This will unfortunately be the last chapter in this series! It's partially because I ran out of inspiration but mostly because my headcanons have changed a lot, and I can no longer write this without feeling a little odd. I will, however, be writing other Ancestors fics, although they'll likely be a long time coming. I do intend to finish Dead and to write a sequel to Sealed Lips eventually, so stay tuned for that.
Originally, the chapters marked Endgame would signify the end of a specific character's arc, or their death. As this is the first endgame chapter, I suppose it's fitting that it's the last chapter, eh? Anyways, I'd like to thank all of my lurkers for staying with me until the end. I'd also like to thank Marna21 for reviewing this story so regularly! It really means a lot to me!
She protested strongly against it, but he did it anyways.
The Summoner was going to visit the Grand Highblood and strike a deal with him. It was time. The rebellion could go nowhere without highblood help, as much as he hated to admit it.
Mindfang was furious. Every day, she would follow him around, berating him and telling him what an idiot he was for thinking he could make a deal with the Grand Highblood. She would swear and throw fits and undermine his every word.
Finally, he exploded, "Stop it!"
Mindfang crossed her arms and snarled, "Stop what? Stop trying to talk sense into you?!"
The Summoner groaned and ran his hands through his hair, frustrated. His nerves were on end at the very thought of talking to the Grand Highblood, and his matesprit wasn't helping. "I'm going to do it," he insisted, ignoring her snort of derision, "It doesn't matter what you say."
Mindfang let out a strange sound, but she didn't move. Her eyes narrowed and the corners of her lips twisted down.
"Just," he began, looking at her and taking her hands in his, "Just please stop. I need you, Aranea. I need your support now. I can't—"
She ripped her hands from his. In that moment, she reminded him of an angry meowbeast. "If you talk to him, then you won't have a matesprit anymore!" she spat.
The Summoner froze, shocked. "What?" He couldn't believe her. "You're breaking up with me now?!" he demanded.
She let out a scream of frustration, turning away and grabbing her sword's hilt with an iron grip. "No!" She muttered something indistinguishable. Cerulean eye blazing, she added, "If you go, I'm going to die!"
The Summoner reached out to try and grab her elbow, but he missed. Still, she heard him and turned her head to glare at him. "Aranea—" he began.
She snapped, "The Oracle gave me the date of my death, Summoner! Don't try and argue with me!"
Hearing that word made him snap. Feeling anger rising in his chest, the Summoner had to make a conscious effort to keep his wings limp. "I don't give a shit about your Oracle, Aranea! Would you really trust that . . . that thing over your matesprit?" Seeing her open her mouth, he added, "Why would I kill you? Why would I ever hurt you, Aranea?"
He saw the distrustful look that crossed her face, and he swore vehemently. "Why can't you trust me?" he demanded, "I promised you I would never hurt you—"
"And yet the Oracle never lies." Mindfang sighed, running a hand through her wild hair. He saw the muscles in her shoulders and back relax as she did so, and he forced himself to take a deep breath.
His wings relaxed and fluttered softly, and, without thinking, he reached out and pulled Mindfang's eyepatch free. She recoiled instinctively, but he slipped it around her horns and hair with the ease of practice. Now that he was significantly calmer and that he could see both of her eyes, he saw the thinly veiled fear that lurked behind her anger.
The Summoner sat down and buried his head in his hands. He didn't know what to do. His matesprit was convinced that he was going to kill her. The rebellion needed them both. The rebellion needed the Grand Highblood if they wanted to start turning around the hemospectrum. Aranea believed that that would be her death. He had built his entire life around this rebellion; he needed it to succeed. On the other hand, he wasn't sure how well he'd be able to lead without her.
He felt a hand on his shoulder and he looked up. Without a word, Mindfang crawled into his lap and pressed her lips against his, wrapping her arms around his shoulders. The Summoner instinctively kissed her back. He loved how she kissed. She always kissed him with the same ferocity, the same desperation. Only later would he realize it was because she'd known all along that he would kill her. When she pulled away, her mismatched eyes were exhausted.
"I'd prefer," she said simply, "to die without any last quarrels."
He pushed her off of him and stood up, shaking his wings. Decidedly, he said firmly, "You're not going to die."
She pursed her lips and looked away.
He said fiercely, "You're not! I'm going to see the Grand Highblood and prove it to you; you will not die."
Mindfang sighed and stood. "Oh, Summoner," she murmured.
In the end, she walked beside him as he entered the Grand Highblood's palace. He was familiar with its dark corridors and its lurking inhabitants, although it gave him the same chills it always had.
He hated feeling the watchful eyes of the subjugglators, hated seeing the color purple everywhere.
He looked at his matesprit. She had changed into the elaborate outfit she had worn when she'd been a gamblignant, and her eyes — both of them exposed — gleamed with a haughty indifference.
She was a good actor.
He reflected upon what she'd said when he'd woken up in the middle of the day and found her staring out the window. I thought I'd come to terms with this a long time ago. Funny how it turns out, isn't it? After all this time, I'm still afraid. I'm still afraid to die.
He grit his teeth. He would keep his promise. She wouldn't die.
Before they'd entered, he had told her to wait outside. She'd glared at him and told him she'd be damned if she let him see the Grand Highblood alone.
He caught a glimpse of red and teal. So there were legislacerators here as well. That wasn't as reassuring as it should have been, considering that they more or less worked for the Grand Highblood now.
The subjugglator they were following pointed wordlessly to a set of huge double doors, undoubtedly telling them to go in. Remembering this from his time as a cavalreaper, the Summoner nodded, but didn't speak. He felt more than saw Mindfang gesture at the subjugglator. He had to force himself not to glare at her, assuming she'd done something rude. But the subjugglator snorted and grinned, which was normally a good sign.
And then the two rebels were ushered through the doors.
The Summoner grimaced. The Grand Highblood's throne room was as massive as always, and the troll himself was easy twice as tall as the Summoner. The blood splatters sharply outlined the tyrant, and he could smell the remains of something long dead.
Grimacing, remembering the times when he'd had to grovel and bow and keep his wings hidden, the Summoner stepped forwards and met the eyes of the very troll who had sent thousands into their graves.
In that respect, the Summoner thought, not without a hint of morbidity, we aren't all that different.
The Grand Highblood leaned over his throne, an eerie grin settling over his painted features. "Well if it isn't the motherfucking Summoner."
The Summoner smiled back, but his smile was mirthless. He knew perfectly well that in order to survive this encounter he needed to keep the purpleblood amused. That was always dangerous, as the Highblood tended to be the most amused when his victims were screaming and dismembered.
"And it's Mind-motherfucking-fang. Good of you to visit, li'l cerulean."
Mindfang flashed her fangs in a smile that could've made adult trolls wet their pants. "Believe me, Highblood, I've had plenty reason to stay away."
The Grand Highblood grunted. "You're still cocky as all motherfuckers."
She raised her chin, her mismatched eyes gleaming. "As if that would've changed."
The Summoner watched warily. He'd been unaware that the two had met. He realized, again, that he was unaware of much about her. He would ask after this. If directly asked, she rarely refused an answer. And she never lied.
The Grand Highblood's eyes narrowed. But then his faintly red eyes turned to the Summoner, whose wings flared outwards. He regretted that immediately, as the Grand Highblood's expression turned to one who would really like a pair of wings on his wall. "Look at you two," he muttered, "trying all up and lead a sad, motherfucking rebellion." He shook his head and scowled. "What do you motherfucking want?" he asked bluntly.
The Summoner's hands were steady; so was his voice. Nothing about him betrayed his fear; he knew that, besides him, Spinneret was probably doing that thing where she somehow made inspecting her nails look threatening. "We've come to offer a deal," he said firmly.
The Grand Highblood let out a shout of laughter, interrupting anything that he might have said next. "What in the names of the Mirthful Messiahs can you motherfucking offer motherfucking me?"
The Summoner swallowed hard. He remembered the woman who had come to him just a perigree before. She'd said that the rebellion would be destroyed if he didn't bring a politically powerful highblood into his plans and had promised him that the Grand Highblood would agree to the deal he would make. She hadn't spoken once, and had communicated solely by manipulating the odd sparking energy that surrounded her so that they formed words. He swallowed hard. Mindfang didn't know that he'd seen her. "We want you to support the rebellion. We need money and supplies. We need the assurance that, should the Condesce return, she won't be able to simply blast us to shreds. We need your support to turn the others to our favor."
The Grand Highblood snorted. "And what do I get?"
The Summoner swallowed hard. The woman had told him what to say here, and he relayed her words without a single hesitance. She had told him that he would have to. "Amusement at the hands of the Demoness."
He felt Mindfang's touch on his mind, and he shot a glare at her. Their eyes met and he froze. She knew. She knew that he'd spoken to the Demoness, knew that the Demoness had urged him here, to the subjugglator's home. And she hissed, impressing her thoughts easily into his mind, You're sending me to die because the Demoness told you to?!
He could feel her anger, and he tried to think back, You're not going to die! But he couldn't speak into her mind the way she could, and she didn't hear his response. She released his mind and he felt the feeling return to his toes and the tips of his fingers. The Grand Highblood had said something during their exchange, but he hadn't caught it.
Mindfang must've, for she was saying, "—more than you'll know."
The Grand Highblood snarled. He was no longer amused. He was angry and thirsty for blood. "Motherfucking Demoness," he snapped, "Expects me to follow her motherfucking word. I don't give a fuck who she thinks she is!" He let out a roar and shouted to the roof of his throne room, "This bitch killed my kismesis!"
Mindfang shouted back, "And you killed mine!" The Summoner had to admire her nerve; if she wasn't here, he'd probably be dead about now.
The Grand Highblood bared his teeth in a growl at her, but she merely twitched her lips into a coy smile.
There was a flash of dizzyingly green light, and a slight troll appeared besides the Grand Highblood's throne. She appeared tiny besides the pure mass of the purpleblood, her delicate horns arching away from her head and spiraling outwards. She swept her fingers — long and spindly — through the air, and the glow around her body formed words that hovered above her head. yOu have seven minutes. They reshuffled themselves like quicksilver, melting into each other in a captivating dance. and then I will intervene.
The Grand Highblood leaned over and snapped, "You've got some motherfucking nerve, showin' up here."
She examined him with eyes that shifted rapidly through different colors, her expression still unchanging. The words above her head shifted. yOu know I haven't yet spOken to the rebels. They changed. i've nO idea what deal they speak Of.
"Motherfuck," swore the Grand Highblood. But even he couldn't deny direct orders from the Demoness, although he might try. "Fine, Summoner." The Summoner instantly relaxed, and he examined the Demoness' impassive face.
The Demoness met his eyes, and he felt a chill run through his veins when he saw them soften with a hint of sorrow, of compassion, and pity. Did she know what was going to happen? Did she know something bad that was going to happen?
Mindfang was still on edge, not unlike a meowbeast when an intruder danced just on the edge of its territory. She said, voice rising slightly as her fear rose, "And now?"
The Grand Highblood met her eyes, his expression twisted into one of the utmost loathing. "Now I'm gonna beat the motherfucking daylights out of you."
The Demoness' letters twisted. five minutes.
Not sure what she was counting down to anymore, the Summoner darted forwards, drawing his lance. "No!" he shouted firmly, although fear that borderlined panic had risen within him at the Grand Highblood's last statement, "We have a deal! Honor it!"
"And I'm demanding something else!" The Grand Highblood roared. "You get all of motherfucking me and I get a single motherfucking favor from the motherfucking Demoness!"
The Demoness let out a strange sound, her long lashes fluttering as she somehow rolled her eyes without pupils. As her fingers slashed the air, the words shifted. patience, highblOOd.
Mindfang danced backwards and fell into a crouch, her hooked sword drawn and her teeth bared in a feral snarl. The Summoner met her eyes, and, as one, they took up defensive positions. His right wing arced protectively out behind her, and her left leg crossed over in front of his, keeping him from doing anything stupid. Her bright red boots seemed to glow in the gloom, much like the blood splatters on the wall.
The Grand Highblood pointed a huge finger at them, his own snarl slowly twisting into a horrible grin. "I'll help your motherfucking rebellion, Summoner. But first I'm gonna make you beat the everloving shit out of your motherfucking matesprit."
The Summoner's eyes widened and he shouted, "Absolutely not!"
But he saw the way Mindfang flinched, saw the way the tip of her red boot twitched, as if she'd barely refrained from leaping away.
"Absolutely fucking yes," the Grand Highblood retorted, his voice falling into a threatening growl.
Starting to panic, because the rebellion needed the Highblood's help, the Summoner protested, "But—"
The Demoness thrust out her hand, and a wand was suddenly held loosely in her spindly fingers. A blast of light shot towards the two rebels, and they darted away to avoid it. Now on the opposite side of the room from her, the Summoner could only guess as to how Mindfang was feeling about this.
She stood still, straight and striking, on the other side. He watched as she turned to look at him, her incredible mane of dark hair swirling about her. But he couldn't care less about her hair right now. Her eyes were blazing with the deep intensity he knew and loved, but there was also fear. The type of fear that was explosive in its ability to paralyze the limbs and dull the think-pan.
The Demoness' words twisted, and they suddenly looked sour. Kill.
The Summoner looked at Mindfang. She turned her entire body towards him, giving him a clear shot to her heart. "No," he whispered fiercely. His grip on his lance tightened and his knuckles turned white. The rebellion needed the Highblood. He needed Mindfang. There had to be another way. He looked at the Grand Highblood, beseeching. But his show of weakness merely solidified the Grand Highblood's choice. The Demoness was no help either. She remained perfectly impassive, one wand pointed at each rebel. He hated her suddenly. He hated her for sending him here with a ferocity that would've driven him to kill.
But then the hate turned in on himself, for being stupid enough to take the advice of a creature like the Demoness. Feeling nothing but desperation, he looked back at his matesprit. He felt her touch upon his mind, and willingly surrendered. Make the decision for me, he thought, like a coward, like a fool, like a squeakbeast.
But she merely pressed her emotions lightly into his mind. Not enough that his own changed, but enough that he knew. She was afraid. She was deathly afraid. But she was also resigned. She had known she would die today and, like a fool, he'd ignored her and brought her into danger.
The Summoner broke. He was a grown troll and he was the leader of a rebellion. He should be better than this. And yet he felt the tears running down his cheeks, because now he knew. He knew that, despite all he'd said, he would be the one to kill her. "I don't want to," he whispered, a sob rising in his throat, "I can't."
"Kill her!" the Grand Highblood roared.
Softly, gently brushing her thoughts into his, Mindfang murmured, I forgive you, you know. Just please — try to make it painless?
"I can't kill you!" the Summoner shouted, his voice cracking. He hated how her expression didn't change, how utterly aloof she appeared about her own fate.
Oh, Summoner. She shook her head and shrugged off her mask as if it were a dress she merely had to unbutton. There was no pity in her face, only cold acceptance. You know the rebellion is worth more than my silly life.
The Summoner made a spastic motion with his hands, wanting to drop his lance. "But I pity you," he said brokenly.
She flashed him a smile. I pity you, Ruf— Her mismatched eyes flew open wide and she let out a startled gasp.
And then she lunged towards him, her sword slicing through the air.
The Summoner had been a warrior for as long as he could remember. And so, even through his haze of grief, his instincts took over. He ducked under her blade, swooped down low, and stabbed his lance upwards.
Screams filled the throne room: Mindfang's voice, as she cried out in pain, the Grand Highblood's voice, as he howled with mad laughter, and the Summoner's voice, as he shouted with alarm and horror.
Behind him, unnoticed, the Demoness drew her wand away from his neck.
The Summoner clutched her body to his, shocked. He felt horribly, horribly numb. Oh god, there was blood everywhere. Cerulean stained his clothes, the floor, his lance, cascading from her body in terrible bubbles of blue. Her face was screwed up, but she's stopped screaming. Cracking open her eyes, she tried to say something. Blood bubbled at her lips and dripped down her cheek.
And then the numbness broke.
The reality of the situation crashed over him in a wave, and he let out another scream. "Oh god, Aranea," he moaned, fingers itching towards the lance. He wanted to rip it from her body, wanted to see the wound magically close. But he knew that she was dying. She hadn't removed her grip on his mind when she'd attacked, and so he could feel her pain, her misery, her struggles to survive. "Why'd you do that?" he whispered, "You knew I'd defend myself."
Her eyes fluttered, the cerulean lashes glistening with tears. She was crying, her chest rising and falling spastically as she struggled to breathe while her lungs filled with blood.
"Don't die," he mumbled fruitlessly, bowing his head over her body and clutching her to him as if that would fix things, "You can't die. You're Aranea. You're the Marquise. You can't die, dammit!"
Her presence in his mind fluttered, and he stiffened. Rufioh. . . . And then his mind was completely and utterly free. In his arms, her head fell loosely against his elbow and her flesh arm fell limp. The metal one was still wrapped around the lance at the part where it dove into her skin.
The Summoner screamed. He screamed for the grief that pulsed in him as if it was alive. He screamed for the pure weight of his actions. He screamed because the only troll he had ever pitied had died in agony, and he had been the one to do it.
He sensed movement in the corners of his eyes and looked up. The subjugglators were coming. They were going to take her and use her blood as paint. There was no way in hell the Summoner was letting that happen. He closed his eyes and poured all of his twisting, convoluted emotions into the energy he used for Communion. And then he released his power in a greater wave than he ever had before.
Fearherbeasts and squeakbeasts suddenly let out cacophonous cries and rose from the depths of the throne room. More outside fought their way in, biting and scratching at any troll they came across. Pyralspite let out a roar and, through her eyes, the Summoner watched as fire rained from the sky. Back in his body, in the throne room, the Summoner vaulted to his feet. Subjugglators darted forwards, snatching and dragging at Mindfang's clothes and hair. He grabbed her sword from where it had fallen from her hand and swept it downwards, lopping off their arms. They let out an animalistic shrieks, and the Grand Highblood roared.
He leapt from his throne and gathered two enormous juggling pins, gripping them like clubs.
The Demoness rose into the air, ethereal and terrifying for all her small stature. Flashing eyes narrowed, she swiped the air. Words — larger than before and shifting rapidly through different colors — glowed in the center of the room, freezing all movement. StOp. They shifted. BegOne.
Then there was a blinding flash of green and the Summoner found himself back home, in his treehive in the headquarters of the rebellion. He shrieked, "No!" and leaped into the air, his wings beating spastically. "No." But there was nothing he could do. He was days away from the subjugglators' city now. Aranea's body would be left to the Grand Highblood and her blood would forever stain his hands.
Again, thank you so much for reading until the end! If anybody ever wants to talk Ancestors with me, please don't hesitate to PM me! I would love to talk about where the various plot lines in this fic would have gone, and what my new headcanons are. Thank you!