Lexa paced back and forth, every second that passed made her feel more and more nervous. She didn't like waiting, didn't like not knowing what was to come next. It was almost worse than the brief fight to take control of the dam.
Almost.
She didn't think anything could top almost being shot in the face.
But waiting. Pacing back and forth. Not knowing.
They were all things she didn't like in that moment.
Lexa looked up at her name being called to find Tobias holding up the last of the explosives Treska and the others had delivered.
"There," Lexa pointed to one of the turbines that remained motionless recessed inside its heavy shielding. "That should take it out for a long time."
Lexa didn't entirely know what would happen to those in Mount Weather if the power didn't turn back on, but from what she had gathered and from the resigned expression that clouded Maya's face she could tell it wouldn't be good for anyone's soul. Lexa would probably have to come to terms with her role in whatever death was to come, too. But for now she needed to make sure her people could come out of this unscathed.
She didn't even know if they would side with Clarke or if there would be internal conflict, something that would threaten to spill out into armed rebellion before the dust even settled. But she would take what she could get. And if her actions helped to end the harvesting of Clarke, those like her and Clarke's people then she thought that a worthy sacrifice.
Lexa took a moment to eye the explosive Tobias had placed where she indicated. She didn't entirely know just how large an explosion it would cause, but she knew enough to know that it would cause far more damage than was easily fixed, something she knew Clarke must have anticipated. Lexa looked around at the other warriors who still stood around, some cleaning their weapons, preparing themselves for whatever fight was to come next, a few others acted as sentries as they stood near the exit.
"We'll need to move fast," Lexa said out to no one in particular as she gauged how much time must have passed. "I don't know how large these explosions will be but," she pointed to one in particular. "There'll be a countdown, it will give us enough time to get out of here."
Maya nodded her head and she walked towards the closest one to inspect it herself.
"Yeah," she pointed to a small keypad that dominated the explosive's front. "We can set a timer and then get them counting down at the same time," she said. "I've seen these before."
Lexa nodded to her before glancing back to Tobias to find him eyeing his own nearby explosive with distrust and weary. She'd give Clarke another few minutes before trying to make contact with her again. Lexa wasn't even worried that she hadn't heard anything yet. She didn't know why, maybe it was blind faith that had somehow taken hold of her, or perhaps it was hope, a foolish emotion that she shouldn't let linger more than it already had.
"Did you ever think we'd get this far?" Lexa turned to Maya as she asked her question, the other woman having some to stand close by.
Maya smiled at her, the expression small, perhaps unsure.
"No," Maya said, her lips parted to speak once more but she seemed to pause, as if to collect her thoughts or to second guess whatever she was about to say.
"I was about to say I never thought about the after," she shook her head. "But that's not true. I've wondered what it would be like after. And I've wondered what it would be like if certain things had never happened."
Lexa didn't say anything in response for her own quiet moment before she smiled and she hoped it was reassuring, she hoped it was something warm, more calming than she knew herself to feel in that very moment.
"Maybe just one step at a time, then?" Lexa offered before she turned her attention back to the console she had been commanding.
"Everything's powered down now," she said as Maya moved close enough to look at the reduced levels of power indicated on the screen in front of them.
"It won't be long," Maya whispered, and this time Lexa could hear a little sadness and hurt in the other's voice.
Lexa thought about asking Maya what would actually be happening, she could guess a little, but maybe she was morbidly curious.
"They'll all burn," Maya said as if she had read her mind. "Not immediately, but in the next thirty minutes or so," and Maya shook her head. "Anyone who hasn't had a recent dose of nightblood will begin to experience a heightened form of radiation poisoning," Maya looked away for a brief moment. "There's a blood bank of nightblood saved up for a rainy day, there's the hidden caches out in the forest that some people could survive on for a month or two at most," she shrugged. "But then that's it."
Lexa chewed her lip as images flashed through her mind at Maya's words. She knew it wouldn't be pleasant, she had known it would probably be messy, grotesque in some way. And yet hearing it come from Maya somehow made it seem worse.
"If the power is turned back on soon we can heal a lot of the damage people might suffer," Maya said. "But it won't be," she shook her head as she took in a steadying breath. "There was no going back from this. I knew that."
Lexa reached out and squeezed Maya's hand in response and she hoped it was comforting, she hoped it communicated to her what couldn't be said in words, perhaps even in thought.
And Lexa knew the time for waiting was fast approaching, she knew the time for delay couldn't be pushed back any further and so she took in one single steadying breath, she prayed to whatever deity may or may not exist in that very moment and she hoped she had made the right decision.
"Times up," Lexa steeled her nerves.
On the Ark it had always been her responsibility to decide who would go without power for a day or two or three. It had been her responsibility to decide which parts of the Ark would need to survive on power rations for a week or a month and it had always been a responsibility that she had embraced. Something she did to ensure all of them on the Ark could survive. She knew sacrifices needed to be made. She knew they would need to be made for generations to come.
And so she nodded to herself just once before she began to move for the closest explosive.
"We're blowing the dam," Lexa said. "Everyone get ready to leave."
She hoped this was what Clarke wanted, she hoped that Clarke had somehow found somewhere safe in the depths of Mount Weather and she hoped she wouldn't regret her actions in the years to come.
Ontari ran fast. Her legs burned with the exertion but she ignored it as she raced through the depths of the tunnels. She'd duck, dive, hide behind a rocky outcrop or a turn in the tunnel when she sensed danger, when she saw the flash of mountain tech turned on her. Reapers descended on them at times, too, their tear rabid, their eyes bloodshot, fuelled by anger and hate and broken mind.
Blood stained the white collar of her fur, blood stained her face, blood stained her blade and she snarled out her own disgust as she plunged her sword into the chest of a reaper that tried to kill, to maim, to stop her from victory.
An Azgeda warrior next to her rolled, came to his feet, slashed out with his blade and took the head clean off another reaper. A second Azgeda warrior tackled another, a twist of arms and legs, limbs and blades and gnashing teeth clashed together in a struggle for life and death and Ontari roared out anger and hate at the Mountain, at the things it did to her people, at the futures it had stolen.
Gunfire split the air around Ontari and a warrior fell to the ground, blood pouring from open wounds, a arrow, a second, a third and fourth was fired in return. She didn't know if they hit their mark, she didn't care, only that it gave her the time to continue her assault forward.
And she needed to move forward, to keep pushing, to keep pressure on those they chased.
Mountain warriors had split off from the main group, they had begun to retreat and she knew they must have been told of Clarke's presence, of Clarke's attack inside the Mountain. Ontari would do anything in her power to ensure their victory, she would do everything she could to make sure her people would be rid of the Mountain. And Ontari would give her life ten times over if it meant Clarke's plan could succeed. Everyone would need to sacrifice a little or more than they could imag—
The air was knocked out of Ontari's lungs as something exploded beside her. It sent shards of rock into her body, cut into her flesh, broke her cheek apart and splashed blood in every direction.
But Ontari ignored the pain, she ignored the rock that she slammed against and she lashed out, dove for cover, swung her sword at the first target she saw.
Her strike was deflected clumsily, it sent a jolt up her arm and she spun with the impact, used it to swing her blade around, fast, fast, down onto the reaper's leg and she snarled as it bit into flesh, into bone, into muscle and sinew and took the limb clean off its torso.
"Ontari!"
Her name was shouted with panic, with warning and she looked up to find the Mountain Men breaking off from the assault, running down, away, far and fast and— and—
And she saw.
A light in the distance, a light at the far end of the tunnel.
An entry into the Mountain.
Ontari recognised it from the things Maya had said and she knew they had a chance, she knew they had the only chance to make it into the Mountain.
"With me!"
Ontari's voice roared out into the dark as she began to run, as she began to chase into the dark.
Her warriors, those who could, those who still stood ran with her. Some stayed back, some took two, three, four reapers head on in an attempt to give the others the space to run, to chase, to deliver vengeance and justice and retribution. She knew they never expected to survive those odds.
"Faster!" Ontari shouted as she ran harder and harder and harder as the first of the Mountain Men made it to the entry.
She roared out again as the first of the Mountain Men began to pour inside, as they began to press themselves through the narrow door.
Half of them were through, half of them turned back as if to stop, as if to intercept.
A roar of gunfire spat forward, some of her warriors fell, some of them escaped harm and others came to clash with the Mountain Men who tried to stop, who tried to slow their advance and Ontari was almost there, almost at the entrance almost.
And the door started to close, the door started to slide shut as if in slow motion, as if it taunted, her, laughed at her, laughed in her face and spat down at her feet—
Someone dove forward, the white of their azgeda fur bloodied, sullied, torn and shredded. The man roared out his own anger, his legs taking faster than anyone could expect and Ontari watched wide eyed as his reached the door, his arm outstretched as he jammed it as far into the closing gap as he could.
There was a sickening crunch, a scream of anger and then the door froze.
Shouts of panic, shouts of warning, surprise and so many other emotions filled the depths of the tunnel as those in the Mountain stared for only half a second as the door came stuck on the warriors limb, as his crushed bone refused to let the door slam shut any further.
And then Ontari made it.
Ontari's voice screamed out for her warriors to open the door, to keep it from slamming shut. Her hands gripped the cold, rusted edges of the door, she screamed as she began to pull against the Mountain's evil itself. Other warriors joined her, other warriors began to force their arms and hands and limbs into the opening as they pulled, pulled, pulled.
Gunfire echoed out around her, it struck a warrior clean in the head and she fell to the ground, her face beyond recognition and another Azgeda warrior took her place uncaring of the danger. Someone thrust a sword through the opening, it pierced a mountain man in the throat, the evil having tried to force their arms back out the entrance.
And then more blades, spears, arrows were thrust in through the gap, some tried to pry it open, some tried to kill those on the other side.
Ontari felt the tip of a blade cut into her forearm but she ignored it, she ignored the pain and the hurt and the fury as she continued to pull, continued to strain against the Mountain.
And then she heard it, heard it more clearly than she had heard ever before.
The door seemed to groan, seemed to scream, protest the assault and then something broke. Ontari didn't know what it was, she didn't know how she knew. But she knew.
In that moment the door's resistance gave way as if its body had been shattered by the Azgeda assault and then it slid open.
And then all hell broke loose.
Ontari was the first through the door, she was the first into the Mountain and the first to come face to face with those she hated most.
There was a frozen moment of hate and fury and panic shared between everyone.
And then the room exploded in fury and death.
Azgeda warriors charged forward through the door, they smashed agaisnt the Mountain Men. Ontari was so close that she could smell their fear as she pounced on the first, kneed them hard, gripped their head and slammed it against the nearest hard surface over and over and over.
Someone cut the head off another Mountain Man, kicked it mid air as it fell to the ground and she barely gave it a moment's notice as it struck another Mountain Men and pushed them off balance. Someone else tacked another enemy, someone else fell to gunfire, someone else died at her feet and Ontari didn't think, didn't dare stop to consider if she was hurt or dying in that very moment.
And then it fell silent.
Ontari's chest rose heavily, blood stained her face, the flap of skin on her cheek hanging loosely off her face the only thing to bring her discomfort as she held her sword defensively in front of her as she scanned the room.
Dead and dying lay at her feet, dismembered bodies and limbs, Azgeda with bullet holes littered the ground but she was victorious.
Seven other Azgeda warriors remained alive, each one scanning the room carefully, some wounded, others ok for the time being.
Ontari let herself take in the carnage for a moment, perhaps to centre herself, perhaps to give herself time to plan, to strategise before proceeding.
That first warrior who had made it to the door, who had sacrificed his arm lay slumped over by the entrance they had forced into existence, his arm mangled beyond recognition, a bullet hole in his throat pouring blood onto the ground and Ontari let herself memorise his face, memorise his village markings and she looked for the most heavily wounded with her.
"Tasro," she said to a woman who leant heavily against another warrior. "Stay here and ensure this entrance remains clear."
Tasro seemed disappointed at being selected to stay behind but despite but nodded her head in acknowledgement.
"When reinforcements come ensure they understand Jeton's sacrifice," Ontari said as she gestured to the dead man who had given his life to gain entrance into the Mountain. She would have time to honour him later, but for now they must move fast, must ensure Clarke could carry out her plain without interruption.
And so Ontari began to move forward, the six warriors selected to come with her falling into step quietly behind her.
The room they were in was dim, metal grating underfoot made a feint echoing sound with each step they took and it sent a shiver up her spine. Unnaturally smooth walls and ceilings stretched forward along the narrow room. Rectangular boxes in the roof spat out horridly bright light that flickered and cast sharp shadows around them and it was cold. Not Azgeda cold. But a cold that spoke of evil, of something unnatural, something that person should never experience.
Chains hung from rivets buried deep into the stone wall, they seemed rusted, from unsure or from blood Ontari couldn't tell in that moment. Markings she didn't understand were painted on the floor, some on the walls, metal tables lay along one side of the room with instruments she understood to be for healers, for those who needed to cut into flesh with precision.
But these instruments seemed evil, they whispered out to her in the cold and the harsh light and she knew they were used for nothing but pain, but torment.
They continued to walk forward slowly, a small limp perhaps the only thing that gave Ontari pause. She expected to hear shouts of warning, perhaps an alarm bell sounding out but none of that came. Maybe Clarke had been more prepared, perhaps she had done more by herself than any one of their armies could achieve in generations. But Ontari wouldn't get her hopes up until she knew the Mountain was dead for goo—
She rounded one corner and pressed through an unlocked door before the room opened up around them to reveal another room. And this one was different. Those same metal tables lay dotted around and a chair with shackles dominated its centre.
But what caught Ontari's attention the most was the blood that littered the ground. Some of the blood was red, it had clearly come from the two bodies that lay on the ground. One throat was cut deeply, the other beheaded, the removed head laying a small distance away. But there was black blood mixed in with the red. And Ontari knew what it meant.
"Heda has been here," someone said quietly.
"She was held here," another said as they approached the chair with wrist restraints that seemed as though they had been cut. "Here," they gestured carefully as if they were fearful of desecrating the black of Clarke's blood that had been spilled onto the chair from whatever struggle had taken place.
"Vile savages," someone spat as they made sure not to stand in Clarke's blood.
Ontari let herself take in the scene before her as she too moved through the room, her ears straining to hear any kind of signs of trap or approach of enemy. But just as before she heard nothing. She knew not if that were good or bad.
But as if the Mountain itself played a cruel joke on them all, when she expected a fight, where she had accepted her certain death inside the Mountain, the further into its depths she moved the more quiet and isolated she felt.
There was no sign of mountain man nor reaper. No sign of Clarke or anyone else, really. But perhaps that wasn't quite right. It hadn't taken them long to find a corridor strewn with dead bodies, each one having been pierced by blade, the wounds precise, perfectly placed and Ontari knew Clarke had done this, she knew the wounds were too exacting, too perfect to be from anyone else.
And that made her happy. Happy that Clarke had made it this far alone at least. As they continued to move through the depths of the Mountain, as they continued to follow the path of destruction that Clarke had created they stumbled upon more and more signs that a fierce battle had taken place. But still, there were no enemy save for the dead at their feet.
Perhaps it was the odd calm or the lack of direct conflict in that very moment but Ontari found herself truly taking in the Mountain. And it seemed so unnatural to her. It seemed so bizarre, grotesque, horrid. So many things she couldn't put to words.
The hallways they walked were too straight, the wall, carved from stone too perfect, too precise to feel natural. It made the hairs on the back of her neck stand up. Even the light spat down onto them from above by tech disgusted her. It seemed too cold, too bright, too piercing. It was nothing like the sunlight that dappled through the forest canopy overhead of the sunlight that glinted off frozen plains and sparkled upon fresh fallen snow. There was no warmth, no kindness, no sense of beauty in the way it cast shadows far and wide.
And Ontari hated it. She hated the Mountain with every fibre of her body. She hated the Mountain with every thought she could gather and she hated the Mountain more than she hated anything else in her enti—
A distant explosion rumbled through the Mountain's halls, it shook the ground beneath her feet and Ontari almost stumbled before catching herself.
But that distant explosion didn't come from outside. She didn't know how or why but she knew it was from within the Mountain, that it was close. That is was Clarke.
"Move," Ontari snapped, her grip on her sword tightened and she began to move forward with more purpose.
As one the seven tired Azgeda warriors began to move through the Mountain's depths and towards the sound of the explosion, as one they prepared themselves for whatever final battle they would come to face and as one they knew their fates were already decided and whatever that may be would be welcomed with open arms—
The lights cut out, it stole her vision and Ontari stopped.
Darkness surrounded them, one warrior bumped into another and cursed quietly and Ontari dropped to a knee, her sword raising in front of her. She heard a bowstring being drawn behind her, she heard two pairs of feet turn to face the way they had come. And they could not see, could not hear, could not tell what was happening inside the Mountain.
Ontari felt herself swallowed whole by the Mountain's horrors as her eyes tried to pierce through the dark of the Mountain's belly that had swallowed them. Her vision strained, her mind screamed out to her a warning, something she fought to control, to temper into submission lest she lose herself to the dark.
A droning sound came next, it echoed through the walls themselves, it almost made the very fibres of her body shake and she felt the Mountain begin to protest whatever was happening.
But then an awful sound pierced her skull. A siren call, something grotesque began to blare, the lights one moment dead suddenly turned a blood red, they began to flash in time to the screeching around them and it made her stomach twist, it made her skin crawl.
And it was a warning. Ontari could understand that much.
But a warning for what she didn't know as that sound continue to scream at them, as the lights continued to pierce into their eyes.
"Move," Ontari hissed as she stood, as she began to move faster.
She was prepared to anything. She was prepared for a wall of gunfire, she was prepared to face a hundred reapers, she was prepared to die in the Mountain in that very moment.
Or she thought she was prepared for anything.
At first she didn't quite register the smell, at first she didn't quite register the sounds over the warning that screamed out all around them.
But she heard it at the same time she began to smell it.
Burning flesh. Human screams.
The screams began to cut into her hearing more clearly as she continued to move forward. The screams began to pierce into her soul as she continued to step forward. And the smell seemed to grow more intense, more foul upon her tongue.
It smell that began to permeate the air was sickly sweet. It bubbled against her tastebuds. She could almost imagine the animal being roasted over a roaring fire slowly being turned, slowly begin flamed and seared, charred and melted of fat.
But the screams told Ontari that what she smelt was no animal, the hair standing up on the back of her neck told Ontari that what she smelt was human, was pain, suffering, disgust and so many other things she wished not to dwell on much longer.
They rounded one last corner before the screams and the smells hit her full on. They assaulted her senses and Ontari fought back the retch and the gag a she came face to face with a set of large double doors that lay pushed open.
Before them stretched a dining hall, rows of tables lay neatly organised, food, plates, drink all atop. Mighty paintings hung upon the walls Ontari knew this room would have once been grand, marvellous to behold at any other time.
But in that moment the dining hall was bathed in blood red light that flashed its warning in every direction.
The next thing Ontari noticed were people. Some sat in chairs, some on the ground, some stood frozen in place. Others lay slumped over wherever their bodies had fallen.
But those bodies Ontari saw, those people she gazed upon, were not quite human.
Screams assaulted her ears more forcefully than she had ever heard as she watched one woman on her knees not far from her. The woman's hands were held up in front of her face, her fingers retched, clawed, ragged in posture. The flesh had begun to burn, bubble, melt into blood and ooze and marbled fat. Her face or what was left of it sloughed off from the bone, it began to peel, began to bleed into one unrecognisable mess as hair was pulled from scalp and lips peeled from ghastly white teeth. Screams
Screams and pain and horror filled Ontari's mind as she looked at another person to find them pooling into a seat, to find them melting into the dinner plate they slumped over.
A child's body burned into a mess of human burning flesh not far from her and another clawed at their face, clawed at the burning of their flesh and the burning of their—
"Help us."
Ontari's gaze snapped to someone close by, a man, his eyes widened and shocked, fear and horror and panic and something she couldn't describe so clearly visible in his eyes yet she didn't think she knew the words.
"Help us," he whispered again. "Please."
Ontari looked around her and she realised some people burned, some people melted, had already formed puddles of burning flesh where they had fallen. But others seemed unharmed, seemed not to be burning.
And Ontari understood the horrors of what she saw in the moment. She understood the magnitude of what Clarke had done. And she understood more clearly than she had ever understood in her life what was happening before her very eyes.
"Wanheda has returned."