemons had moving around. The rift in time and space that gave them access to this world continued to widen, minutely, admittedly, but widen it did. It was taking millennia, but the darkness was steadily growing and the creatures that came through it were more varied. For more than a thousand years he had been the Shield to The Moon, fighting these horrors that at first devoured only blood and bone, leaving little in their wake. In the last century or three, the pattern had changed, now there were those daemons who feasted and grew stronger on the worlds magic, establishing themselves in the vicinity of magical centres.

There was, to his discomfort and Milliardo's horror, some evidence to suggest the daemons were breeding.

If they found actual evidence of the horrors breeding then the hope of the world would be diminished. The rift in the fabric of time and space was there, undeniably, but it was small. There was still a barrier between worlds that worked to slow them down, largely keeping them at bay. But if those creatures that made it through the void and managed to survive and escape the few people who hunted them...

If they established a foothold, a fortified bridgehead or a breeding colony, then it was a new game they faced. Only a certain number of the beasts could squeeze through the rift, but if these things bred at even half the rate of humanity, then humankind on this world was in trouble.

There were only two Catalysts abroad in the world who were capable of destroying the stronger of the daemons. Two Catalysts and the two Shields who defended them.

It would not be enough. If the creatures of darkness began to breed, then a hundred such as Milliardo and The Khushrenada would not be enough to contain them.

These were dark days.

He was being watched, but that was no surprise. The only question was who was doing the watching, and for what purpose. There would be the sneak thieves, hoping to identify him as an easy mark, beggars hoping to score some small coin from his purse, if he proved to be the charitable sort. More worrisome was the odd city guard strolling through the squalid streets, and the shadow that flitted every now and then just at the corner of his eye.

As he made his way through the crush he occasionally detected a stronger odour of magic than the general background stench wafting from the more influential and richer districts of the city. He suspected that stink came from the one who shadowed him, a hedge mage, perhaps, or the lackey of a stronger, more influential magus who could afford to place some sort of protection on a servant or even an apprentice.

Or one of the lesser daemons who could move about during the daylight hours, if heavily clothed from the sun.

The interest in him was worrying, given they had only been resident in the city for little more than a full day.

A magus might detect the quiver in the magical ether that not even the strongest of protections could totally disguise; a ripple that was the response of the magical ether itself to the presence of a Catalyst. Magus were curious creatures, and once an oddity was detected there was no doubt they would investigate. If the magus was in a high enough standing with the nobility he might well gain information on everyone who passed through the city gates at a given time, on a given day.

They could not know what it was that caused the disturbance, but they would be keen to find out. Human magus were always on the lookout for others who were capable of wielding the magic of the world.

Marking the presence of the shadow he continued on his way. They had limited time. He could not afford to delay, given the time scale Milliardo had mentioned. The clock, literally, was ticking and they needed to be in place before this drama began.

He had been given items of protection, one of which would buy them some time should The One smile upon him favourably. He cut down a side alley, delaying just long enough to be sure his shadow was out of sight before he activated it, caressing a finger delicately over the rune sewn into his shielding robes. The rough grey homespun, much patched and filthy, flickered and became brown, tattered and torn, mud covered. A simple disguise, but hopefully enough to gain him a few minutes.

He took another turn, cutting back toward the main thoroughfare, weaving slowly through the crowd, hunched a little further to disguise his height, adding a slight limp. Nothing more. To be too different from those who surrounded him would be to attract attention, and that was exactly what he was trying to avoid. He diverted his course enough to head away from the inn where his partner waited without putting half the city between them, then once again passed into deeper shadow. It was not hard to find dark alleys, especially now that the sun was being devoured by the clouds, and the brown robes shifted to a mismatch of patched together filthy fabric, his gate smoothed out but his stride shortened and he straightened his spine, slipping through a side street and working his way back toward the inn.

He paused outside the building, making a show of trying to count the contents of a patched and obviously light weight purse without anyone realising what he was about, it was how one tried to avoid cut-purses. He hesitated just long enough for the first drops of rain to help make up a traveller's mind about where he might spend the night, hunched in some refuse strewn street or the relative warmth and comfort of a rude inn. Stuffing the purse back into his robes he extended his hand to the door and jumped back, stumbling, as the door was thrust open and a fight erupted out into the street.

Perfect. He could not have asked for a better distraction.

As the patrons crowded out of the common room he wormed his way through the crowd of bellowing men and screeching barmaids. He took the opportunity, watched only by the half drunk barkeep, to work his way up the rough hewn ladder that served as stairs to the upper level, keeping to the wall where the shadows were thickest. Gathering his robe close about him he slipped down the hall to the third room, the furthest from the stairs, the only one that claimed a window overlooking a scrawny but sturdy tree backed by the city wall. One always had to have an emergency exit when one desired to escape notice.

He felt the flow of magic as his fingers touched the door. Felt the recognition to his touch and the door opened to his will. Anyone else who tried to open the door would be rejected and an alarm would alert the room's inhabitants. Runes placed during his absence would defend against forced intrusion, and he was relieved to see the figure sitting by the fire, shrouded in plain if well worn robes, slender hands placed neatly on his knees.

He ran a quick eye over the runes painted on the floor, weaving his way through them carefully, mindful not to permit his clothing to disturb them. He dropped the locking bar across the door, securing it, feeling a rune lock into place, strengthening the wood against forced intrusion. Milliardo had added a considerable number of varied protections to the room in his absence, from the energy he sensed and the sweetness of the smell that was the Catalyst's magic, they were powerful protections. He wondered why his charge had chosen to weaken himself by placing those runes when he was supposed to be resting in preparation for the night.

They had intended to remain in the city no longer than four or five days.

"Something is wrong?"

"They are aware."

The voice was like crushed velvet, warm with a rasp. Low, barely above a whisper, and the cowled head remained bent. After a moment the slender hands cupped, fingers spreading a little, as though to accommodate a small ball. A brief haziness centred in those hands and then a dark green glow manifested itself. For a long moment the Catalyst's fingers were seen to be ringed with precious metals and gemstones, finely crafted plaited chains leading from the rings up into the mass of fabric clothing his arms. After a moment the magic quieted, the rings and chains vanished from sight, and the Catalyst stirred.

"Time is running out."

"Do they know who we are, or only that there is a powerful magus in the city?"

"The Magus sense another with the Art. The daemon's know better and prepare."

That was not what they wanted, for either magus or daemon to hunt them so quickly. "Will they run?"

"Some might. I have sensed some thirty magus within the confines of the city walls. It is too big a feast for the Dark One's to give up entirely. And then there is the other matter to be considered. When they sense it they would sacrifice many to kill that one ray of hope."

Duo sighed softly, crossing the floor to hand the seated man the small pouch he had kept close to his heart. "Then it will be tonight?"

"It must be this night. It will be."

"Damn. You know these things don't always go according to the way you want it to happen... At least, not with humans. I don't know about your race, but early or late is the general rule, and never at a convenient time for the onlooker."

The heavy cowl was cast back and he found himself looking into sparking ice blue eyes. Crystal blue, clear, all too intelligent and filled with magic and mystery and, at the moment, no small amusement. A shimmering waterfall of moonlight, palest silver touched with gold cascaded, softening the proud beauty of a race that had died out thousands of years ago. He was ancient by human terms, for all that he looked to be less than a score and five by human standards. Young, vibrantly alive, filled with magic and mystery.

This was The Moon.

"I am reliably informed that I came not early to this world, Duo. I clung to the security of my mother's womb rather more than most, and was told some years later that I was a terrible child. Stubborn, strong willed and rebellious, and had been so from the moment of my birth. In contrast, my sister came early to the world, full of smiles and sunshine and considerably lightened the grief I caused everyone by my wilful ways."

"I was probably born in a gutter somewhere and handed to the orphanage by some passer-by. Don't know, don't particularly care either. It was a long time ago and I was probably just as horrible a brat as you."

The sigh was deep and marked a depth of exhaustion few would know. "Yes, a long time ago. Lives come into the world and leave it every day. Some are born into poverty, some into palaces. It is not one's birth that makes the man, but what one does with one's life that is accounted by others. I fear a great many will die this night, without the opportunity to fulfil the prospects of their lifetimes. All too often these days death comes early."

"We are not an army. We can only do the best we can."

He inclined his head slightly. "Yes. That is all we can do, but we are an army. An army of two, Duo, and it is time that we moved. The storm will lend us cover and I feel the proximity to Event. I would avoid the Magus if at all possible and go straight for the daemons. They will have stalked these streets and know it well, and they will feel the proximity to Event."

Duo nodded, checking the knot on the sword bound at his side. A simple pull was all it would take to free the weapon, and given where they were bound and what they were likely to face on the way, he was determined to have no impediment to his defence. They needed to be careful, for the moment they released magic they would be a beacon to every wielder in the city and its surrounds.

The Catalyst was taller than his Shield, more slender, though the robes both wore disguised their physique. Drawing the cowl up over his head he moved to the window, opening the shutter just enough to peer out into the area below. The rain was growing heavier and distantly there was the sound of thunder. Duo moved up beside him, waiting.

"There is no more time. They come with the rain, and they intend to beat us to the hut."

"What about...?" Duo waved a hand at the rune warded room, concerned about the magic laid in defence.

Normally before they moved on they would delay to remove the wards that no innocent bystander be caught in their coils, but Milliardo shook his head slightly.

"There is no time for that. The Magus will be attracted to the magic here once I drop the shield. With luck it will keep them occupied while we hunt. It may afford them some protection from the daemons out to feast on them; and they will come to feast."

With a low grunt Duo fetched their packs, knowing Milliardo would have restocked their supplies in his absence. They would not be returning to the Inn, but make a hasty, and hopefully unseen, departure from the city before the dawn lighted the heavens. By the time he returned to the window Milliardo was already on the ground, blending with the deep shadows closest to the city wall.

Wasting no time he swung over the window sill, closing the shutter behind him, feeling the magic spring to life in the rune placed there. He would have liked to see the look on a Magus' face when they tried to deactivate those runes, but such was not to be. There were more serious matters to be attended to. He dropped to the branch beneath the window and a quick shinny and then drop had him on the ground, ghosting silently in the mud and rain to join his companion.

He felt the protective ward that had shielded the magic use that had taken place in the inn drop; felt the flare of power that resulted, then he was running with his companion at his back, leading the way through the streets towards the poorest quarter. When they neared their objective Milliardo's seeking spell would guide them to the door they sought, but for now it was enough to make their way into the slums with him in the lead as guide.

A hiss from his companion brought him to a halt and he felt the folds of the Catalyst's cloak enclose him, and the press of a wall as they blended with the deep shadow. The tingle of an activated rune sewn into the fabric informed him Milliardo had activated a shielding rune, virtually making them invisible so long as they remained still.

He felt it then, the chill that had nothing to do with the bitterly cold night, or the rain that was mercilessly beating down on them. A flash of lightning in the distance provided just enough light to see the moving shadows gliding through the night. Shadows that were too tall, too slender, to be human. He held his breath, waiting to see if they detected the magic, but they moved on past, unknowing of the Catalyst and Shield only an arm's reach from them.

"I've not see that kind before," he dared to whisper.

"Higher level, I think, more advanced than what we are accustomed to dealing with. Certainly they are more humanoid than most. This is worrying."

The horrors they had fought could barely be described as humanoid, being more bestial; larger, bulkier. Horned, fanged and clawed. But these, these tall, slender things were something new. Something closer to the human form, something that would find it easier to hide out in a human city. It begged the question of just how many species of these creatures were making their way through the rift?

"Go."

He slipped into the night, sliding out from the protection of the cloak, mindful of any other daemons who might be stalking in their vicinity. He could not hope to contend with his companion's sensitivity to the daemons, but he was never more than a step in front of the Catalyst and he was only too aware of every sound in the rain soaked night.

Fortune at least smiled upon them, keeping them unseen by the beasts roaming the sodden streets. Not once had they seen the fanged, horned and clawed beasts they had fought in the countryside so often, but the slender humanoids seemed to be in reasonable numbers. Either they were frighteningly fast and moving about the streets randomly, or they were encountering multiple groups, and that had him worried as to how many had made their nest in the city.

They did not wish to wave a sign identifying them to one and all by the use of magic. Sewn runes within their clothing saw them safely to the point where they had no option but to use greater magic to seek out the one house they sought in this rabbit warren of humanity.

"Ready?"

He nodded, taking a long step back to stand beside the Catalyst, at the same time pulling on the cord to release the crimson tie. He drew the weapon, eyes scanning the dark streets for hints of movement. The citizens had long withdrawn to the questionable shelter of their homes. Soon they would crawl beneath their blankets and furs, huddling, terrified, trying to shut out the sounds of magic and daemons, praying to The One that they would survive the night... Or for The One to receive their souls into paradise.

A softly uttered word and a green glow grew from the centre of the palm extended out into the rain. It grew stronger, affording them some small illumination, and then it flared, briefly, brilliantly, and Milliardo was running, Duo at his side, following the magic to their goal.

"Light me up!"

The Catalyst's free hand flashed out, long fingers ringed in gold and jewels fluttering over the swords hilt, and light flared from the blade, shedding light to reveal the moving shadows in all their daemonic glory. The hand that had ignited the magic of the sword swept before them, rings flashing as magic blasted two of the creatures aside, and Duo spun around his companion, dancing, sword weaving through claws, ducking and leaping as he protected the Catalyst.

They ran the gauntlet of the beasts, flying feet carrying them through the gathering monsters, sword and magic cutting a swathe of destruction. Rings and chains bound the Catalyst's fingers and flared with power at every spell he cast. A sword fashioned purely of the magical weave that flowed so strongly through his blood and bones, a weapon capable of cleaving flesh and bone as easily as a hot knife cut through fat, carved its way through black flesh and stinking gore erupted in its wake. The stench of the slums grew profound, infused with the otherworldly stink of the beasts.

Distantly Duo heard shouts and there was an explosion of magic, ragged, infused with too much of the power a magus could draw on, and he knew the slums would ignite, burning through the night. A great many people would die, but there was nothing he could do about it except look to the future and trust they could improve the world.

He leapt past Milliardo, swinging the sword in a two handed grip, teeth clenched, feeling the magic flare and the impact as it hit his target. It took an awful amount of strength to cleave flesh and bone from shoulder to groin, and these horrors were more resilient than humans, but he felt the blade move, passing through the beast, throwing another aside though not damaging it much with the same swing. He gathered himself, leaping back to avoid the slashing claw, thrusting himself forward immediately to get under that swing and spear the beast through the heart.

Over the roaring of the beasts and the pounding of the rain, the howling of the rising wind and the distant sound of flames, he could hear screaming and cursed profusely as Milliardo plunged into the fray, glowing with the power he was releasing. By that alone he knew they were too late, that the beasts had found their target and all he could do was pray to The One that they could save the precious life they had come here for.

The Catalyst cast aside the seeking spell, extending his hands before him and his fingers flew through the air, tracing complex runes of power with inhuman speed. A flick of the fingers and the runes vanished in the night, seemingly without effect, but another rune followed and another after that. Then they were standing outside of a partially collapsed hovel, hearing screams from within, and with a wave of one hand the debris flew aside, blasted away by magic and an impatient Catalyst.

Duo growled deep in his throat, leaping forward, his sword flaring with his determination as he leapt between a screaming child and the horror rending a thin man in two. There was no fancy sword work, of which he was most capable of performing, but simple hack, slash and brute strength. There was not room for finesse, just butchery, trusting his partner to get the job done as he defended them. Time was running out, the daemons had had time to infest the city and they had no real idea of how many of them there might be.

The child, a girl dressed in rags, matted hair falling about her face, was slashed nearly in two by one of the slender, humanoid creatures, its hands elongating to emulate a sword that was, tragically, as sharp as his magic infused blade. There was only one living person in the hovel now, a woman, young, too thin, foreign features covered in blood, her body enlarged with the child she carried... bleeding out slowly on the dirt floor.

The ethereal sword crafted purely of magic slashed the daemon into two with such force that the beast was knocked through the rear wall, threatening to collapse the already weakened structure. Duo spun, leaping back to avoid grasping claws, lunging to one side then the other, seeking to ensure there was no opening for them to breach his defence. Stumbling over a corpse, feeling the beast move thinking it had won, twisting until he felt that his spine must break and then lunging, avoiding the killing blow and delivering one of his own.

Suddenly the night was too quiet. Lightning revealed the scene of carnage. A moment only, then a roar of thunder and flash of lightning that was not lightning split the night.

"What the hell was that?!" he bellowed above the noise, moving to cover the Catalyst's back as he bent over the pregnant woman.

"Some fool of a Magus getting desperate defending against these things, I would say."

"Is she alright?" Duo glanced over his shoulder, trying to see past the Catalyst and giving up, turning his attention back to the night beyond the hovel.

"She is with The One."

Duo bit his lip, cursing silently, shaking his head. For nothing. All of their care, all of the effort for the last few months pursuing the woman. All of it, gone. They had arrived too late.

"But we are not too late for this one."

The whisper drew him as the Catalyst turned, cradling something that weakly moved in his arms. Another lightning strike, another glimpse of destruction and death, but with it the glimpse, brief, of a bloodied newborn.

"Oh, by The One! He's... alive?" he could not breathe for the hope causing his heart to pound so hard it threatened to break his ribs.

The infant was wrapped securely and drawn into the voluminous robes of the Catalyst who stared out into the night with narrowed eyes.

"He is very much alive, my friend. We need to go. More are coming and with the child I can no longer fight."

"The city wall is that way I believe."

He led the way, only too conscious of the precious lives in his care. The Catalyst he was pledged to shield, with whom he had walked for more than a thousand years, and the new born. The very first human born with the ability to become a Catalyst.

The human race, in time, would have a third unsung saviour.

End

Karina Robertson 2012