"Mercy to an enemy must not come at the cost of mercy for their victims."
These days, every night, before Crow went to sleep, he spent anything from minutes to hours with Saladin's words rolling through his mind like storm clouds together with a thought that had haunted him ever since he caught wind that... he had taken shelter in House Light.
What about Spider's victims?
Surely Misraakskel knew what Spider was? Surely he knew of all the Eliksni who had fled the Shore, many with Crow's help. Fled Spider. His own words to them sometimes joined the nightly storm.
"I swear to you as a Hunter, among whom ones honor is his word, Spider will never so much as cast a shadow over your new lives in the City should you choose to flee with me."
Now he lived among them, the people Crow had liberated while at the same time burglarizing Spider's valuables. They were accessories to his act, and now he had direct access to them. The Vanguard seemed convinced he wouldn't act up. Misraakskel seemed convinced that he could keep the monster on a leash. Crow was convinced that not matter what, Spider would find a way to do as he always did.
To hurt people. It was all well and good to talk about the Last City being a place where an Eliksni could wipe the slate clean, to say that all were welcome, but in practice? There were people so deplorable, power hungry, twisted and broken inside, that they could never hope to become good. They've been ugly and evil for too long; it's all they knew, and the Light couldn't find them. Even if it could, they wouldn't touch it willingly.
One way or another, Spider would find a way to hurt people again. He would weave a new web. His presence alone had to be making his former subjects nervous; Crow knew he was feeling the pressure, and he could leave for the wilds any time he wanted.
He wakes up one morning to find a note in neat, elegant Eliksni script on his door with a bloody, black wing tied to it.
'A reminder of what you have to be grateful for, Little Bird.'
His heart pounds. His blood roars in his ears. A hundred strikes and beatings, a hundred lashing, sharp tongues spitting poisonous words, Glint screaming as he was snatched, the brutal vivisection that followed, the repugnant shackle that was placed within. He tried to breath, he's on the floor with Glint pulsing Light gently against his heart, but there isn't enough air in the world to compensate for the fact he was right.
Spider was already starting, and he had barely been here four weeks.
When Saladin comes to oversee the Banner tournament, Crow makes haste to the hanger and eagerly helps the ancient Lightbearer unload everything and set up. Ever since the note, he's felt like every shadow has been watching him, following him. Around the old Light, this feeling dissipated somewhat, as he had hoped; even Spider wasn't bold enough to look like he was tailing Lord Saladin. It would amount to suicide, catching his attention, as once those old eyes scrutinized Spider in any capacity, he would probably get burned to ashes, if not his entire operation.
The Vanguard and Misraakskel may tolerate Spider, but Crow has no doubt that Saladin would draw some similarity to the Warlords of old and treat the obese Eliksni accordingly. That made him a bubble of safety.
Or so Crow thought, until he comes to help set up for the second day of matches to find Saladin sitting with a dark expression on his face, something in his hands-
A severed black wing in his left, with a bloody, elegant note in the right.
His heart pounds. His blood roars in his ears. A hundred strikes and beatings, a hundred lashing, sharp tongues spitting poisonous words, Glint screaming-
Bracing hands on his shoulders, sol Light warming them, steady and reassuring, ancient eyes staring into his own, understanding and doleful as they are sharp and strong; truly, he looked like an old wolf. Glint pulses Light gently against his heart. Bracing flames steady him from the shoulders to warm his entire body. Lord Saladin only says one word.
"Who?"
Over the past few weeks, Spider has noticed a change in 'Misraakskel'. He can't tell if it's because of all the family matters or not, but the Kell of Light has been significantly more hostile towards his person. That in itself wasn't strange, or noteworthy.
Then the deaths started. Arrha, killed by... animals of some kind or another. Maybe stray war beasts? Their illustrious Kell asked a Hunter to investigate, but the creatures were never found. Then Avrok showed up with his chest split into a smoldering rift. A trusted lieutenant decapitated here, a loyal messenger eviscerated and partly eaten there(likely by those same animals again). He wonders if the violence of the latter kill has anything to do with the message he'd been carrying for their dear, flyaway Lightbearer.
The only notable patterns are that they were all alone when killed, the animal bites(only on one arm of the two who weren't mauled to death)... and the way that killing them might be a method to isolate him.
Then he wakes up one day with Hunter knife in one of his barstools, pinning a note and a tuft of silvery fur to the wood. He steps over to it, frees it, chuckling.
"You are getting bold, aren't you little bird?" Then he unfolded the note. The fur falls to the ground as silent as snow on a peak. His blood runs cold at the words he sees in neat, bold english handwriting.
'Burn with your sins, Warlord.'
"It's about time you stopped playing with your food." He wirls around to see Zavala and Misraakskel standing at the entrance to the bar.
"I never play." A voice from the shadows growls, and a man steps partially into the light. His armor is bronze, silver, and distinctive. He plants his war axe in front of him. His dark skin blended well with the shadows in a way that made his dark eyes more... wolfish. They were filled with fury, and even as Spider watches, they light up sol-gold, making him seem even more like one of the animals that adorned his armor as embers drifted from the axe head. "Don't bother begging for your life. The only choice you have here is whether we do this inside."
Two wolves trot to his side when he twitches his hand, watching, waiting for a signal to strike.
"Or outside."
"Do I even get the courtesy of knowing why?" Spider refused to let his voice shake. This was some kind of scare tactic, surely?
"A young Guardian came forward with the story of how you put a bomb in his Ghost, enslaved him, and gave him a name meant as a joke for your own sick amusement." The Iron Lord's face twisted with disgust and hatred. "Among other things."
"And you two." Spider asked dryly. "Surely this will be bad for your precious images?"
"I still don't think this is the way to go about things... but this was Iron Lord business the moment Saladin laid a claim on it. Outside of Vanguard jurisdiction." Commander Zavala acquiesced. "I'll take my leave, I saw enough of these at the edge of the Dark Age."
"Many Eliksni have come forward with claims of their own." Misraaks told him as the Commander left only an empty shadow in his wake. "They and the Guardian in question have been... pressured, or otherwise blatantly menaced from the shadows since you arrived. The humans have made many accommodations for our people since we arrived; changing their City, changing their systems, even changing their minds in some cases. I feel no reluctance in meeting them on their grounds on this; young Lights are precious, and you tried to break one."
"Not to mention the way you treated our people." The Kell continued, rage tinting his voice. "I have heard stories about how Warlords treated those under their thumbs, and found the comparison fitting. Though, I too have no desire to see this. I also heard stories about what Iron Lords did to those who even tried to harm their own in such manners; I would prefer you to keep this indoors, Lord Forge, in case some curious hatchling disobeys our words of caution."
"Very well." The Old Wolf tips his head to the Kell as he, too, takes his leave, Spider freezing as the implications of the last sentence catch up to him.
"Wait; one of their own?" Lord Saladin actually smirks.
"Once his head is on straight and he loses that undisciplined streak of his, yes." The golden eyes flare incredibly bright, incredibly angry, with something protective in their depths like some primal pack alpha. "One of mine."
His hand flicks forward, Spider is engulfed by wolves and fire, and very soon has no throat left to scream with.
There are... so many things I find wrong about the Spider situation. Hopefully this fic conveys most of this things succinctly. I recently reached the part of my Mass Effect crossover where the bomb is removed from Glint, and it brought all these thoughts to the surface.
I originally intended to write a crack fic where Saladin punted Spider into the sun. The working title for this WAS 'Punting Spider Into The Sun', but it got dark fast and ended up with Spider getting mauled by wolves and burnt into atoms. I guess since it was sol Light it KINDA qualifies?
Anyway, here's this gem of violence where Saladin does out some Dark Age justice.
Fare Thee Well!