Thank you to ShadowValkyrie for the beta, and Greenedera for their reviews! You keep this fic going!

Curst

No light, no light in your bright blue eyes
I never knew daylight could be so violent
A revelation in the light of day
You can choose what stays and what fades away

No Light No Light, Florence + the Machine

Raistlin stood up slowly, then doubled over. He coughed, heavy and hacking and yes, that was blood on the dull, scab-dark ground. He looked at his hands, and half smiled. His skin was gold. After his sojourn to the past, it was almost a relief to be himself again. He had not missed the cough, but at least Par-Salian had done him one good turn.

Crysania was rotting before his eyes. Skin withering and sliding off her face as it had Fistandantilus'. Her eyes shrivelled in their sockets, turned blindly to him. Her fleshless jaw moved. "Where are we?"

"Where you wanted so desperately for us to be." His voice came out a breathless hiss, but it seemed loud in this airless place. "We are in the Abyss, the realm of the Dark Queen, and she awaits us."

"You look as-" She paused. "As you were when I first met you in the Great Library." She wavered, hesitating. There was no place for lies here, she could see the truth. But then, she had seen the truth for months, and when had that made any difference?

Raistlin closed his eyes, reached inside himself again – and again found nothing. No magic. He felt empty and hollowed out, as though the Dark Queen had reached in and stolen everything he was, leaving him as fragile and empty as an eggshell.

But not helpless, no, not yet. Weak as he was, frail as he was, he was alive, he could move. They had to find the Portal. Find their way back to the world, and the magic that waited for him there. The Queen would follow, and-

Raistlin smiled, he felt his lips curl back over his teeth like the jaws of an animal. Yes, yes yes. Then he would show them. He would teach them the consequence of one meddle too many, one too many lives wrecked in their schemes. The fire filled him, rearing up in the empty space of his magic, cracking his bones in rage and making his mouth water, steam. Black, burning magic, the fire of his blazing soul. Kill them, kill them all.

Dalamar tried the spell. He had found it in a crumbling scroll years ago, and had not dared to use it before now. For his plan to work, he could not allow Fistandantilus to be aware he knew the spell – or even of its existence at all.

It had been created by some panicked mage, from the time of the Kingpriest. A spell to cloak one from all enchanted sight, from the eyes of the very gods themselves. Not invisibility, he could still be seen, but no magic, no power but the living eye could pick him out.

The spell spiralled between his fingers, spun silver and shadow, and sank into his hands. The magic hit him like a punch to the stomach, a deep, dragging drain on his body. His chest flared with pain and he stumbled, bracing himself against the wall until his head stopped spinning and the spell left him weak and wavering, but standing.

He stood and walked out of the Tower for the first time since he had come, two years ago. The eyes of the undead washed over him, their hands spasmed around his feet, but were unable to grasp him. He was there and not-there. A ghost to the undead. Dalamar smiled. He drew his hood over his head, made sure his hair was pulled back. One stray hair falling to the ground could break the spell, one drop of blood.

The walk to the Temple of Palanthas was exhausting, and he had to pause a moment at the boundaries to catch his breath. He looked up at the building, gleaming white and cold. He had seen temples like this in Silvanesti; they had even planted aspens around this one, to evoke elven lands. Dalamar's stomach clenched, and if there was nostalgia in there, it was crushed down under the sheer revulsion and alienation.

He took a deep breath, and stepped in. Nothing happened. Dalamar looked up again, at the white star of the sun as it passed over the unseen constellation of the Valiant Warrior. He stood there, highlighted in the morning glare, and the eye of the God passed over him. He could feel the burning of His gaze, hot as fire and cold as frostbite, but it shimmered around him, never quite reaching his skin.

Dalamar stepped inside the shadow of the Temple, cooler and yet the blaze of the God was all the brighter. Dalamar rubbed the bridge of his nose. Even through the spell, he was starting to get a headache.

It peaked when he pushed open the door to Elistan's sick-room, and saw who had already arrived. He drew his lips back from his teeth in disgust. To think he had to rely on this.

Half-Elven saw, him and sprang to his feet. "You!" He grabbed for his sword. Astinus, sitting beside Elistan's bed, started. Dalamar thought he saw his eyes widen for a moment, in surprise, but then his face turned impassive again, and he bent over his book.

Dalamar felt the magic prickle up the backs of his arms, the hairs standing up in anticipation of casting. His own magic was weakened from the spell, but if he needed to-

"Peace, Tanis," Elistan croaked. "It is Dalamar who called us here."

"What?" Half-Elven stared at the dying man, "He- you said Raistlin was trying to-"

"Not trying," Dalamar snapped, bypassing pleasantries. "Succeeded." And Nuitari strike him down for dragging Raistlin's name into this. "He had entered the Portal."

Elistan closed his eyes, fell back on his pillow. "May Paladine have mercy," he murmured. "Is she with him?"

"Unless you can pick clerics up at the butcher's store, I would say so." Dalamar sat down on the spare chair, glad to rest. The spell was draining him more than he'd hoped. "How else do you think he succeeded? However the Shalafi convinced her-" And he knew, of course. Fistandantilus did not care, and had no feeling for the body it was using. Dear Nuitari, why hadn't he killed that cleric when he had the chance and spared Raistlin's memory that violation?

"Wait-" Tanis looked between them, then his gaze locked on Dalamar. "You are saying he is trying to get into the Abyss? Elistan was saying-"

"He is in the Abyss," Dalamar growled. "He will be fighting through the forces of the Dark Queen – Her clerics, warriors, black robes – before reaching the Portal and coming through, the Goddess on his heels."

"Gods." Half-Elven's jaw dropped. "Raistlin – he's gone that mad? He's going to bring Her back?"

"He will. And then he will destroy Her."

Tanis stared, blankly. Then laughed – a weak, trembling sound. "Well, it seems I have little to worry about. The mage has sealed his own doom."

Dalamar snorted.

"You can't consider this a serious threat! By the Gods, I have stood before the Queen of Darkness! I have felt Her power and Her majesty—and that was when She was only partially in this plane of existence. I can't imagine what it would be like to meet Her on Her ground– how can Raistlin believe he can succeed?"

"He does and he is correct." Dalamar closed his eyes for a moment, gathering his thoughts. "I have seen what he can do, Half-Elven. Do not fear, the Shalafi will scatter Her forces to the winds, and he will destroy Her when She is weakened and vulnerable on this plane. It is only a matter of time now."

Half-Elven was silent, and when Dalamar opened his eyes, he was still gaping. "What about Caramon, and Tasslehoff – they went after him-"

"Dead, I don't doubt." Dalamar sighed; he would need to sleep before casting anything again. More time to waste, and Half-Elven was determined to play the fool.

"By the Gods!" His jaw clenched under the beard. "If it's the last thing I do, I'll seek out Raistlin and I'll-"

"Yes, yes, yes." Dalamar waved the words away. "Please, dive headfirst into the Portal to stop him. Do warn us, so we can watch."

Tanis stopped, stared at him. "What are you doing here?" And oh, finally, he was thinking. "Are you helping him? Why are you telling us this?"

"Because he must be stopped." Dalamar looked at him. "Because someone must await him at the Portal, and prevent him from crossing back through. And that is my work."

Half-Elven snorted. "Do you really expect me to believe that? You've skulked together long enough. Are you actually trying to convince me you would turn on him? Your own dear lover?"

"I have no intention, and no time, to convince you of anything," Dalamar snapped. "And it is of your lover, Half-Elven, that we must speak." He looked at Elistan. "She is coming. She will attack Palanthas."

He could see the bewilderment in Half-Elven's face as he tried to decide which of his lovers Dalamar was talking about. Dalamar rubbed his face. Gods. He really had to work with this idiot. Nuitari help them all. "Kitiara is planning a full-scale assault on Palanthas."

"What?" Tanis blinked – was he really expecting him to say it was Laurana? "But – why? Is she working with Raistlin-"

"Kitiara is, as always, working for Kitiara. The Shalafi attempted to draw her into his plans, but she was alarmed and began to work against him. Now, he is succeeding, and she wishes to be ready in case he wins. If he dies, she will have the city and set herself as Palanthas' saviour from the Shalafi's madness. If he wins, she will hand the city over to him, in the hope of standing by his side." Dalamar's lip curled. Let Kitiara find out how worthless that was.

Half-Elven was looking at him strangely. "Kit-"

"She failed to kill the cleric, and has seen her bro-" He couldn't do it. Not even as a lie. "The Shalafi succeed where all others have failed. Do you really believe she would not turn on me, on you, on the whole world, if she believed it would benefit her?"

"You saw her." It was a statement.

Dalamar inclined his head. "And had her treachery revealed to me by Lord Soth."

Tanis blinked. Dalamar rolled his eyes. "He might be lying; I have no idea. It sounds like something she would consider. Either way, this is no doubt some scheme for Soth to-" The words died in his throat. To kill her, of course, and add her to his harem. The words were there, but Dalamar's soul shied from them. Kitiara was nothing to him, less than nothing, but dear Nuitari, that-

First Raistlin, now Kitiara. He wondered what it was about that brilliant, impossible family that drew undead like moths. Eager and hungry to devour and spit out dead puppet bodies – the world rocked on its axis, Dalamar's head span and for a moment, he thought he might be sick.

"To what?" Tanis said, frowning.

"It hardly matters." Dalamar gripped the arms of his chair until the world steadied. He got up. "I have told you what you need to know. I must return to the Tower. The Portal is activating and the Shalafi will come through sooner rather than later." He glanced at Astinus; it was His Sister's life in danger, any help or warning-

But the Aesthete did nothing, only continued to write. Of course, let the world burn down at the hands of a mad lich, what did Gilean care? Dalamar turned away in disgust.

Dalamar crossed over the boundary of the Temple and dropped the spell. He leant on an overturned barrel until the world steadied around him. At least he knew it worked.

"Shalafi," Tanis said suddenly, making him jump. The Half-elf must have followed him. "It took me a minute to work that out. It means Master, doesn't it?"

Dalamar turned away. "Whatever you tell yourself."

Tanis grabbed his shoulder. Dalamar spun around, weariness forgotten, lightning arced between his fingers. "I thought," Tanis said steadily, although his fingers tightened on his sword, "that is a strange name, I didn't think anything of it at first – you can play whatever love-game you want-"

Dalamar gritted his teeth. Gods, to blast this fool from the face of Krynn-

"But then I noticed – that was all you called him." Tanis' eyes were narrowed. "You never called him Raistlin."

Something cold, heavy – and still so utterly empty – clenched in his stomach. A hollow drain that sucked him dry of everything left. Dalamar lowered his hands. "Go away."

"What is going on here?" Half-Elven stepped closer. "Who is in that Portal? I saw Raistlin in Neraka-"

"No, you did not! You did not see Raistlin because Raistlin is dead." The words ripped free. Dalamar blinked, half expecting to see his own heart and entrails on the floor. The words had been locked inside him, so deep, for so long.

Half-Elven stopped dead. Staring. His mouth moved- what-

"By all the Gods!" He couldn't keep it in any longer. "Am I the only one with eyes? You saw him in Neraka, you blasted fool, did that look like him? You knew Raistlin longer than I did – did that look anything like him?"

"I- " Tanis wavered. "It certainly looked like him-"

"Did it? Did it move like him, cast like him? Speak like him? Did it hold his head in the right way – move his hands as he did? Did you see anything of Raistlin in those eyes? Gods, you're not Caramon, you can see what's in front of your face. You know perfectly well that was not Raistlin, so stop throwing his name in my face and let me mourn in peace!"

Dalamar was suddenly, hideously aware he was crying. His breath was coming in pants, tears burning down his cheeks unheeded. Half-Elven was wavering, uncertain. Gods, of course he was uncertain, was there anything he wasn't uncertain about? Ask Half-Elven how many suns were in the sky and he would mumble that he thought there was one, but-

"Who was it then?" He broke into Dalamar's reverie.

"It doesn't matter." Dalamar wiped his eyes. "Something hungry enough to devour the world and everything in it. So do not doubt I will kill it, Half-Elven. I will have my revenge. I will see Raistlin avenged, even if I am left dead."

He closed his eyes. No. He was not coming to terms with this, any more than he had lost the ability to feel. He felt it all, and it hurt, so, so much. Like his heart was splitting in half like old, weathered stone. Half-Elven reached out, seemed about to touch his shoulder. Dalamar flinched away. "No. Go. Kill your own lover, Half-Elven, before the undead take her too."

The rage boiled inside him, too hot, too wild to suppress. The Dark Queen struggled to trick him, pull him into one delirium or another, but the rage stayed. It sank white-hot teeth inside him, locked jaws around his heart and shook it like a terrier with a rat. Takhisis pulled all the nightmares out of his mind. Sent demon-children for him, baying like hounds. The leader had Caramon's face.

"There he is!" False-Caramon laughed. "Catch him! Don't kill him, but break his hands! You won't get away this time, Raist! You won't leave me behind again! I said you'd need me, and now you always will!"

And Raistlin laughed into the thing's face. Laughed and coughed and reached out with fire and struck it down. His magic. The fire burnt away the Dark Queen's ruse and it danced between his fingers, shattered his brother's face.

He watched as Caramon's head split open across the sands of the Abyss, and laughed more, chasing it with blood. Crysania cried out, the demon-children turning on her in their hunger, but they could not touch her without pain, and backed away, snapping their teeth and half-lunging at her in warning.

"You seek to attack me," Raistlin half-laughed, wiping the blood from his lips. He spun around, opening his arms to the sky. "You search for my weakness, my Queen, my Lady, my dead bitch, and I have none! I have no weakness and no hope! You have succeeded! I have nothing and so I fear nothing. Yes, yes, even him!"

Crysania shied back as the Dark Queen's facsimile of Dalamar appeared beside her. "I will never see him again so how can you possibly hurt me more? He is gone and I can only hope he is far away." He bowed to the hooded figure, now no longer even resembling Dalamar. Ten black eyes glittered from the hood, then it crumbled to dust and vanished.

Raistlin turned to Crysania, she had her hands held up, trembling in horror of him. "I was a fool to have opposed you. I should have given into despair months ago. What mortal can change their fate, when the gods are casting it in stone?" He held out his hands, still laughing, vaguely aware of the tears on his face. "I could have spent months preparing for this, rather than nursing pathetic hope. It is gone now, fear not. Everything I am is dedicated to this path."

He grinned, the fire burnt up his throat and through his face, leaving nothing but a calcified death's head. "Come now, my lady! This is what you wanted, is it not? Is it not?" The last words spat so bitterly, he half expected them to turn to snakes the moment they left his lips; instead, his lips burnt, the blood on them smoking.

Crysania looked around wildly, as though some other option would present itself to her. But there was nothing, nothing but nothing, and that was endless. She hesitated, then stepped up to Raistlin, who was still laughing. Laughing and choking on his laughter and spitting boiling blood. At this place. At the two of them. At the gods. At the huge, monumental joke of the world.

And then, her voice. Crysania's voice, so small and weak and trembling he barely heard her under the laughter ringing through his head. "Who are you?"

He stopped, stared at her. This cleric, this dead, rotting thing before his eyes. Fistandantilus' would-be lover. His own would-be rapist. She had been so blind, dazzled by her own light, as the Kingpriest had been.

And now, she looked at him, and she could see him. She could see him. For a moment, the fire banked, as though she had thrown a bucket of ice water over him. A break in the flames for him to see clearly for a heartbeat, maybe for one last time. Standing here in the Abyss, among the wreckage of everything he'd ever dreamed, or hoped, or wanted. What madness was this-

And he pushed it away. Because it was too late. Let the fire engulf him and burn, burn forever. Burn beyond thought or feeling or anything but deed. Set him alight so he might strike down those who created this sick mockery, and the world might wake to something better. He bared his teeth. It wasn't anything close to a smile.

"You tell me," Raistlin said, voice level, raw from his laughter. "There are no lies in this place, Lady Crysania. You see who I am now?"

She nodded, face pale as ash. Beside her, a face flickered, briefly, summoned by some stray thought of hers. The skull of a face, a wispy beard, skeletal hands crooked into claws. Raistlin stared at it and it flickered to nothing. "You are Raistlin Majere."

Raistlin closed his eyes a moment. "I am." The fire blazed hotter, hotter until it was not heat but ice, coiled and ready within him.

"What will you do?" she whispered, drawing away from him.

"I will draw Takhisis through the Portal." Raistlin's voice was even, steady, as though reciting some catechism. "And I will destroy her. Then, devouring her power, I will go to Astinus in the Library, and through him I will kill Gilean. I will slay Mishakal when she comes to heal him; and Kiri-Jolith when he comes to avenge her. I will slay Shinare when she comes to defend her city. I will kill them. One after the other. Then, when they are dead, and the sky is empty, I will slay Paladine."

Crysania was staring at him, mouth open, eyes wide. "I will kill him," Raistlin continued, calmly, "burn him to ashes and break his body across the world so all can see how easily gods are thrown down. Is this not what you wanted?"

He stepped closer to her. The leather brace around his wrist was tight, ready. Yes yes yes, the fire laughed. Yes yes yes. "To save the world from evil? From those who play with the lives of mortals and shatter us for their own amusements?"

Crysania's mouth moved, no, she wanted to say, no no no.

Raistlin slipped the tie on the brace and felt the cold steel hit his palm. Yes yes yes. The fire blazed up his arm, into his hand, heated the blade until it glowed red. He looked into her decayed face, those eyes withered to black walnuts. "Goodbye, Revered Daughter."

The blow took out both eyesockets and sprayed blood across the empty ground. For a moment, Crysania's face was alive again as she screamed. He aimed, and brought the dagger back down, catching on a snag of skin and gashing a long, diagonal tear across both eyes and down almost to her chin.

"Die quickly," Raistlin panted, his breath left him in a heat-haze. "Go to warn your god. I will see him very soon."

He turned. The Abyss around him was black with the Dark Queen's forces. Clerics, warriors, black mages, demons without number, the shattered hulks of dragons left undead. Raistlin grinned, and the fire in him sang with a ravenous, hungry joy. At last.