A/N: Here it is, ch. 10!

I feel compelled to warn you there is some blood, but it's not overly graphic or full of gore.

CHAPTER TEN- BATTLE

Screams.

Shouts.

Wails.

Booms of cannons that faded as powder was burned away.

Clashes of metal, screeching of steel.

Arthur lost awareness, letting his body move of its own accord. He was operating solely on instincts as wave after wave of Nithlings crawled, lumbered, and ran at him. He didn't pause to think about the stiffness in his muscles, the aches that were beginning to form. He didn't contemplate how many were left to kill, how many were killed already. All he did was move.

His arm snapped up to block attacks as if it was second nature. His sword found its mark time and time again. His feet moved to dodge thrusts that should've impaled him in a strange dance that he would've found strangely ironic if he had thought about it.

Now was not the time for thinking. Now was the time for action.

He was like a robot, letting his instincts do all the work, activating the memories stored in his muscles that Corporal Gunsworth had drilled into him, but even they were not infallible. Against a Nithling with a particularly large and nasty-looking lance, Arthur raised his buckler a moment too late, the spear's point digging into his shoulder savagely.

Arthur let out a scream, his vision swimming for a moment at the intense, white-hot pain. Blood trickled down his arm, and the Nithling grunted in confusion as he saw the dark, sanguine red instead of the bluish-red hybrid he'd been expecting. Arthur took advantage of this momentary lapse and swung his sword with all his might, decapitating the Nithling with one stroke, feeling brutal satisfaction as the body crumpled and he yanked the lance out of his shoulder, pressing his fingers against the warm wound to staunch the bleeding.

Then his awareness came back, and he realized exactly what he'd done. Not only that Nithling, but dozens. He was a killer.

But so are they. This is was war is, Arthur. Killers fighting killers, Arthur realized, and slumped against a pillar wearily. He knew he should probably head to the infirmary or try bandaging his wound at the very least, but the buckler suddenly felt very, very heavy, and the sword too wickedly burdensome. Had it been only that afternoon he'd been with Darre, Perseus, and the others on the bastion, when fighting had seemed so distant?

"I'm wounded!" shouted Arthur.

The soldier several yards away stabbed a Nithling in the heart. The creature twisted and then fell still, limp. The soldier drew his sword out of the thing's chest and spared only a glance at Arthur. The soldier himself had blue trickling down his face and half his torso, but he was a Denizen, and he knew Arthur was a mortal- and a child, at that. "I'll hold them!" he called back.

The moon was in its climax position now, with no cloud at all in the ceilinged sky, so both the Denizens and the Nithlings could see quite well. Arthur, on the other hand, didn't have the best night-vision, and he was very glad for the lights hung in intervals as he hobbled along, wincing as every step sent pangs to his shoulder. His face was hurting again, raw from his wounds at the Spike's destruction, and the bitter wind blowing was not helping. All it did was irritate him and contort the lantern and torches' flames, disfiguring the leaping shadows that lunged at him as he walked past.

It didn't take long to realize he was hopelessly lost. He was used to the Citadel, but not in the dark, and not when there was a chance an enemy could attack at any moment. Breathing heavily, Arthur stopped and leaned against yet another pillar. Taking a deep breath, he ripped the sleeve of his wounded arm, then used his teeth to help him bandage the wound, tying the knot just as he heard a large explosion sound in the distance.

I hope that was our cannons, and someone found some spare Nothing-powder, Arthur thought wearily. He checked his bandage over, a primitive binding that he knew he'd have to get properly fixed later if he wanted his arm to heal properly.

Now I have to go back… he told himself. I have to go back. Back into the fighting, back in… and I volunteered to be here… For the second time that day, he choked back a sob. No, be strong, Arthur. You can do this. I can do this!

No, I can't! said the far more sensible part of his mind, but Arthur pushed it out. In war, being sensible was not always wanted.

He jumped as something touched his back, and he whipped around, throwing his sword in a wild gesture that left him wide open, but he didn't care.

"Whoa, Arthur!" said a familiar voice, and caught his wrist. "It's just me, mate."

Arthur relaxed. Sunscorch, now known as Wednesday's Noon.

Help.

"So that was our cannons," Arthur mused. Dame Primus must've brought Nothing powder.

"Yup," Sunscorch agreed heartily. "You look like you've been in the- oh, right. Well, no worries. Dame Primus is here with several thousand volunteers- pretty much everyone who's ever fought a Nithling, and a couple who haven't but say they have. Who's complaining, though? Seems you need whatever you'll get."

Arthur nodded. "Dame Primus is here?"

"With all three Keys," Sunscorch replied, leading Arthur to the railing so he could see. Sure enough, there was the giant, seven-foot-tall, imposing, scary woman he didn't know well enough at all.

She was frightening. With one motion, she wiped out the front rank of the advancing Nithlings, the first Key glistening in the pallid moonlight. Then she clapped her hands together, a wave of sound and air striking the next row of enemies. Almost carelessly, she raised the trident of the Third Key, and all the fluid left the Nithling's bodies. The Key glowed brightly for a moment, and the fluid hardened into glistening spears of ice that hurtled and attacked even more.

It occurred to Arthur that this was what using the Keys truly meant. That one day, once he grew up and came of age, he would have such power in his hands, would be able to kill hundreds as easily as knocking over rows of dominoes.

Another figure drew up to Dame Primus. She stopped for a moment, exchanging some sort of conversation with him. Then they both nodded and took up their weapons. Arthur's eyes widened as he realized it was Sir Thursday. One swipe of the Fourth Key and even more of the enemy soldiers fell, the one motion multiplied a thousand times over. It was as if a giant had taken a large blade and swept it across the field in a fit of wrath. It was the first time Arthur had seen the Fourth Key used beyond healing, and he immediately realized that it was far more suited to combat than the others.

Thursday smashed the Key into the ground, and the earth rippled as if it was a pond someone had tossed a pebble into. Nithlings lost their balance and fell over, and then were swallowed by the ground's hungry maw, opening to devour them.

A Nithling crept up behind him and would have planted a power spear into Thursday's back, but Dame Primus leapt over and skewered the soldier upon the Third Key's three prongs or tines or whatever. Arthur didn't care what they were called.

His mouth dropped. He was horrified. Dame Primus and Sir Thursday working together was a good thing, even if it was only temporary, as it was bound to be. What appalled him was the death, and that more enemies kept coming. Why would they keep coming? Why didn't they run? Did they want to die?

Ghostly music wafted up, and Arthur saw Dame Primus and the Nithlings freeze, the former out of surprise and the latter to await commands. Arthur couldn't see well enough to read her expression, but he had no doubt it was surprised.

A large orb of Nothing appeared in the sky, and the Piper strode forward, gently stepping off the Stair. He played a long, flamboyant trill as the Nothing writhed and twisted, forming into another large, long, and deadly spike.

What would he want with that? Arthur wondered. He repeated the question out loud.

Sunscorch shrugged. "I don't know."

Then, the Piper's notes climbed higher and higher on the musical scale before dropping down to deep bass, and the Nothing spike curdled, finally plummeting straight at Dame Primus and Sir Thursday. They both raised their Keys above them, shouting words that Arthur couldn't hear from the distance but still sent shivers through him.

It sounded as if all of time and space had broken apart.

"What happened?" Arthur cried. "What happened?" He felt dizzy, and bile rose in his throat. There was no way they could be dead. Surely not. Dame Primus was far too powerful, Thursday too strong. They had to be fine.

But Thursday had said that Nothing was touchy…

"I need to get down there!" Arthur shouted, but his vision was swimming.

Sunscorch gave him a look of concern. "What you need is someone to take a look at that wound on your shoulder."

"Dame Primus- Thursday- I have to-" Arthur didn't finish, lapsing into silence as his knees gave out underneath him. He lay there for a second before trying to get up, but couldn't manage it. "Help," he croaked.

Sunscorch helped him stand. "Arthur, you can't do this."

"But-"

"No 'but's," Sunscorch interrupted. "Let's find the doc. He could fix you up."

"Doctor Scamandros is here?" Arthur asked weakly as Sunscorch helped him walk along.

"Yes," he answered. "The doc has some knowledge that may prove useful. He's the only sorcerer not working for Saturday, at any rate. Though Saturday herself should consider helping if she doesn't want the Great Maze to fall."

Arthur thought back to his conversation with Sir Thursday. "It was Saturday who ordered the campaign change, though," Arthur said.

"Stupid. Even if she didn't know about the Piper, this many Nithlings…"

"Maybe she does want the Great Maze to fall," Arthur mused.

"Ah, politics!" Sunscorch scowled.

"Does no Denizen like politics?" Arthur asked. That was the impression he was getting.

"No, but all the ones who do are in the Upper House," Sunscorch said. "That's beside the point. Let's worry about this battle and not the later ones, eh?"

"Sure," Arthur said. "Let's find the doc as soon as possible. I have to find out what happened."

The Piper would have smiled, but no one would have seen it from behind his mask anyway.

There was no sign of old Primus and Sir Soldier. Good. With them around, his army might've lost. There wasn't much the Piper could do against four Keys, even with his Pipe.

Watching the scene of desolation, he would've scowled as Primus stirred. Drat. She was the bigger problem- she had more Keys. But at least Thursday was still lifeless. He must've tried to shield her, which made absolutely no sense. Why in the House would a Trustee try to save the Will?

Probably because he realized the Will was what was keeping his soldiers alive.

Primus took one look at her fallen companion, gave him up for lost, and immediately began confronting the New Niths again. Her attacks weren't weaker than before either- if anything, they had a newer ferocity, as if she had just realized what a predicament she was in.

"You are so much like Mother," the Piper hissed, stepping close enough for her to hear him. "You look just like her. You even have that same look of indifference. How can you keep it on your face when you murder hundreds?"

Primus stopped and whirled the Trident around her head, clearing a thirty-yard radius of soldiers around her. "I am Her Will, boy," she said. "I am the Will. I don't harbor pity for those who get in the way of my fulfillment. You included, Little Musician."

That was what Mother called him.

"So I suppose you know who I am. Do you have Her memories?"

"Some. I suppose the rest are in the other parts of myself. Piper, dear," she said mockingly. "My, how big you've grown. Whatever happened to your face?"

Someone pushed him into Nothing, remember? A snake slithered away from Thursday's body and crawled up, finally coiling itself around Primus's arm.

"Oh, hello, Four," she said, not taking her eyes off the Piper.

"It's true," the Piper sighed. "Lord Sunday pushed me into Nothing."

"Whatever for?" Primus asked, idly stabbing a New Nith who'd gotten too close with the First Key.

He and the eldest were arguing over whether or not he should free the Old One, Four said smugly.

"Oh, I do hate it when siblings quarrel," Primus sighed, "especially over something so pointless. You couldn't have freed him anyway." There was no need to add that she existed solely for that reason- the Piper knew it.

"Well, we did argue, and he cast me into the Void!" the Piper snapped.

"That doesn't sound like him," Primus said. "He feels like he's too good for murder. If he was behind it at all, he got someone else to do it for him."

"Are you suggesting it was someone else?" the Piper snarled.

"As far as I know, you didn't get along with any of the Trustees. Monday found you insufferable, Tuesday thought you far too immature, Wednesday hated your Rats-"

The Piper made a snorting sound. He was aware that Duchess Wednesday had taken great lengths to try and keep the Rats out of her demesne, even drowning some herself. A terrible fate in the House, drowning. It kept one alive the longest, while in the worst agony. Luckily for his Rats, and unfortunately for her, they soon obtained a permit from the Architect herself to go wherever they wished, so she eventually had to let them go.

Though they did have a fairly large amount of "accidents" in the Border Sea…

And Thursday thinks you far too callous with life, Four finished the list. Of course, we don't quite know about the others too much, the other parts of us being locked up, but we seem to recall Saturday was particularly-

"It was not Saturday!" he shouted with a ferocity that startled both Four and Primus.

Then Primus nodded. "If you are certain. I will take your word for it. Not that matters who tried to kill you all those years ago and failed miserably- now I shall end your pitiful existence myself and return you to the Void, where you are clearly meant to be."

"How can you say that about the son of your Author?" the Piper asked mockingly.

"I am not the Architect," Primus said, raising the Trident so that the base of the prongs was level with her chin. "Not only that, part of me is still locked away. It seems the part that knew love and remorse so well, Five, is still in Friday's possession. And Six, my empathy, is locked away."

"So you will feel no guilt for what you are doing?"

Primus lifted her chin haughtily. "I need not feel guilt for righteous action. Even Five and Six would agree."

"You will feel nothing, not one pang, if you kill me?"

"When," she corrected. "When, not if I kill you. You are right. Not one pang. Are you ready?"

"Are you?"

"Yes, I am." She smiled, an icy gleam in her beautiful, dark eyes. "I always am."

"Then Mother created a monster," he said, not unsheathing his rapier but preparing to bring his Pipe to his lips. By now, his soldiers had realized they didn't want to get involved in such a clash of titans, and they were back to trying to take the Citadel while the House's Denizens prayed that Primus would hurry up, get rid of him, and enter their battle again.

"Yes, She did," Primus agreed, "but it's not me. Only a beast hides his true face. Don't worry, Little Musician. You're not the only monster She's brought about. This entire House is full of filth."

"How ironic you claim your loyalty belongs to it," the Piper retorted.

"Perhaps. It is not your place to decide. Come." She beckoned with a wave of her hand.

"I'd rather you start," he said, and played one pure note.

Dame Primus knew his sorcery well. It was similar to the kind the Architect used, the kind she herself was once able to, but now Six was somewhere in the Upper House, and most of that exact knowledge of commanding the elements around her was locked up with it. But she did recognize what he would do, and she was able to react faster than anticipated because of it.

She just managed to escape the wide chasm that marred the earth where she had stood seconds ago. "A breach into the Void? Close that up, fool! Someone could get hurt."

The Piper scowled, but the chasm slammed shut with a ginormous, reverberating sound of thunder. A breach, if it got out of control, was just as much a threat to him as to her.

Primus licked her lips and dashed at the Piper, the Third Key poised to pierce his heart. Just as she knew he would, he dashed to the left.

Ever so predictable.

With her other hand, she curled her fingers into a fist and gave him an uppercut that sent him flying back several feet and nearly knocked that stupid mask off his face. He stopped to rearrange it before trying to play again, his fingers quickly dancing over the holes in a well-practiced execution of a lethal mordent.

Primus winced. "Dirty," she hissed along with Four, the newly-freed addition to herself still not yet assimilated. How could she assimilate herself when she was in the middle of a brawl? Four's skin felt hot on her own, uncomfortably so, but it paled in comparison to what felt like daggers plunging into her heart.

Of course, there weren't actually plunging daggers. The Piper was merely tricking her mind into feeling pain as if there was.

This will be a game of wits, then, I see, Dame Primus thought to herself. Four made a motion that resembled nodding. I shall have to be in control of my mind, then. I must have a strong will. Ha. Strong Will? He picked the wrong opponent.

It took her a moment, but she was able to force herself to ignore the pain that was making each intake of air hurt. Eventually, her breathing eased up as she got past the mental challenge he'd put there. "Is that all you've got?" she asked. "Child's play."

He played a line of melody, quickly and efficiently.

She doubled over and gasped, spitting up golden blood that glistened with swirling type as the next attack was physical. She straightened with a feral look in her wild eyes, a scowl on her beautiful features. She was done beating around the bush.

With a ferocious cry that rent the air, she plunged the Trident towards him while, in her other hand, she hacked at him with the First Key, the Sword going towards the one thing that was keeping them at stalemate.

His Pipe.

The Piper drew his arm back to protect his precious instrument, and doing so allowed the Trident to puncture his chest and stomach. He nearly dropped to one knee but forced himself to stand, trying to bring the Pipe up to his mouth again. He was too slow, the pain of the Key's damage dulling his motions.

Primus easily plucked the Pipe from his hands and tugged the Trident out of him. He fell onto the ground, gasping, as she raised the Pipe to the sky and looked at the moonlight filtering through it. It was a beautiful instrument, made of gold and green Immaterial glass, a little Nothing fixated and contained throughout it. It had been a birthday gift from the Architect to her youngest, as the Harpoon had been to the Mariner. There was something off about it, its weight strangely light, its countenance oddly reminding her of something that she couldn't place, but she dismissed it. Even with that, the Pipe was a thing of majesty.

It was a shame it had to be destroyed. It was one of her Maker's masterpieces.

The Piper reached for it futilely as Primus brought the Third Key crashing down on it. The Pipe was too strong for the Key to completely break it, but that was not her intention. It was strong enough to crack it, and that's all she wanted.

The crack quickly grew as Nothing ate away, freed from its captivity, and soon the entire thing was no more.

"Return to the Void," Primus ordered the remaining gobbet, and it was forced to obey as a flash of the Keys sent it to its final destination.

"It's over, Piper," she said, turning to the man lying prostrate, nearly dead. "That was far too easy."

"I will… live," he breathed. "I can… heal…"

"You think I will give you the chance?" she asked.

"I'm not… finished… yet," he said, and reaching into his pocket, produced another Pipe. He grinned. "I… switched… at the last… moment. I am quite good at…. sleight of hand, you know."

Primus scowled. How had she not noticed it was a fake?

The Piper sang through his Pipe, a tune of melancholy and pain, but as he played, his golden blood stopped flowing, the wound closing itself and healing over. He stood and wiped his mouth.

"Ready for round two?"

A/N: When writing this chapter, I reached a predicament: Dame Primus's blood. I didn't recall a single chapter where the Will's blood color was revealed, so I reverted to the signs of divinity: the Architect and her sons' golden blood, since she IS the Will, after all. As for the type... well, there's type everywhere on her, so I think her blood would have some too.