Clarissa didn't move. She didn't dare to, nor could she have moved had she even mustered up the courage to. Chill crept into her, from every pore into the very fiber of her being; Ice pervaded her very soul, making her very veins freeze over, the heat of battle only moments before dissipating as if it was a mere distraction.
She didn't have to turn to confirm her suspicions. The twitch of fear that came from the bond in her mind told her all she needed to know.
Age-old magic, flowing in his veins, suffusing his very blood.
Centuries of imprisonment, chained in darkness, long forgotten.
Twisted, blackened blood, fostering a madness few could comprehend.
Tormented, forsaken soul, eating away in solitude, decade after decade.
Sight was meaningless when the very fabric of the world warped in his presence. They couldn't hope to best him, not with Isabela maimed and Bethany exhausted beyond her limits. All hatred and anger faded away into nothing as Clarissa grasped the inevitable reality of her predicament.
A grunt sounded from her left as Varric turned round, hefted Bianca and let loose a bolt that flew, straight and true, at the abomination standing proud on the stone altar. It was an impeccable shot. Clarissa turned round, silently hoping against hope that the bolt would find its mark.
It ground to a halt not an inch from Corypheus's forehead.
The Tevinter mage smiled at the dwarf's antics. "What fun." He said, simply, perhaps with a hint of amusement. For a long, drawn-out moment, the very air stilled as Darkspawn and dwarf glared into one another's eyes, perhaps even into their very souls.
Then Corypheus smiled, the deformed flesh on his face creasing in a ragged approximation of glee, and waved his hand once.
Bianca was wrenched from Varric's hand with otherworldly force, and from the pained hiss that escaped Varric's lips, it was all but capable to tear his trigger finger away with the weapon itself. It came to rest in mid-air, before taloned hands that have had its semblance of humanity torn from it by the ages. Hate seethed from Varric's eyes. Clarissa had never before seen him consumed with such fury.
"Try all you want, dwarf. Believe it or not, such attempts on my life are all but common in my day." Corypheus said, almost nonchalantly. His voice did not surprise Clarissa: A raspy, weathered mimicry of a man mercilessly tormented by time. Under other circumstances, Clarissa would have described his voice as a benevolent one, perhaps even the voice of a contented old man who has made his peace with the world. But not this voice. This voice carried with it the biting cold of deep winter and a strange sense of regality. It reeked of darkness.
"But, of course, such a rude intrusion cannot go unpunished." Corypheus said, the mad tone of a sadist colouring his words. By way of unseen magic, the bolt fired from Bianca, once intended for Corypheus, turned towards the general direction of Clarissa and her companions.
Varric stiffened, then stood straight, as if readying himself for whatever Corypheus hurled at him. "So you haven't the balls to match blade for blade, and you hide behind your fancy magic." He spat.
The air around Corypheus shifted ever so much as anger, manifested into heat, heated the air around him. "Oh, I can see what goes on in that head of yours, dwarf. And rest assured, what I have in my own head is much more fun."
Crackles of magic ran through Bianca, rivulets of magic running its course along the seams of the brass crossbow. Varric's eyes widened. Surely he wouldn't... Clarissa thought.
Bianca unraveled itself faster than the eye could see, cogs and nails and plate steel coming apart in a gruesome disassembling. The runes on her richly-ornamented wood, glistening with oil and polished with great care, flashed once, brightly, before they themselves were burned away. The bowstring, unable to weather the tension of the sinewy curve, snapped with a pronounced twang.
Clarissa didn't have to look to see Varric's tortured expression, nor did she have to crane her head to see the tears that fled his eyes.
But he was far from done.
With inhuman speed, the bolt held in place by Corypheus's magic flew forward.
Only a split second later, a strangled gasp came from Clarissa's right.
Isabela.
Clarissa turned around just in time to see the Pirate Queen collapse unceremoniously. Her hand was, strangely, still held at an awkward position to her stomach, where the wound from the Hurlock was at its deepest.
Then she saw that the bolt had been aimed square at the center of Isabela's hand, piercing the flesh entirely and diving tip-first into her belly.
Ragged breathing surfaced from Isabela's throat, reflecting pain that need not be put into words, but put into visceral colour as blood welled from her hand and her stomach.
The embedded arrow, halfway into her flesh, squirmed, as if of its own accord, pushing even further into the agonized woman.
A breathless scream escaped Isabela's lips before her hazel eyes went out. Varric rushed to her, panic visibly affecting his every movement. His duster was off his back, wrenched into a bundle and pressed against Isabela's wound in less than a second.
Amidst all that, Corypheus chuckled. "Now, that is what I would deem proper punishment. Fear not, dwarf, for she is alive, and the agony will persist, for every moment that she still draws breath,"
And then, lastly, perhaps inevitably, Clarissa's eyes locked with Corypheus's ice cold gaze.
Even from a distance, Corypheus was of formidable height, even for a man... a creature, of his age. One of the telltale signs of his age was the tufts of white on his twisted scalp, barely noticeable amidst the sea of deformed flesh, lining his right cheek in a grotesque fashion. His skin was pockmarked, marred with scars, cavities and yet more misplaced flesh, only partly covered in a ragged, torn robe that resembled the robes that Clarissa had only seen a chance number of times – the robes of a Tevinter Magister.
Taking the initiative, she forced as much fury she could into her voice and let out a venomous hiss. "By the name of the Maker on high, I will put you down like the beast you are." She swore, pushing away the hollow feeling that lingered in her mouth after the words left her.
Corypheus, for his part, was not in the least perturbed. "Oh, I don't doubt that, Hawke the elder." He said.
Clarissa froze. She recognized the way he called her. Only one other person had named her in that fashion.
"It pains me to see that the one thing we, the first of the Tevinter Magisters, have sought after for so long being laid onto a mere mortal, and a mortal that knows nothing of its significance either." Corypheus said, his gaze lingering upon Clarissa with a curious expression she couldn't quite decipher. Was it derision? Hatred?
Of all things, the one thing that came to mind was... reverence. Why? She mused to herself, the weight on her right shoulder forgotten as she lost herself deep in thought.
"Ah," The sudden exclamation brought Clarissa back to the present, to the Tainted mage not fifty meters away from her. "the pure, pristine magic of love." Corypheus said as Clarissa's heart skipped a beat, strengthening the walls she erected around Bethany's consciousness. "I don't know what you're talking about." She denied, feebly.
He chuckled drily. "You needn't dodge and deny, Clarissa. Not when the truth within you burns so brightly, it rivals the glory of the Golden City itself." His eyes drifted skyward, taking on a dreamy haze. "I still remember the moment we beheld it. The Maker's sanctum. The city etched in gold. The very reality of heaven itself." His gaze returned to her, this time containing a very different emotion – pity. "If only you could see beyond the finite, mortal chains that she," He gestured at Bethany's half-limp body, "has bound you in. You can have so... so much more."
Deep within her mind, Clarissa felt the connection between her and her sister stir. Flickers of thought began to echo across their intimate link. She's coming back. Clarissa thought. She only needed to hold Corypheus off for a little longer. At least, between the two of them, they would stand a better chance at defeating the abomination that stood before them.
As the bond between them flared to life, Clarissa felt old hatreds resurface. "The words you speak would mean nothing to you, Darkspawn, if you've but had a taste of what you speak of." She spat back, venom lacing her every word.
Corypheus sneered, the scars and growths on his deformed face shifting in its place. "Such petty, trivial emotions are well beneath me. I cast them aside the moment I crossed the doorstep into the Maker's hall."
Clarissa glared at him with an intensity that could melt steel. "And look where it got you." She averted her eyes in a display of disgust. "Thedas would be a better place with my blade in your gut."
Corypheus's eyes narrowed dangerously, all other emotion replaced by seething anger. "You are adamant, Hawke the elder, that much is clear. 'Tis a pity that your resolve can be crushed so easily."
Clarissa's right hand reached downward, slowly, surely, freeing her golden sword from its sheath with motion that belied both strength and grace. Her eyes never left Corypheus. "Try me." She said, the hollow ring of the tip of her sword leaving its sheath accentuating her challenge.
"All in due time, Hawke the elder. All in due time." Corypheus said. "If you'd merely see past the mundane, you would have power of likes you have never before seen. Fortunately for you, I can show you the way."
A bolt of caution lanced its way through Clarissa's mind.
"But firstly, let us remove that which distracts you from your path." He said simply.
That which distra-
No.
As fast as she was to understand the meaning of his words, she was too slow.
Quick as lightning, Bethany was taken from her by unseen claws, her body flying through the air, tethered and guided by sightless, soundless magic. A horrible chill ran down Clarissa's spine as she landed, on her knees, on the stone altar that once imprisoned her foe.
"Bethany!" She cried, charging forward, heedless of the ancient Darkspawn that was barring her way. To her surprise, Corypheus didn't move at all.
Clarissa ran headlong into an impenetrable barrier halfway to the altar, knocking her to the ground and driving the wind out of her lungs. A shimmering veil of air blocked her way, held together by powerful magic. It might as well have been a stone wall.
Her eyes widened in horror as she saw Corypheus approach her sister, her lover with all the purpose of premeditated murder.
Bethany, move!
I can't...
You have to, my love! You-
What she saw next sent fear, true, absolute fear coursing through her in an unstoppable torrent.
Corypheus held a dagger in his hands, a bent, twisted piece of metal whose tip gleamed in the moonlight. Veins of black ran along the length of the jagged metal, coating the edge of the blade with a dark, oozing substance that Clarissa could not, dared not, venture a guess at.
A drop of the liquid escaped the blade and landed on the stone floor with a hiss, bubbling, as if impatient. She had seen it before, oozing from the wounds she inflicted on Hurlock and Genlock alike.
Darkspawn blood.
With renewed urgency and desperation, she hammered against the wall of magic that separated her from Bethany. With each impact, the fire in her heart dimmed. With each passing second, her strength left her, draining from her until all that was left was... nothing. Nothing at all.
This can't be happening. Not again.
The tall, deformed creature took a step towards Bethany, all time in the world coming to a standstill as Clarissa's heart stopped. True despair hit her, like a sword thrusting into her chest, spearing her heart and making it bleed in more ways than one. She was too late.
Faintly, she saw Bethany's eyes flicker, saw her brown eyes catch the light, mired in confusion and utter fear.
Clarissa? Where are you?
I love you. I love you so much.
What's happening?
I'm sorry.
One slash was all it took.
Bethany's eyes sprang open, from pain, from surprise, from the feeling of the Tainted blade cutting into her flesh, Clarissa could not tell. Tears flooded her eyes, mirroring the hopelessness she felt coursing through her veins. The pain was almost unbearable as her heart splintered, fracturing into the fragments that echoed of that ill-fated day in Darktown.
For a few moments, Bethany was motionless. Clarissa dared not draw breath.
Then the convulsions began.
"NO!" Clarissa screamed as Bethany writhed in pain, the shock on her face rewritten into all-consuming, all-powerful agony. At that instant, Clarissa felt a foreign presence preside over the precarious bond she maintained with her sister. She dove at it with what strength she had left, trying to shelter Bethany once more. But the more she fought, the harder and deeper the shadow reached into her sister's consciousness, seeking to exert its will over her. It was thoroughly dark to Clarissa's mind, a writhing, screaming apparition of inky black that was without shape or form. She felt its screams overwhelm her mind's voice, forcing her to retreat deep within herself, where her only companion was guilt, pain and endless heartbreak. It took every ounce of her will to stop herself from plunging her sword into her own heart there and then, even though she doubted the pain of such an act could match the burning agony there.
Clarissa could not bear to watch as the Taint worked its way into the one she loved. Veins of black pulsed under the silken skin she once caressed between her fingers, turning it pale and sickly, a shade of its former lustre. Swirling, writhing darkness claimed her brown eyes, the windows to her soul caving to the unstoppable darkness that staked its claim on her, the darkness that she had a hand in allowing.
"Why?" She cried out with word and thought, bringing herself to the seat of the Maker with power of will alone. She hammered on stone, on marble, on the Golden City's very gates, screaming her agony, her heartbreak to the one god that was lord over them all. She screamed and screamed until no breath escaped her, until the mailed gauntlets on her hand cut into her flesh, until her eyes wept nothing but blood. She cried for help, for solace, for a relief from her pain, but most of all for an answer.
"Why?"
There was no answer.
There was nothing, but darkness, the same darkness that took all that she loved from her.
She had already lost her once. And now, time and again, they have been torn apart.
She resigned, feeling her mind go painfully blank and allowing the blackness to consume her. For a moment that seemed like eternity, she was sure that it has claimed her.
And then, there was light. A light so faint, it almost went unnoticed.
She felt herself tugged away, felt the gates open, felt her body, her soul being enveloped in a soothing warmth that tried to comfort her, to will her to live, to endure, to stand up again and fight.
She tried to push it away, to let herself sink under the grief, be buried under her guilt. To no one, she said, There's no living without her.
I know.
Then why? Why did you just stand by and watch and let him take Bethany away?
Because it's not too late.
It is. The curse you have afflicted us with for our pride has taken her. And you did nothing.
Believe me, Clarissa, as I believed in you.
I can't. Could she? Could she dare to? The pain is too great.
Yes, it is. Because it comes from you. Don't let you blind yourself. I entrusted her to you, and you loved her, perhaps even more than I did.
And yet I still failed. Time and again.
Don't let your heart hold you back. All is not lost. Don't let love blind you from the world around you.
The warmth that suffused her mind led her, unwillingly, to the truth. It called to her, beckoned for her to return, promising her a way out. Somehow, its influence rang in her memories, like the tolling of a bell, echoing into the deep recesses of her thoughts over five years ago. The words sounded... familiar. The voice was familiar. For a moment, she recalled a field of glowing, golden stalks, swaying with the wind in the most gentle of movements. For a moment, she thought she felt a person, standing beside her, keeping the darkness at bay.
Father?
The chilling winds of the Vimmarks bit into her once again, pulling her back into reality stinging her when it grazed the line of moisture streaming down her cheeks. Her sword lay beside her, its golden sheen forcing her to blink away the veil of blurry tears that clouded her eyes.
Warily, she retrieved the golden blade from the cold stone. Her breathing hitched when her eyes beheld the sight of a limp body lying motionless on a marble pedestal, a tall, sinister shadow cast over it. She felt the chill, the pain and the feeling of her heart rent into a thousand pieces surface once more, but she couldn't look away.
Bethany twitched.
Clarissa's eyes widened. She's alive!
The most miniscule of movements restored Clarissa's hopes, if only by a small amount. Impatience bubbled up inside her as her hearing returned to her, revealing to her the laboured gasps that emanated from her sister as she thrashed about on the stone floor, battling an unseen enemy.
Hold on, Bethany! She cried out with her thoughts when the bond between them flagged and waned. I love you, and I won't let go. She vowed.
Her grip on her sword tightened as she met the ice-cold eyes of the lone abomination standing in her way.
"I was beginning to wonder if you'd given up, young one." Corypheus said, the indifference in his tone making Clarissa's knuckles go white with fury. He, be he man or Darkspawn, would pay for what he has done.
"Do not play coy with me, you heartless bastard," Clarissa spat, "get out of my way before I remove you from it." Fury shrouded her every thought, and she felt the muscles in her arms come to life. She let the tip of her sword draw a line in the stone, punctuating her words.
The screech of metal against rock never seemed so menacing.
"Do not think you to be my equal, young one," Corypheus intoned dangerously, sheathing his talon-like hands in a nimbus of writhing green fire, "I am the chosen of the Firstborn of the Old Gods, the servant of Lord Dumat himself!"
Clarissa felt the heat of the flames lick at her, even from such a distance. "I have braved the gates of the Golden City. I have aspired to the throne of heaven. With my master at my side, I am invincible! None can match me!"
"Perhaps you are, Corypheus." Clarissa's voice took on a low tone, the fire in her eyes transcending the ethereal and burning away every last trace of doubt and fear. She let her eyes drop, dismissing the expression of apparent shock on her foe's twisted face, disregarding all else as they found the metallic cast on her left arm. She allowed herself a small smile as the intricate lines of eagle and hawk shone with unparalleled brilliance, the emblazoned seal filling her with profound serenity.
She looked upon Bethany once more, and she thought she saw brown eyes meeting her gaze, adamant even in the face of death.
"But I'm still coming for you." Clarissa said simply, to the both of them.
Corypheus, for his part, snarled and let loose with his magical assault, a billowing torrent of glowing green fire lancing towards her, threatening to consume her in its depths.
Clarissa let the pent-up energy, the power of a thousand suns, run into her left palm as she raised her left arm. The seal on her bracer flared as a power akin to, perhaps even more powerful than, Mana rushed through it, bent to the warrior woman's will.
Like a blade running its course through canvas, the horizontal pillar of flame split apart mere inches before Clarissa's outstretched hand. The tip of her blade delved into the dissecting flames, the otherworldly metal weathering the magical fire with ease.
And through all that, Clarissa's eyes were focused on Corypheus, violet-blue alight with heavenly white piercing the void black of the Tevinter mage. She saw him blanch, a momentary fear escaping his facade.
She took a step forward, then another. The green tidal wave parted as she moved slowly, but surely, forward. She saw his face contort as he funneled yet more of his unnatural strength into his spell, throwing everything he had at her.
She sneered, because she was able to, because his efforts made no difference.
She took a step forward, then another. The distance between them closed, stride after stride. Faintly, she was aware of Varric, dragging the mortally injured Isabela off to the side. The redirected fire licked at their retreating silhouette and Clarissa, with a half-hearted flick of her thoughts, shielded them from harm. It was well within her power, and she felt unaccustomed to the ease of it all. It almost... strange.
The torrent of flames stopped as she closed the remaining distance between her and Corypheus, the latter forgoing the magic assault in favour of a sudden, desperate lunge with his dagger, hoping to catch Clarissa off guard.
Clarissa sidestepped the bloodied edge with all the agility of a hawk on the hunt, dancing away from the arcing strokes while she harried her prey, glaring pointedly into Corypheus's eyes. Pressing the attack, Corypheus feinted to her right, then brought the dagger round the other side, intending to carve a deep gouge across her chest. His eyes glinted with the light of savage victory as he saw her sword make no move to block the attack.
His surprise was profound when he felt his attack come to an abrupt halt, the black steel clashing against metal.
He had forgotten about Clarissa's bracer and, during his all-out attack, had left his defense wide open. He grunted in pain as Clarissa's sword, alight with translucent flames, came to rest against his neck.
"So," Corypheus said, his leaning away from the burning edge giving his voice a strangled air. "it's true. It really is true. You truly are sent by the Maker himself." His eyes gleamed with an unnatural light.
"You have said more than enough, Darkspawn. You are nothing but a beast, a caged animal to be put down." Clarissa snapped, voice confident and mighty, as if borne upon the wind itself. As the words rang out, she felt a different sense of power come over her. Unlike the seething, uncontrollable rage and fury that fueled her determination, the sensation that enveloped her this time was one of judgment, a sense of righteousness that calmed her mind, smoothing the ragged edges of her hatred. She wasn't only doing this for the revenge that boiled in her veins, or for the bloodlust that guided her blade and unlocked the dormant magic within her. It wasn't even for Bethany. Not entirely, at least. "The world is well rid of you." She said, the words resonating with her being with startling magnitude.
But... A part of her called out to her. A primal sect of her thoughts, burning with the desire for revenge.
Corypheus snorted, eyes ever indignant. "I am at your whim, or so it seems," He pressed his neck into the blade without as much as a grimace, daring her to shift in the slightest of directions, to bring the honed edge clean through his throat in one, fell stroke. "Go on."
Clarissa grinned and backed away.
"That would be a mere slap on your hands, for what you have done."
She withdrew from the frowning Darkspawn until a blade's length separated them.
Then, she allowed the screaming, seething part of her mind, sick with vengeance and parched with a thirst only unending fire could quench, freedom.
Her gaze never wavered as the six-foot-tall Darkspawn, the twisted, Tainted Tevinter mage called Corypheus, burst into spontaneous flame.
Her gaze never wavered as a pained grunt escaped Corypheus's throat. He was resilient; she gave him, it, that much.
Her eyes were impartial, utterly without emotion as his eyes locked onto hers, pain, hate and perhaps a tad of fear awash with reflected light.
The smile never left her lips, even as Corypheus fell onto his knees, landing on all fours in an effort to remain upright. What meager flesh that was on him now served to feed the flickering, blue halo around him, eating through the Taint that permeated the very fiber of his being.
She watched. She smiled. She stood there, a living statuette, blade in her right hand, flames coiling and uncoiling, running serpentine trails upon the golden metal;
She inhaled. She exhaled. She stood there, utterly emotionless, bracer on her left arm, the seal upon it flaring with pristine brilliance borne of a light from the heavens themselves.
Join me, as I cleanse this wretched soul of the curse it has borne since the beginning of time.
With movements that bespoke a hidden desperation, Corypheus lifted his head. His ice-cold gaze, wreathed in writhing flames that drained the life from him, passed from Clarissa to something behind her, something level to the ground.
Bethany.
She thought she saw a flicker of malice in his eyes, a fleeting moment of mysterious pride, before the fire consumed him and he fell to the cold, unyielding stone floor, the crackling of the flames dying out as he exhaled his final breath.
Clarissa thought she felt a sliver of magic pass her by.
She whirled round.
Just in time to see Bethany writhe once, and scream.
/I know, I know it's the climax and all that jazz. I'm sorry it took me so long.
Varric: Ain't that the goddamn truth.
Moi: Shaddap.
Varric: Saw you frolicking around with a certain huntress called Aela a few days ago...
Clarissa + Bethany: WHAT
Moi: ...
There, I confess. But I swear to the Eight Div-... oh wait, God (Right, that's the one), I swear to God school had some part to do with it. They have it in for me, I'm tellin' ya.
Hotcutii: Easy mode FTW. *Looks at typed sentence* Great, now I sound like a total n00b.
Spike: More moments to come!
Koona: I hope I've lived up to "epic fight scenes". *Twitches in place nervously* In any case, I think these kinda poetic descriptions are what set me apart from the others in my EXTREMELY specific category. Needless to say, there are heaps of people out there who are better at writing than me. *Goes away to console wounded pride*
to the others out there: May the shadows keep you. (See what I did there, Skyrim-ites...?...? Eh -.-) If you liked it, pleasex10 come forth and review! I don't bite! Usually.../