Clarissa felt it before she heard it, the air contracting and folding into itself, rushing past her, down the flight of stairs, into Darktown. The peculiar direction taken by the sudden wind dislodged her still-grieving mind and alarmed her.
She had felt it before, during those chance encounters with bandits and highwaymen on the Wounded Coast, in the dark warrens of Lowtown, and on the cobbled streets of Hightown when the stroke of midnight had fallen. She could almost picture the sight by memory alone, by the memory of the iridescent globe of flames gathering at Bethany's waiting hands, of the barely restrained fury of the crackling magic.
Magic.
Then she heard it. The fiery explosion of impact. The unwarranted screams of burning men, and the screams of terror of apparent onlookers. Clarissa heard the clash of steel on wood, and the twang of bowstrings from deep within the abandoned mining section of Darktown, echoing and bringing her reeling mind back into focus. The unnatural sound of magical discharge added an odd tempo to the echoing cacophony of the starting battle.
Magic.
Clarissa took off in a dead run down the stairs she had so slowly dragged herself up moments before, mind sharp with anxious energy and heart wrenched in sickening worry. Isabela pouted, sighed, and fell in step.
Bethany flashed her eyes around her, the full wrath of her abilities coalescing in her hands. She felt Anders by her side, bright cracks in his body signifying the resurgence of a being far more terrible than the humans and dwarves surrounding him and Bethany could comprehend. Unholy rage and an odd echo coloured his voice as he snarled, and Bethany felt Mana channeled into her and into Justice as well, filling her with power. Her quarries brandished their daggers and fitted arrows to string, faces masked save for their eyes. Bethany felt their wary gazes pass over her hands, where fire and ice placed themselves obediently on each palm, running a line of white flame on her staff and coating her other arm in an icy haze. Sensing their fear, she allowed herself a moment of bloodthirsty pride before reining her emotions back in. She can't lose control. Not now. Not against such pathetic-
A figure detached itself from the line of men and women surrounding the two mages, visibly shorter than a normal human. He held a broad axe in his hands, hefting its enormous weight easily.
"Take them down." The dwarf said simply. The men converged, and the fight began.
Clarissa had her sword out as a line of men clad in tattered leather armor blocked her way. There were five of them in total, and they were vaguely coordinated, forming a human wall in the narrow passage that led to Anders' clinic, where the sounds of fighting persisted. The men drew their blades hesitantly, not wanting to break formation. Clarissa's eyes hardened into a look of icy death, radiating cold venom at each man in turn and gripping her sword tightly, preparing to batter her way through. Isabela drew up at her side, and put an unexpected hand on her sword arm, holding it down.
"They're here to hold you off." She whispered into Clarissa's ear, and the defensive posture made sense to her immediately.
They were ordered by whoever sent them to keep Clarissa out of the fight, to delay her until they were finished with Anders and Bethany, both of whom do not stand a chance in such close quarters. She had to get to the clinic as fast as she could.
"I'll take care of them. Go." Isabela vanished in a whirl of black smoke before the last syllable left her lips. Quick as lightning, she rematerialized behind the leftmost swordsman in the line and snapped his reeling neck with breathtaking efficiency while burying a dagger in the throat of the man beside her first victim, the reddened edge reappearing below his chin. She laughed mockingly at the remaining men, who edged away from their fallen comrades, opening up a doorway which Clarissa slipped through.
As she picked up her pace again, dashing down another flight of stairs, she heard Isabela chuckle and say, "Who's next?"
Bethany let the magic take the reins of her body, feeling her reflexes sharpen and her vision narrow. Growling, she let the flames overrun her staff, bathing the unblemished wood in a fiery glow as she brought it twirling over her head, sidestepping a wayward thrust and bringing the staff-blade down on her aggressor's head. She felt her heart leap as the steel helm melted under the intense heat and the blade sank into the man's skull, not even needing to draw blood as he fell dead. Bethany didn't wait for his limp corpse to drop, though, as she took charge of her momentum, deflecting an arrow with a swipe of her hand and sending a bolt of ice-cold energy towards the lone archer who shot her. A blast of cold air greeted her glistening sheen of sweat as the archer was frozen from head to toe, the magical property of the bolt permeating the very fiber of his being. Blocking an upward cleave with her staff, Bethany shattered the hapless victim with a blast of physical force.
Justice blazed with righteous fire as he channeled his power better than any mage ever could. A wall of fire surrounded his body as he loosed lance after lance of blue flame. The force of the attacks stopped swordsmen in their tracks while setting lesser men aflame.
A frenzy of blue light danced on the walls as he wrought an almost impenetrable defense with pure magic.
More men dropped from perches and rooftops of the Darktown shacks. Bethany's heart sank, but she forced herself to maintain her composure as her aggressors circled her. She felt Justice being forced away, separated from her by a line of men. Fear gripped her as she realized the gravity of her position.
She was surrounded.
Clarissa sped with all she had, but the clinic seemed leagues away. Sporadic swordsmen barred her way, but she used the tight walls to her advantage, leaping off walls and dodging arrows as she landed punches and backhand swipes that cracked bone and rent flesh, leaving half-dead men and women for Isabela to swiftly finish off.
As nimble and agile as a slinking cat, she avoided most her her opponents' attacks while dealing deathblows of her own, the unrelenting desire to reach Bethany ruling her senses, making her mind sharp and her limbs move as one.
Bethany.
As stalwart and tough as a brick wall, she kept going despite the scores of men standing between her and her goal, shrugging off arrows and her growing fatigue. Her focus never shifted, her determinate fire never waned as her eyes glazed over and her lips moved of its own accord, citing a mantra with one word, and one word alone.
Bethany.
Following the lanterns, Clarissa skidded to a halt as she entered the open space outside the clinic. The rearguard didn't stand a chance as Clarissa parried their blows with her steel-laden arm, forcibly wrenching their swords from their hands with her hardened leather gauntlets, then impaling them with her sword. Face now stained with blood, her burning eyes settled on a sight that made the flames waver and her blood go cold.
Dozens of men faced her, evenly spaced out and brandishing swords, daggers and bows of every make and origin. Bethany was at the center, with fear coating her eyes and a dagger pressed to her throat. Her staff lay on the ground, far from her reach. Anders was further away, subdued by two men and burning with fury. Clarissa took it all in, and she had to force herself not to move and to loosen her bloodthirsty grip on her sword. One false twitch, and the dagger would move sideways and carve a bloody path across Bethany's throat.
A dwarf detached himself out of the throngs of men that surrounded Bethany and rubbed his hands together in mock excitement. An enormous axe rested on his back, the wide blade jutting out above his head in a ferocious display of brute strength.
"Perfect. It would seem our bait has worked!" He addressed the masked men and women, who all laughed and flexed their blades and bows. As if on cue, another group of men filed in behind Clarissa, blocking the path from which she had come from. The trap has been sprung. She was the prey.
"What do you want?" Clarissa said, trading venomous glances with the men that surrounded her, assessing the situation for something she could take advantage of.
There was none.
The dwarf chuckled and pointed a gloved finger at Clarissa. "You, darlin'. You're the one we want, and here you are." He sneered, radiating vicious malice. He was gloating, basking in his victory, and Clarissa didn't care. She only wanted the dagger on Bethany's throat removed. Only then could she worry about driving her blade into the dwarf's sneering, condescending mouth. "My sister has nothing to do with this. Let her go, and I come willingly." Clarissa said. Although her inner self pictured blood on the walls, on her sword, and running on her fingers, Bethany had to be safe before all that came to be.
The dwarf laughed and cast a glance at Bethany. "Let her go? Why, Hawke, you are sorely mistaken." He said as he drew a wicked-looking dagger from his belt. The blade caught the dim light and glinted dangerously as it pointed towards Bethany. "In the end of a hunt," He said, moving towards the subdued Bethany with slow, deliberate steps.
"Bait is discarded."
It didn't take long for the dagger to reach its target, as it sheathed itself through the white tunic, the light chainmail underneath and into Bethany's chest.
Clarissa's heart flared with pain as Bethany let out a strangled cry, going limp as the man holding her let go. She lay sprawled on the dirt, blood pooled around her, and she vainly raised her head. Her eyes lost their light as they met Clarissa's, and Clarissa felt her pain, her despair, her life ebbing away as she blacked out.
Bethany.
Clarissa felt her strength leave her, her blood freeze, and her senses go numb. Her sword dropped from her fingers, and her heart broke as it clattered to the ground.
Bethany.
The dwarf gazed at the pool of blood, seemingly fascinated by it. Clarissa's eyes landed upon the spreading crimson, and she felt tears welling in her eyes.
This can't be happening.
Clarissa's heart mirrored Bethany's as it bled, losing strength and dying. The fire that once burned in her limbs, fueled her desire and ruled her mind was gone, gone when the dagger plunged into her heart, gone when her eyes met hers, one last time.
I have failed her.
She had been afraid for so long. Afraid to embrace what she had tried to hide since she first saw her, what she could no longer contain in the shattering confines of her heart. She had been afraid to confess, even though nothing could have held her back.
And now she's gone.
She's gone, and she was to blame.
"That's right, Hawke. You can't fight now. You belong to the Carta now." The dwarf laughed. Clarissa's eyes shot back up, looking him squarely in the eye, and she saw him blanch.
She had come too late, and it was her fault.
She was somehow the target, and it was her fault that Bethany had been involved.
She had failed her, and it was her fault.
"No." Hatred replaced her grief, rushing through her in a torrent, rejuvenating her with white-hot anger. Her hands found her sword, and she felt a surge of power flow through her, making her alive despite her broken heart. She closed her eyes, and allowed rage to take over her senses, and anger to control her. Unnatural strength fueled her, and she gripped her sword tightly while her bracer's spiked backhand flexed in unrestrained fury.
What happened next was a blur even Clarissa could not recall.
She dodged and weaved, slashed and parried, swung and blocked, punched and feinted, leaped and slid at the same time, moving at a breakneck pace, bolstered by her unnatural strength. She flitted from one dead swordsman to another dying archer, moving with inhuman speed, attacking with savage blows. Her bloodlust clouded her vision, and her mind couldn't move fast enough to comprehend what her body had done.
She laced every blow with her anger, proclaiming to the world of her failure and venting her hatred on her quarries.
All the while, tears flowed freely from her eyes, leaving trails of liquid diamonds flying through the air as she screamed her grief and wept for her loss.
Bethany.
It was her fault for holding back, for not arriving in time, and they had to pay for it.
The walls were drenched in blood, with new additions made with each swing. Red liquid ran down the length of her blade, making sheathing it in her opponents all the easier. Drops of blood splattered on her face but didn't care, not even when it entered her eyes and added to the tears that were already falling.
It kept falling even after it was over, even after she brought her fist through the horror-stricken dwarf's chest, strange crackles coming from the hollow cavity that once housed his heart.
Recompense for my torn heart.
As her mind regained its clarity, Clarissa recognized Bethany among the numerous corpses that lay on the floor. She rushed to her side, cradling her and pressing her blood-soaked fingers to her neck, checking for the telltale signs of life that may still preside.
There was none.
"Bethany, no. NO. You cannot die, not yet. Not unless I say so!" Clarissa cried, sobs mingling with her words. Her mind was reeling, she wasn't making sense, but she didn't care.
"Please, Bethany! You can't leave me here like this!" She cried again, but there was no miraculous breath of life, no sudden opening of the eyes. There was just Bethany, her one love, dying in her arms.
And still, she was afraid to go there. To utter those three words that would condemn her, that would finally eradicate her inhibitions and set her free.
I love you, Bethany. Was that enough? Wasn't that enough?
Tears washed away the blood on her face as Clarissa despaired, unable to defeat death.
"I love you, Bethany." She said, admitting it to the world. She was no longer afraid. She just wanted Bethany back. She just wanted to hold her in her arms again, to kiss her and love her until her heart was spent, to do what she never had the nerve to do.
"I love you, Bethany." Clarissa begged. To the Maker, to the gods, to any who would listen.
Clarissa felt her fingers move of their own accord, feeling a slight jump in Bethany's neck. A pulse.
"She's still alive. Barely." Anders appeared next to her, dazed and utterly spent. "I placed a Life Ward spell on her. As long as my strength maintains, she'll be alive." He said, fatigue slowing his words. Clarissa wept tears of joy, thanking the Maker profusely and hurriedly tearing out a strip of her tunic to wrap around Bethany's wound, which Anders sealed with a weary wave of his hand. He visibly paled from the effort, and it was only from sealing the wound. What lay underneath was still unfixed.
"Transfer it to me. You can't hold out for much longer. Take the energy from me instead." Clarissa said, bearing responsibility once again.
I'll keep you alive, Bethany.
Anders shook his head. "It has to be between two mages. You will have to bind your soul with hers if you want to attempt such a thing." He said, "Her spirit is wandering in the Fade right now, and Justice is helping me restrain her from going too far. A normal human cannot do that, unless you wish to bind yourself to her forever, which is exceedingly dangerous for the both of you."
Clarissa looked into his eyes, burning with resolve and the new emotion she set free. If she must be one with her, then so be it. It may even not be such a bad thing.
I love you, Bethany, and I will do anything and everything it takes to save you.
"Do it."
/Aaaannnndddd abrupt CLIFFHANGAR. Yeah I know, I hate it too. But it just seems so appropriate. This just came off the top of my head, so please excuse my poor logic and unproofed words. Feedback on fightscenes? I feel like I screwed up but can't find where. Moar and bettar chapters abound. *mutters unintelligible curses about moving and unpacking taking up all my time*
Let's hope nothing burns in the reviews, eh? But do please R&R!/