"brutally does a sinner end"
Xiān brought them down gently. Ikharos was relieved to see the camp's ramshackle walls; the tension in the cockpit had grown unbearably awkward. He caught each glance the Stranger sent his way and returned them with an icy glare. Sometimes she rolled her optics or huffed and turned away, but he could read the hurt there well enough.
He wasn't whoever she grieved for. He had to remember that. Had to remember the choice she'd made - and those who'd suffered for it. Had to remember each and every face-
"Hey," Xiān quietly said. "You alright?"
"I'm... better." He struggled for any other word. "Shelbth's gone. I'm as close to free as I can get."
"That's good." She compiled over the controls. "What's our plan?"
"Intercept Scorn. Disciples can't win."
"Okay, but then wha-" She paused. Her iris blinked. "Something's wrong."
Ikharos saw the Stranger worriedly lean forward out of the corner of his eye. "What?"
"It's quiet. It's very quiet. Are the Flayers..." She turned. "Oh. Damn."
"Oh what?"
"Ike, she's... she's in the BattleNet."
"Who-" He caught himself. "Zendolyn."
Xiān's silence was all the answer necessary. The Stranger exhaled, "Dammit."
"I left the Valkyrie with the Psions," Ikharos thought aloud, ignoring her. "If I walk out there, she could cut me off."
"She sees me," Xiān continued. Her eye dimmed. "She's waiting."
"Is everyone-"
"Bio-signatures are active. Everyone's just... there. Like they're frozen, just without the Stasis."
Relief flooded through him for all of a second. The biting feeling of unease soon overtook it. "She knows we won't leave."
"Won't we?"
"I won't abandon those trusted to me."
"Pretty sure she's counting on that."
"Xiān, no."
"Said it yourself, she's got the suppressor. How she managed that beats me, but that almost did you in last time. I'm not losing you again."
"I'm going out there one way or another."
"I'll go with you," the Stranger murmured.
Ikharos rounded on her. "You think showing your face will make a difference?"
"It might."
"Look, whatever understanding you had with her, it's useless. We've gone too far."
"I wouldn't be so sure."
He scowled but didn't argue any further. Donning his armour, Ikharos climbed down into the main hold, punched in the code to open the boarding ramp and stalked out. He heard Xiān curse and felt her presence on his mind, decompiling to join him. The Stranger similarly trailed after him, clutching that strange nanomatter rifle of hers. They emerged out into the pale fleeting light of dawn-
And there, above them, he saw his own handiwork. A mass of Blight torn in the sky, glittering like a galaxy condensed down into a malign shape.
Zendolyn's voice rang out across the silent camp. "I would have considered it beautiful, once. The certainty of willed oblivion."
Ikharos turned his gaze across the still scene. Cabal stood here and there, perfectly still and perfectly silent. His oculars read them as still warm, still breathing. Alive. For the moment. Psionics weakly whipped through the air above them, utterly ineffective.
"Once," he called back. "You had a change of heart?"
"A funny term. Humans love to tout strange sayings." Her voice came from a different direction. The fuel tanks. Ikharos didn't trust it. "But yes, a change of heart."
"Zendolyn-Far," the Stranger called out. "We don't have to come to blows."
"Of course we do. This is life."
"No, it isn't! There's another way-"
"For you, perhaps, and whoever else survives this day. But now you must hush, for the Iiraca and I must come to terms."
The creak of Solvent came from below. Ikharos prepared to take flight, but nothing emerged. Instead, folding out of scattered molecules in the air, manifested the humming shape of a Pyramid Scale. It hung in open air, a font of Darkness, and with a flash of Resonance deposited the armoured form of Zendolyn herself. Her leg was recovered, her injuries healed, and she carried herself with a dark vitality. The metal of her mask melted back and she looked down on him with hate, golden eyes hard.
"Weakling," she said, as casually as one would describe the weather. She held in her hand the suppressor - and with a single wrenching motion, shattered it in two before tossing the pieces aside. "Cur. Misguided whelp. The pain-machine won't be able to help you anymore. Not when you've spat in his face."
Ikharos bunched his shoulders. In one hand he grasped the hardening mass of Resonance that was Lubrae's Ruin and with the other cupped a growing gulf of Void. "I won't need him."
The edges of her reptilian lips curved up, revealing the glassy sheen of her fangs. "Now he understands. Better late than never."
"You don't want this," the Stranger said sharply. "Neither of you!"
"No chance of that, Elisabeth." Ikharos stepped to the side. Zendolyn matched him, blades whistling softly over her knuckles. Her sharpened tail waved behind her with anticipation; he had to watch it. Or it would be the death of him. "You had your chance. You threw it away."
Zendolyn's nostrils flared, puffing out steam. "I want you to remember, Light-maggot, that my mercy came from a place of compassion. Death is the kinder option, always. But you - you cretin, you soft-skinned coward! - you defied me, defiled me. I will shatter you. I will draw out your life moment by painful moment, so that your choice will forever haunt you. I will make a trophy of your Ghost, an offering of your dragon, a canvas of your soul - all this I promise."
"My only regret is that your people die with you. For that, I'm sorry. But the rest..." Golden wings flared from his back. "You asked for this."
"For fuck's- Stop! Letta!" Power accompanied the Stranger's words, washing over them. Ikharos felt the magic bind... and release. She hadn't the strength to hold them and she damn well knew it - but it was enough to divert his righteous fury.
"Leave," he said darkly, leveling her with a glare. "Now."
The Stranger jutted her chin up. "Never. Obstinate fools, both of you. Are you really willing to kill each other over pride?!"
Zendolyn hissed, her eyes never once leaving Ikharos. "This goes deeper than pride, wanderer."
"Like fuck it does. You're just pretending to be loyal, just like you're pretending you believe in the things you say. You mean to stay here. Forever. I know you do. But it won't matter - because Xhafi won't ever let you. Whether by Ikharos or your own allies, you'll die here." Her voice turned pleading. "Can't you see the chance I'm offering you?"
"You assume much-"
"I know you've been running. Ever since you took the Fleet's colours and turned on your own people, you've been running. The Witness sees you as a tool."
"We are all-"
"But you don't want to be a tool! I know, Zendolyn. I know everything." The Stranger paused. "You told me yourself, when last we stood here. They'll use you until you die and they'll walk right over your corpse. The Eimin-Tin die with you. Your family dies with you."
Zendolyn's eyes sharpened. She bared her teeth. "My family is dead."
"But it doesn't have to stay that way-"
"Elisabeth," Ikharos said sharply. He gave her a look that said What the fuck are you doing?
"All of this applies to you too," she said, rounding on him. "So fucking focused on the enemy ahead you can't see the friends by your side. Quantis, Arthur, fucking Jaxson. Pushing them all away because you can't bear the guilt of looking them in the eye. All you do is deny your own humanity. You hate being a weapon but you refuse to be anything else!"
"This is hardly the time."
"Really? When's better? You spend every waking moment trying to undermine the Black Fleet."
"Elisabeth-"
"Don't 'Elisabeth' me. It's Elsie. It's always been Elsie. You know this. You-" She stopped. Her shoulders slumped. "Just... be smarter. Please. Don't put me through another cycle."
"I'm not the one you have to convince."
"Don't act like-"
Time paused. Froze. Entropy slowed. Ikharos noticed only because the magic tickled his Light and he shelled himself in Frost Armor to account for it. The Stranger came to a similar split-second conclusion and disappeared outright, melting into Vex telemetry.
But Zendolyn-Far, paused in the moment of snarling, was caught hook and line.
Angela appeared. Not so much a teleport as refusing to follow the rigours of her own spell. She emerged from an illusion, twirling her double-bladed staff, and charged the Disciple with urgency. Only - Zendolyn blinked. Shivered. Shook the effects off. And when Angela's blade swung in - as fast as was humanly possible, with far more force than mortals could physically muster - Zendolyn caught it in her mechanical hand.
"Oh," Angela said, quizzically tilting her head.
The Scale overhead pulsed. Her spell disintegrated.
Ikharos Blinked in an instant, shoved Angela aside and aimed a hand, energy ripping from the skin of his palm. Zendolyn tumbled away, caught herself-
"Brisingr!" Angela snapped. A bolt of superheated air fired towards the alien, hitting her shoulder.
Zendolyn weathered the spell and glared at them through the smoke. She tilted her head and Ikharos heard a panicked rumble to his left. One of the Cabal, a Gladiator, clumsily swung their cleaver for his neck. Ikharos ducked beneath and caught the wrist. Thread-thin Solvent ran almost imperceptibly from their limbs up to the Scale, wielding them as a puppet. An unwilling hostage, only a few shades short of being Taken. The furious, terrified look in the Gladiator's eyes were telling enough.
Ikharos froze them solid, as he did the next Cabal to appear, and the one after that. So on until almost the entirety of his meagre warband were incapacitated - and he turned to find Zendolyn hovering over a downed Angela, already moving in for the kill.
He Blinked, took the blow with his side and groaned as it punched the air right out of him. He directed the momentum away to avoid crushing Angela, roughly shoved her aside and took in one last deep breath as Solvent washed over him. Zendolyn's claws slashed at his ribcage, wriggling in to snag his organs. He caught her snout, suppressing the scream as she broke his hold and bit down hard enough to crush every bone in his arm, pulled his knife with his other hand and drove it into her exposed neck.
All at once the pressure released. They tumbled out above ground, Solvent slickly dripping from their armour, and gasped for air. Ikharos levered himself up with difficulty, ready to fight - only to watch his opponent scramble away, gurgling past the steel in her throat. Zendolyn's eyes were wide. She clutched a mass of Solvent to her neck, gathering each and every drop, and in the next moment the Scale took her. Resonance snapped her up in a Dark teleportation and the ship... fled.
His knife with it.
"No." Ikharos staggered to his feet. Solar energy gathered around him, reknitting flesh and mending bones. "NO!"
"Ike!" The Stranger appeared, hands raised. "Don't-"
He unfurled his wings and rose up to chase the shrinking shape-
Stasis clawed him down. Duskfield, cast all around him. Ikharos trudged through it, feeling more and more of his body crystallize, until he stumbled out... and the Scale was gone.
"Ike." The Stranger's hands still glowed with Darkness. "Please.
He didn't hear her. Couldn't. "No..."
"You lost it," the Nightmare said with disbelief, wearing her voice. "You actually... lost it. Your last piece of me and you gave it away to save your sorry hide. You fucking did that."
Tears gathered in the corners of his eyes. Rage, white-hot, lit his blood on fire and his ears thundered with it, but the pit - that bottomless pit in his stomach grew wider. Wider. Wider. Guilt and misery and fucking regret levering it open, wide as the damned Hellmouth.
"You lost it. Like you lost me." She stepped into view, swathed in bloody Darkness. A carrion-caricature. Her last physical semblance. Anger twisted her faceplates. "Way to fucking go."
He furiously wiped a hand across his eyes.
"Ike," the Stranger called again.
There was movement. Around him. Cabal stirring from the Darkness that held them, crying out with relief. The patter of metal boots as-
"Lord," Indilic- No, Qiniq gasped, eye burning, falling to his knees beside him. "Are you-"
"You fucking LOST IT!" Lennox-2, preserved in Nightmare, roared. "My legacy and you squandered it!"
Silence fell over the camp.
"You're a disgrace," she spat. "The same monster everyone thinks you are. A heartless bastard who can't save anyone."
"I'm sorry," Ikharos whispered. "I'm so, so sorry."
"Sorry doesn't bring me back, Ike. It doesn't bring anyone back." Her dead optics darkened with the facsimile of grief. "Nothing you do ever will. When are you going to realize that?"
He would have wept, had he the energy. As it was, all he could do was look upon her and know that each word she said was truth, fool that he was to ever deny her.
"No," Qiniq said sharply.
Lennox-2 laughed viciously. "No what, Psion? Don't tell me you're batting for this sad excuse for a Risen? He's killed hundreds of your kind. Thousands of theirs." She gestured to the watching Cabal. "It's all he does. Everything around him dies. You best start running now, 'cause your time's fast coming up short."
"No."
"You really don't have a choice-"
No. Begone, spirit. Begone, phantom. Qiniq switched to a voice of pure psionic meaning, deafening and insistent. Begone.
"Never-"
"Please, Len," Ikharos begged. "Please just... please just go."
"You're not ready to let me go. What am I if not the kindness you hung yourself with? There'll be a reckoning, Ike. Real soon. And it'll break you." Something in her visage softened. "I'll be waiting. We all will."
With that, she faded.
And he was a weaker man for it.
Zendolyn was gone. According to the Psions her Scale had appeared without warning in the time he'd been gone, ripping away the Valkyrie's suppressive field, and in mere moments she'd seized the camp - along with everyone in it. Everyone but Angela and Solembum, hidden in the Shadow Trespass. That was the report he was given, when Qiniq whisked him out of sight and the Cabal scrubbed themselves clean of Darkness.
Of the Stranger there was no sign. Somewhere in the midst of his Nightmare, she'd slipped away. Ikharos felt a surge of anger just thinking about it. So quick to saddle him with a new responsibility, to turn on him, to abandon him. He was damn sick of it.
"She gave me co-ordinates," Xiān told him, as Qiniq closed the doors and Ikharos beheld a weakened Vindica'aur attaching the final pieces of her armour. Angela was there, Solembum in her arms. She'd followed them and Qiniq had all but dragged her inside with them.
"The Disciple's gone?" Vindica'aur rumbled, shaking off the decaying web of Solvent.
Ikharos nodded numbly.
"I'd hoped to settle our debt-"
"We live," Qiniq barked, voice tinged with power. "That is enough."
Vindica'aur glowered. "I've had my fill of middling victories. We are Cabal, Iron War Beasts, not Fallen curs-"
Be SILENT! The Harvester trembled with psionic might. Qiniq's eye glowed dangerously - until, hesitantly, Ikharos put a hand on his shoulder. The Flayer turned and bowed his head. "Lord."
"We don't have time for arguments," Ikharos said, exhausted, unable to muster the strength of will to be anything else. "We need to leave now. Someone will come looking for revenge, be they Fleet or Exo. Val, can you walk?"
"Aye." Vindica'aur levered herself up, though she swayed weakly. "Shall I organize it?"
"In a moment."
"What happened, lord?" Qiniq asked.
Ikharos hesitated. "Shelbth is gone."
"Are you sure?"
"Yes."
"Dead?"
"No. Excised. I found what the ExSec were hiding." Rather than waste time telling them, he had Xiān deliver a datapacket direct to their sensoriums. "Do you see?"
Qiniq's Y-iris thinned. "Aphelion," he whispered. "Star-Eater."
"We're in its belly?" Vindica'aur shouted.
"We're in a space cut off from the greater universe," Ikharos corrected. "If we leave it any longer it stands a chance of severing what little connection remains altogether. No one will be able to return."
But a question flowed from Qiniq's eye, "Would that not be advantageous to our kin in Sol?"
Ikharos paused. "That's... a valid point. It remains to be seen. As it is, we'd be subjecting ourselves - and the denizens of this world - to the mercy of a Warmind wearing the face of Nezarec. Regardless, we have a priority target: if the Disciples catch Agnisia, they'll use her to reach the Cacovinea. Elisabeth Bray left coordinates-"
"Are we certain this isn't a trap?"
"I..." He wanted to say no, but rage curdled inside him. "I don't know. All the same we can't ignore the possibility she's telling the truth."
"If she isn't?" Vindica'aur grumbled.
"Then we know what side of the line she stands on."
"Um," Angela raised her hand, eyebrows raised. "Who's Agnisia? Elizabeth?"
Ikharos spared her a tired look. "Not now."
"No? Okay."
"So we're going," Ikharos continued, ignoring her, "to advance on her co-ordinates within the hour and we're going to put a stop to this. One way or another."
"Finally," Vindica'aur groaned. She rolled her massive shoulders. "Is that all?"
"Elisabeth was under the belief the witch is seeking out an Ahamkara. A grown one to pair with the hatchling." Ikharos pursed his lips. "I'll need Flayers with me. I won't be able to tackle both at the same time"
Qiniq opened his mouth-
"But you have a different part to play," Ikharos said quickly. "If you recall."
Qiniq's gaze coolly settled on Angela. He nodded once.
"Good."
"Ellecta and Yu'uro will be honoured to serve."
"Can they handle a dragon?"
"I trained them myself, before the Empress raised me to her staff. Discipline is all they know."
"Barring the Flayers, the rest will fall under your control," Ikharos said, turning to Vindica'aur. "The Scorn will come for us. Shelbth too. Whatever it is, you need to destroy it. Utterly."
"I do not understand this Shelbth-" Vindica'aur began to say. Qiniq's eye glowed and she blinked with abrupt understanding. "Ah."
"Xiān will monitor your cognito-blockers. It's the best we can do. If anyone or anything comes under Shelbth's influence, put them down. Understood?"
"Yes, commander."
"Good. Go."
Vindica'aur thundered out, a war cry building in her throat, and Qiniq quickly closed the door behind her. Is this wise?
Ikharos shrugged. "It's the only option left to us."
Are you sure Shelbth has lost its hold?
"Eka eddyr." (I am.)
Qiniq glanced again to Angela. "What will you have us do?"
"The Shadow Trespass will be the safest place," Ikharos said. "If anything happens to Xiān or I, you need to flee. I don't care how. The stealth-field will carry you past most ExSec installations, your lack of Light should cover you from the Scorn and Disciples so long as you keep a distance, and... I don't know what you can do to get around the Cacovinea, but you'll have to find something. Whatever happens, keep her safe."
"So you are talking about me," Angela mused.
"When we disembark, you'll have the ship," he continued. "Provided we don't die, we can make a new plan from there."
"You could be a little more optimistic," Xiān groaned, compiling in the air beside him. She nudged his shoulder with a fin. "I'll grab the Flayers and update our blockers. You... do whatever, I guess." She disappeared.
Ikharos nodded and, with only a moment's hesitation, removed one of his Osmiomancy bracers. He tossed it over to Qiniq. "We don't have time for lessons," he said, "so the next best thing is taking that understanding from my mind."
Qiniq regarded it curiously. "This is no small token."
"I know. I want you to swear something for me. That you won't misuse it."
"You believe I might fall."
"Anyone can. I just... I need the insurance."
"In the dragon language?"
"I'll give you the words-"
"You will have it."
IKharos nodded with relief. At last he looked on Angela and Solembum and he paused.
What is it you intend of us, human? Solembum demanded.
"Nothing of you, cat." His eyes rose. "I can't promise safety, but I can promise you can trust Indilic."
Angela glanced over at him. "You want to send us away?"
"Where we're going is no place for-"
"You're searching for Balaur."
Ikharos pressed his lips. "I'm not."
"Someone is, and you're following them. Agnisia, Agnisia, Agnisia... that's not a common name either." She raised an eyebrow. "So?"
"She's... an enemy," he ground out. He knew he should've taken a more gentle approach but he was in pain and try as he might he couldn't overlook what she was.
He'd never liked Speakers.
"I'll bet. You have a lot of those?"
"Unfortunately."
"You don't have to treat Balaur like one."
His expression darkened. "He's a dragon."
"Oh, they're not all bad." Angela quirked a smile. "Who knows? Maybe this'll turn out okay."
"I doubt it."
"Oh please, you don't need to be so dour all the time." She stepped past him. "So you're our... what? Bodyguard?"
Qiniq regarded her blankly. "I am the Inquirator," he said tonelessly, "raised by the Empress, Flayed by war. You will be my charge."
Angela raised a brow. "In-ter-esting."
"Satisfied?" Ikharos asked.
"Wouldn't go that far. You'd be wiser to take us with you. Balaur knows us. Trusts us. If need be we can still find a peaceful resolution."
"I doubt that very much."
"But the fact remains: Balaur won't let you get close. Not if you intend him harm. If you want to catch your witch, you need us."
"She's not wrong," Xiān whispered. "It'll be dangerous, but she's not helpless. If she can avoid Zendolyn, the Scorn won't be near as much trouble."
Ikharos glowered. "Fine. But if I tell you to do something, you do it. No arguments."
Angela inclined her head. "Agreed."
"Good. Indilic, we'll begin immediately. The sooner you can master Stasis, the better."
Qiniq's eye glowed with anticipation. "Lord."
If there was one thing about Cabal he appreciated it had to be their punctuality. By the time the hour rolled by, they were already airborne, Harvesters and Threshers arrayed behind the Trespass. They moved quickly; with dawn came every chance of being intercepted by the enemy. And with Zendolyn fled, Ikharos wasn't convinced the Disciples wouldn't consider seizing him in Agnisia's place.
They had to take her in. Quickly. A protracted battle would leave them weakened - and easy pickings for the Scorn.
It didn't take long from there. Alagaësia was a large landmass, but their starships closed the distance in little time, turning away from the southward run of the Spine and soaring out over vast woodlands. They remained a distance to the swell of human cities, which grew sparser the further afield they flew, and eventually settled over an expanse of green canopy broken only by spots of rising smoke and the writhing dead. Darkness wafted up, so thick and cloying it dragged a shiver out of him. Ikharos left the cockpit, found Qiniq and Angela in the hold and offered them a solemn nod.
"We're here," he said, then struggled to find something to follow it up with.
Angela beat him to it. "What will we do?"
Void Light gathered in his hands.
"Oh."
"Watch her," Ikharos told Qiniq. "Xiān's authorised the ship to recognize you. In the event something goes wrong, you two transmat out and get away. I trust you know how to fly?"
I do.
"The Trespass is automated to enter low orbit and engage its stealth field. Unless I send you the all-clear, leave it like that. If not, you'll be alone; Vindica'aur will need every bit of Cabal firepower to hold the Scorn back while I deal with the witch."
"I wouldn't be so hasty," Angela said softly.
Ikharos hardly looked at her. "It's for the better."
"Oh, don't be so sure. Balaur's an old hand. He knows how to defend himself."
"So do I."
"But... this witch..." She hesitated
"What of her?" Ikharos waited while Xiān pieced together his armour over his biosuit, freshly-repaired.
"Is it worth the blood? The price?"
"It'll decide the fate of everything."
"You mistake me," Angela looked as if she wanted to say something else, then thought better of it. There was a faraway look in her eyes - and not a shred of concern. "But that can't be helped."
Ikharos exhaled, strangling the urge to retort. "If you have advice I would hear it."
"Really? From little old me?"
"You've been here far longer than I. You know what the dragon's like."
Angela smiled thinly. "I think," she said, "that might be the wisest thing you've ever said."
"Witch-"
"Herbalist."
"Witch, I'm running out of time. Tell me something or don't."
"What is there to say? I'm sure you have this well in hand."
"Look-"
"Balaur hasn't lived this long without contingencies. You won't want to push him. However difficult this is for you, he can make your life much, much worse. Trust me on that."
"Spoken from personal experience?"
She paused. "Some."
He nodded. "I'll keep it in mind."
Good luck, human, Solembum said, slinking out from beneath the coffee table. His green eyes stared Ikharos down. You'll need it. We all will.
He pursed his lips - and then transmat took him. There was a moment of freefall before he gathered his Light beneath him and softened his landing, boots crunching on the forest floor. He was set upon almost immediately.
A Chieftain tall and broad shot from the ground wrapped in Solvent and jammed its claws into his ribcage. Ikharos froze it solid - just on the surface, just to keep it still while he pushed back in kind through its talons, along its arms, into its body and allowed the Void to render it down into raw essence. He drank quick but deeply, siphoning all that it was into pure possibility. When the Stasis thawed and the smoke of its death floated freely on the ashen winds, he looked upon the world with Void-kissed Truesight. The dead were gathering. Hunting. Many turned at the flash of his Light but more yet were stalking through the forest or slithering under the earth for a different prey.
She was here. Somewhere.
The Cabal crashed down all around him, steel boots tearing up the ground. Rifles were primed. Safeties clicked off. Dogged war-speech whispered into his ears, fed by the BattleNet. "Orders?" Vindica'aur growled. Her power-armour hummed with lethal anticipation. Qiniq, Angela and Solembum appeared behind her, surrounded by armour and shields. The Cabal moved to cover them.
Resonance gathered within and he manifested it as the Ruin, lifting it to point the way ahead. "Kill them all."
And the dead rose. And the dead came shrieking, blades singing, eyes burning. And the Imperial line barked in kind. And Ikharos lost himself to it - the din of battle, the stench of rot and blood, the crashing wave of Darkness, the ebb and flow of battle.
And and and and-
he dreamed, briefly, of a universe liberated of the Black Fleet. When his mind conjured an image, he was disquieted to find it framed in ivory. A prison for weapons who outlived their purpose.
A balance of power, set between a conniving Saint and a war-hungry Sinner.
Each of them, sprinkled across either side. Beholden to no laws but the ones they themselves perpetrated.
And he knew.
They would never be free.
-he cleared his eyes to a forest on fire, to the ashes of the Scorn pack and the fallen wreckage of a Thresher.
The Abomination responsible burned. Yu'uro and Ellecta lifted it between them, swollen limbs held taut by mind-schackles. Ikharos staggered forward, drove the Ruin through its capped head and willed it to-
cease
It died. Reduced to null, the reaped gradient of its existence infusing his weapon and whetting his appetite. More. More More More. He needed more. More Scorn. More prey.
There were none.
Ikharos gasped as the urge to Devour left him. He felt lesser without it. Smaller. Fragile. Human.
"By Acrius!" Vindica'aur laughed. She shoved back to her feet, the slab of her power-fist streaked with burning ether. She turned to the survivors, tusks held high. "This is what we've been waiting for!"
Someone cheered. A gladiator smacked their swords together. "For the Empire," they shouted in Ulurant. "For the Empress! For the Iron War-"
"Move," Ikharos snarled. The war-fury was in him - the wriggling need to kill and kill again until the enemy was broken, neutralized, gone. He gestured sharply with his glaive. "On me, now."
Yu'uro and Ellecta formed up on either side of him. How do we find her? they asked in whistling unison.
"By following them," he said. "I have their scent. Come."
The trail was warm. Arc Light sizzled in the air, sparking where it met with ether fumes. Scorn popped up here and there, drawn by the notion of living prey, but the rest swarmed with keen purpose. Shelbth was at work, uniting them into a cohesive force.
Through the forest they thundered, killing what they could, giving pursuit to the rest. Ikharos moved without considering the state of his soldiers. He hadn't the luxury. He darted through the woodland like a wraith, animated by elven grace and risen vigour. It was on the edge of the treeline, where it gave way to forgotten roads, that they found their first sight of the witch. A Reflection, broken and bleeding Light, fell out of the air with a pair of Raiders clawing at its shell. It caught one and seared it to nothing, but the second snagged her glass mask and tore it away. Her Hive face twisted with incandescent rage.
Ikharos Blinked before them both. With a flick of his hand he annihilated the Scorn and then, quick as snake-strike, opened her thorax. She hit the ground gurgling. Agnisia looked up at him... and smiled. "You," she choked, gnashing her bloodied teeth. "Vorlog. Vorlog!"
He said nothing. Simply watched her die. The Reflection slumped, shattered and dissipated.
They were close.
The road culminated in hills dotted with the crumbling ruins of civilization. The Light was thicker there - and the Darkness of Scorn conspicuously thinner. Ikharos approached cautiously, the whittled host of Cabal at their back. A single Harvester hovered above. The rest were gone; he wasn't quite sure when or how that had happened, but he recalled punishing the Scorn for it. That the Ketch hadn't showed itself yet was a miracle - but it had to be intentional. Had to be, though he couldn't grasp any reason why it would be held in reserve.
But all concern dissipated in the moment he saw them.
The first was the Stranger. Turned towards them, the glow of her optics keen and bright. Her hood was pulled back and her cloak was stained with ether. She clutched her rifle closely. By her side was... a thing. Not unlike the blue dragon-child he'd crossed less than a week ago, though slighter in build. Its hide was a pale silver along its flanks and underbelly, while its wings, narrow face and long tail were a deep, oily black. The beast had the appearance of a disproportionate magpie. Its eyes were like pinpricks of starlight, staring at Ikharos across the fields, full of alien intelligence.
This... was his dragon.
His error.
His curse.
Beside them, swathed in Light and hex, hovered the witch herself. Her claws were demurely clasped together and her head bowed down to speak, but she straightened the moment she noticed them. Another pair of Reflections split from her back, emerging wriggling and frantic. The figure she'd been conversing with lazily turned their head to gaze upon him. Not his host of warriors, not the Harvester at their back, not the Psions or Vindica'aur or anything else. Just. Him.
They had the appearance of a human man, withered and weathered and elderly beyond belief. A long unkempt beard dangled down to his knees, stark white. His garb was simple and in one hand he clutched a gnarled walking stick. But the eyes. The eyes.
"Balaur," Ikharos breathed.
The old man turned and hobbled away. Agnisia spared Ikharos one last scathing look before following after him, disappearing through a door into a broken tower. Her Reflections remained, robes flying and claws splayed, and they-
"Scorn!" someone shouted.
The Harvester let loose a barrage. Behind them, throwing bodies and dirt in every direction.
"Detecting a horde," Xiān reported. "A big one. Shelbth's coming."
Ikharos clenched his jaw. The Reflections were waiting for him. That curdling rage bubbled inside him; Teirm, Teirm, Teirm. He had to settle things. Had to set it right. His fault for bringing her remains, his fault for sparing her Ghost, his fault for believing he could catch her before the Scorn could find her lure-
His fault. His fault. His fucking fault.
"Vindica'aur," he whispered.
Vindica'aur looked down at him.
"Can you hold them back?"
"I can try." But she paused. "Thank you... commander."
Ikharos glanced at her in surprise. He only caught on a moment later - and by then she was already moving to engage.
He'd given her permission to fight. To die.
They were all going to die.
"Vindica'aur," he called out, struggling to keep the fear, the guilt in check. There was a dragon nearby, after all.
She turned, already hoisting a shotgun off an underling.
"I see you."
Vindica'aur blinked - and then lowered her tusks in a rare show of deference. "Fight well, lord."
His mouth was dry. The Cabal moved on without him, firing on the first few Scorn to peek out of the shadows and marching forth to set a firing line. The BattleNet fritzed with their combined voices, eventually melding together in a discordant song - a war-chant. A death-march.
He'd killed them. He'd killed them as surely as if he'd done it with his own two hands.
"Flayers," Ikharos said thickly, fool, fool, you fucking fool, and turned ahead. "With me."
Ellecta and Yu'uro formed up on either side of him, Qiniq, Angela and Solembum at his back. They advanced, quickly, power gathering in their minds. The first of the Reflections snarled a warning but they ignored it. Together the witches darted forth, shrieking obscenities-
And Ikharos smote them down with a wave of his hand, drinking up their mass.
The Stranger recoiled. The dragon did not. The distance closed between them soon enough - and Ikharos was left looking up at the creature. His Light surged and his Darkness roiled; every part of him was aching to kill it. Kill it now. Kill it before it hurts someone, before it breaks reality and makes another monster-
"Ike," the Stranger murmured.
He trembled. Drawn between the urge to destroy it and the reminder this is a child this is a child this a child we can never cross this line not again never fucking again.
"Don't."
Don't... what? Do the right thing, the reasonable thing? Bend his morals again because if he doesn't it'll make things worse? Break its bones, shatter its spine, crush its skill, pierce its crystal heart? Stomp its whispers into nothing-
It wasn't whispering. Why wasn't it whispering?
"Ike," the Stranger said gently.
Qiniq pushed past. His eye was full of fire.
"Wait," Ikharos said.
Qiniq froze. Lord?
Ikharos' expression was tight, controlled, a mask to disguise his turmoil. The instinct to attack was strong. But the prey-need to escape was stronger. "You claimed me," he said to the dragon. It blinked slowly. "You... changed me."
It exhaled softly.
"You'll undo it. You'll retract your wish. You'll cut me free."
And if I refuse? A soft, smooth voice spoke into his mind. Deep, but young. Armed with the warbling inflections of High Coven. Damn her to hell, it had a Hive accent.
Ikharos' hackles rose. It took every bit of willpower not to strike it down then and there. "I will end you."
Slowly the dragon lowered its head so their eyes were level. The Psions stirred, but the dragon ignored them. I am Grimnir, it whispered. And I am yours.
Ikharos would have responded - would have retaliated - but an explosion stole away his words. He resisted the urge to turn around. "Contain it," he whispered.
The Flayers acted as one. Psycho-kinetic energy whipped into form, wrapping around the dragon's space and solidifying as a physical barrier. It blinked quickly and prodded its holdings with a claw.
"Ikharos," the Stranger said. She raised her rifle. Didn't aim it, but he knew Exominds well enough that she could pepper them all with nano-rounds before they could even blink. The Darkness inside him ached to strike first, strike now, before-... stop that. Stop.
"We can't stay here," she reasoned, optics flitting between them. "We have to go. Shelbth-"
"Take them," Ikharos said to the Flayers. "Make yourselves scarce. I'm not in the mood to see what Shelbth can do with an Ahamkara."
"Lord," Yu'uro and Ellecta said.
He turned to Qiniq-
And time froze.
"I do apologize for this," Angela said quickly. She ran for the tower. By the time Ikharos had shaken the effects off, she'd already reached the base. The door opened of its own accord - and when he Blinked to close the distance it slammed shut after her.
"What the fuck?!" Xiān shouted. "What the fuck is she doing?!"
He crashed against the door with his shoulder. It didn't budge. Qiniq raced after him, but he motioned him back. "Go!" Ikharos shouted. "I'll get her!"
Human, Solembum started to say, but Qiniq turned and snatched him up. The werecat yelped. Don't be a fool!
There was another explosion. Larger, flaring bright enough to resemble the rising sun. The Harvester was down. He could hear the furious bark of imperial rifles - and the howling of frenzied Scorn. Shelbth was almost upon them.
"Just fucking go!" Ikharos bellowed. He tried the handle, wrenched it about. When it suddenly gave he was almost pulled off his feet. There was no one waiting inside. Just an empty hall. A great force struck him then, dragged him in and enveloped him in shadow. The door swung shut. The sounds of battle faded on the spot, replaced by...
Whispers.
Ikharos gathered himself, cowering beneath the protection of his nullscape, and slowly advanced inside. His killing arm trembled; the Ruin keened softly, hungry for blood.
But what he found wasn't an ambush in waiting, nor the scene of a savage feast. Instead, deeper into the tower, the hall gave way to a dining room, with an attached kitchen to the left. The central table was rounded; plates and cutlery had already been set. Steaming cups of black tea were laid out, balanced on delicate saucers.
Sat around the table, quite innocently, was Angela, Agnisia and the Ahamkara himself.
"Balaur," Ikharos whispered.
The man glanced over at him. "You're trudging in muck," he huffed. "Sit down before your tea gets cold."
Along the walls stood bookcases, stocked right to the brim. Some pieces Ikharos even recognized; he saw ancient scientific theorems, treatises on warfare, a Golden Age account regarding the mapping of the outer system. In the corner of one shelf was the unmistakable spine of a leather-bound Book of Sorrow, and in another-
From Riis to Earth; a study on Human-Eliksni relations throughout history. He'd only published it a couple months before the Red War, what with the Hundred Years' Siege finally ended. But it shouldn't be here. Why? Why show him? Why-
"Sit," the Ahamkara commanded.
And Ikharos found himself seated. The Ruin was gone, though he felt its essence within. Despite his best efforts he could not move. His arms refused to rise. His power would not manifest. The very air swam with dragon-magic, so thickly he could all but see it.
"Comfortable? Good." Balaur leaned back. "Now - let's talk."
For a moment no one said anything.
"Tenga," Angela murmured. "It's been some time."
Balaur looked at her curiously. "Angela-" ||Witch!|| roared the wyrm. ||Bargain-maker, Light-dreamer! Spinner of the lying-web!|| "-you are changed."
"Good to see you too!" She smiled. Hands folded over one another. Head cocked.
"What do-" ||Make known your wish.|| "-you require now?!"
Ikharos ached to speak. If not to let fly a killing spell, then to interrupt the proceedings, to draw the dragon away. His only consolation was that Agnisia, seated opposite him, was similarly silent and still. The burn of her eyes cut right through him.
"I require naught, for I am naught."
"A fanciful whim."
"And here I thought you enjoyed whims. Matter of fact, I do believe I saw one of yours outside."
Balaur grunted. "Is that so?" ||Child-hide, heart-fragment, dragon-eater-prey!||
"Oh I'm sure you knew already." Angela glanced his way, then Agnisia's. "I suppose that's enough small talk. Unless either of you have anything to add?"
Agnisia gasped, air hissing between her clenched fangs. The visor clouding her face folded away, melting into Light particles. Her features - bone scorched black - twisted into an inhuman sneer. "O dragon," she said, the air trembling with her words. "I come for a favour."
"A favour?" the old man croaked. ||Desire, desire, desire! Witch-whetted appetite! Ambition in the face of oblivion! Be you earnest or be you Scorned!||
"A gift offered in reckless hope." Agnisia's words rattled in his brain, uttered simultaneously in humanity's English and her own Ascendant Speech. She lowered her horned head in supplication, but her eyes darted again and again towards Ikharos.
And he couldn't do a damn thing about it.
It didn't matter. Dragons were always overconfident. He knew how to kill them. This would be no different; all he had to do was wait for the moment.
"You bear me a gift?" the dragon huffed. ||Given freely, given openly, to be Given. But one piece of the answer; a half-fragment of divinity.||
Agnisia smiled sweetly, which was anathema to Hive and thus terrifying to behold. "Life," she sang in a voice that was the very definition of discord. "Survival."
The dragon sighed. "Is that all?" ||The Scorned Ones near, bearing the dragon-eater's will.||
"It is a life to live freely-"
"Is it?" Angela said softly. "Is it survival you offer, or the chance to truly live?"
Agnisia blinked. "They are linked-"
"But not identical. Perhaps you can shed some light on it." Angela turned to him. Brow arched. Expectant. Giving him the chance to swing it in his favour.
The coiling sensation around his throat disappeared. Ikharos glanced at each of them in turn - dragon, Hive, but his gaze lingered on Angela. Something stirred in the back of his mind. Something rotten. "Life is Light," he croaked. "Survival is of the Dark."
Angela nodded, satisfied. "Do you see?"
"I see," Agnisia seethed. She glared at him. "Yet Sky and Deep are intertwined. That is the nature of all existence. Aiat."
"Nay," Ikharos retorted. "It is and it isn't. We are both carbon-based lifeforms, but are we kindred? No."
"Oh, I wouldn't be so sure," Angela murmured.
He ignored her. "The differences lie in the degree of balance. Hive have bathed in the Dark, while humanity basks in the Light. You survive. We live."
"Ha!" Agnisia crowed. "You speak a mistruth! For what are you if not a host to the Deep?! You bear the tool of the Once-Masters, you scar the Sky with Blight, you take and you take and you Take! I fly with the Sky alone. The witchcraft that once defined me I left behind-"
"You draw pain. You inflict suffering-"
"You hunt and kill and destroy-"
"You gave a city to the Scorn! To the fucking Scorn!"
Agnisia's jaws snapped shut. Her eyes burned like suns. "Only because you would not leave me be. I live, thus I deserve to be free. You yearn for ruin, Deep-monger, and so I give it to you. Freely."
Before he could retort the noose around his neck returned. Ikharos stiffened. The moment he had control again, he was going to level everything.
"Interesting," Balaur murmured. ||A wish I will grant, o audience mine, but only once, for the Annihilator nears. Make known your desires that I may choose.||
"Home," Agnisia whispered. "I wish to go home."
The dragon nodded. It turned to Ikharos-
"Jierda!" he barked. The magic split the air, struck the dragon and cracked him down the middle. The old man - or the illusion thereof - broke.
There were no bones left behind. Nor a heart to crush.
Ikharos blinked. Agnisia laughed. Angela winced. The room... shivered.
The tower was the dragon.
||Disarm yourself|| the dragon yawned.
Ikharos felt a sharp sensation and heard a yelp. Xiān fell on the table before him, knocking over his cup. The wooden surface grew fingers, catching her and holding her firm. Her eye found him.
He froze.
Through the reflection of spilled tea he saw the distorted reflection of the ceiling. In place of stonework were carp-scales, whiskers, a dozen serpent eyes.
||Wish,|| the dragon ordered.
His every instinct told him to fight it. To destroy it. "I wish," Ikharos said, pride aching, "for you to deny the witch."
Agnisia snarled.
"Interesting," Angela mused.
The dragon bellowed. ||An empty wish. Nothing to glean, nothing to sate. You would demand of me inaction?||
"Hold now, Tenga," Angela called out. "This man bears your mark. Does he not deserve some leeway?"
||The irony only tantalizes, o encrypter mine. It does not satiate my hunger.|| The tower shook with bitter mirth. ||Another irony, for the parasite will only ever gnaw. Never give in return.||
"All true. But think, now, if you united both desires as one? Let him have his way. Within reason, of course."
The tower hummed. ||Curious you are, ever and always. Clever enough to work your angle in matters that don't concern you. Your desire is their desire.||
"Three in one. Isn't that nice?"
||It pleases me. I will feed and I will savour the spice. In doing so, I offer the dragon-eater/world-ender/demon-in-dying a lingering defiance. Spears to ring the Light-Eater's city. Are you amenable, o audience mine?||
Angela's smile grew wider. "We are."
||And so I present it. Home, which is High Coven, which is forever away, which is desired for, which is desired against. I grant/deny it. You will never return home. Home must come to you. Is your choice made?||
"It is," Agnisia said quickly.
Ikharos felt his heart hammer in his chest. What had he done?
No. What had she done?
||There is a balance I must uphold,|| Balaur continued. ||Lest the dragon-eater rise. These spears I present to you bundled, for together they present a phalanx guarded from all angles. I will permit no breeders; I will permit no poison. Their blades shall be dauntless hadium, whetless and impossible to reforge.||
"I accept."
||So it shall be; so it is.||
And the air rippled. Space/time shattered for the merest moment, linking their existence with another, a universe away. Light burned. Ivory shell shone. Chittering voices filled the room.
When the dragon's grip faded, Ikharos found his footing, broke Xiān's bindings and snatched Angela's arm. He hardly even made it through the door when Agnisia caught up. Angela went one way, Xiān another, while he and the witch tumbled out onto the hillside, setting the grass ablaze. Her burning claws found his neck and his fingers wrapped around the sides of her skull. It was a question of who could channel their Light quicker. He had the advantage of centuries. Agnisia fell away, little more than a husk burnt inside out, and he shoved a fistful of healing gold against his throat.
Her Ghost appeared, horns shaking with fight. Light flared in her eye. Ikharos lunged for her - and was taken off his feet by a molten scream. A second witch, larger and broader of horn and cloaked in wormsilk veil. A Brood Queen. Lucent. Enemy.
She reached for him. Ikharos sliced off one arm at the elbow with his Resonant glaive, split open her belly and drove the Ruin's head through her sternum. She died gasping. He didn't even have time to see her Ghost compile before the third Lightbearer set upon him with a storm of Light-moths. He dashed away on a Solar jet, but they were close enough to erupt and dazzle him with their post-mortem brilliance.
The new witch, frilled and marked with glowing pores from which the moths emerged, struck with a spear of lightning, taking out his legs with a hurried sweep. The palm of her hand opened against his chest and unleashed raw power. Ribs snapped. His breath was driven from punctured lungs. Ikharos Blinked out of its grasp and emerged some feet away with an explosion of volatile absence, consuming mass in every direction until he was whole once more. When she lunged for him he cleanly danced over her Arc beam and planted an open hand against her collar in mirror of her own attack. The ensuing supernova erased the witch's torso. Her lower abdomen toppled to the ground, still twitching with phantom sensations. The excess energy he gleaned manifested as a Void soul, catching the new Ghost and holding it in place.
He never had the chance to destroy it.
Agnisia and the Brood Queen were already up. Closing in on either side. He cut a hasty retreat, moving backwards to keep them in sight, keep them from tearing into his back and-
A Scorn howled somewhere behind him.
"Fuck," Ikharos gasped. "Xiān-"
"They're gone," she said quickly, as panicked as he was. "They're... they're gone. Scorn are coming."
"How long?"
"Don't know. Circling. All around. Closing off our exits."
The moth-witch rose. All three clicked and chittered and spoke to one another in the reprehensible Hive language, each focused entirely on him. They moved like a wolf pack. Like a fireteam. Surrounding him. Cornering him. Waiting for that killing moment, that they might act in tandem to ensure his quick demise.
He didn't like how familiar it was. Certainly not now that he was on the other end.
"Three's not good odds," Xiān said. "If they live, Shelbth will take them. Ike..."
He knew all too well.
When they struck, they did so as one. Ikharos dropped a Duskfield to slow the Mothkeeper, ducked beneath the spell-fire and drove his shoulder into the Broodless Queen's abdomen. His very touch was caustic, making her double-over with pain - close enough that he could catch onto her horns and drive a Stasis-sharpened hand through her head. He leapt away, gliding on eddies of rising Light, and found Agnisia closer than ever. She struck with cleaver and stolen glaive both, each weapon working independently, working to reduce him to steaming meat. He caught the glaive with a Daybreak sword and flung it aside, made to do the same with her cleaver but she'd dropped it, dropped it into the waiting third hand reaching out of her chest-
The emerging Reflection ran him through. Ikharos dropped, the magics in the blade sapping the burning Light of his Super.
"Jierda," he gurgled, just as the ground rushed up to slam into his back.
The Reflection shattered, magic carrying on to split Agnisia apart. The Mothkeeper was there to take her place. She smashed down with her Light like a mighty hammer, directly on the hilt of the cleaver. The blade sheared right through him, severing his spinal cord, the hadium igniting to cook his meat. He tried to reach for it, to wrench it out, but teeth - Agnisia's teeth, reborn - found his wrist. Blood splattered over his visor, blinding him to the extent of the damage, though he could feel it well enough. The other witch must have risen because he found his other arm pinned down and claws shoving into his mouth to pull his jaw open and tear out his tongue.
There wasn't enough time to speak to Xiān, only to urge her to run. They were going to kill him. It was already a foregone conclusion. Her own will burned with defiance; she was staying, the fool, the lovable fool, of course she was, and they were going to crush her up and eat her Light-
Then, without warning, the Hive relaxed. Claws reluctantly slid free, leaving rivers of blood amidst mangled flesh. For a moment there was nothing but the ache of his injuries. Ikharos waited for the killing blow. It never came. In its stead, a gloved hand wiped across his visor and the Mothkeeper stared down at him.
"Guaaaardian," she intoned in her deep speech. "Deep-Waker."
Agnisia snapped something. The Mothkeeper motioned and soulfire blazed around them. A trap. Teeth of fiery green grew around him, pinning him in place, cordoning off his healing Light and prickling each and every nerve with pain. His vision swam with soulfire.
But he could still see. Still hear. Still feel. A perfect toy for an Agonarch - but Agnisia, though iridescent with hate, was held back by the other witches. Their claws moved about her shoulders, gently re-orientating her, and when her eyes turned from him... she almost collapsed. An arm wrapped around the Mothkeeper's shoulders while her head fell into the crook of the Broodless Queen's neck. She trembled. Warbled.
...Wept?
The other witches enveloped her in soft murmurs and tight embrace. Their Light-fired eyes shuttered. Talons hooked into shell segment to clutch ever closer. Comforting. Loving. A real Fireteam. That was her wish. Her coven.
"Sisters," Agnisia said in the Deepest of Hive speech. She straightened, removing her glass mask to furiously wipe the tears from her three green eyes "Sisters! You came."
"By will not our own," the Broodless Queen chided, if kindly. "Blades pierce the deception, o High Coven trespassed."
"A dragon-trespass of my own volition. My will brought you here, which is the will of our Queen, Radiant, repurposed."
"The Queen is dead," the Mothkeeper pointed out. Her voice was rough, dry, more even than the Hive norm. She gently herded the moths away from her face.
Agnisia shuddered. "But not lost-"
"Never," the Broodless Queen added. She turned to the Mothkeeper. "And she has left death-schemes in her wake."
"I ache for purpose. Illuminate, o Lifesinger."
"The Queen, the Deepest Secret and Joy of the Sky, has taken leave only to give the Unseen Sister her well-wishes," the Mothkeeper explained. "Her Traveler-Gift lives still, guarded by the Lightblade. High Coven stands, as it always has, as it always shall. Aiat."
"Aiat."
"Aiat."
Ikharos felt the tiniest give in the trap. The magic was wearing out. He rolled his shoulder and flexed his good arm. There was every chance he'd bleed out or give into shock before he could free himself, so the sooner that was done-
"Where have you stolen us?" the Broodless Queen demanded, though there was a crooked grin in her voice.
"A hidden world," Agnisia elaborated, "claimed by the enemy."
"The humans? The Cabal? The False-Light House?"
"The Deep, sisters. This world is ruled by the Deep."
The Broodless Queen growled.
"Sloppy," Xiān muttered. "Can you move yet?"
Ikharos gritted his teeth. The magic may have been thinning but his strength was fading just as quickly. "Trying."
"Soul-crystal's by your hip. Other hip. You'll need to reach across."
Ikharos lifted his shoulder to do just that. It was agony, but his fingers found the gem's smooth surface all the same. He carefully wrapped his hand around it... and squeezed. Nowhere near strong enough.
"Give it everything."
"Trying!"
Then he heard Angela's voice. "Uh... hello?"
He craned his head around. The witches had noticed her. "Fuck." He squeezed and kept squeezing despite the spreading cold in his chest, the laxing muscles, squeezed with his fading sight and last breath, squeezed until it cracked...
And he was free.
But one of them was waiting. Hands pierced his chest. Ikharos yawned with Void, gulping in swathes of dirt and air and matter, but the Mothkeeper was fire, fire, fire, all heat and ash and smouldering death. One of her arms fell away, Devoured. He scrabbled at her shoulder, reducing it to null and Voidsmoke, but she was driven, she was experienced, she was inured to pain and she-
Found his heart.
Everything was over in an instant.
stars, stars, misshapen stars cast in twisted constellations, riding on waves of blight
a throne A KNIFE for the taking
takingtakingtaking
But death would not hold him. Ikharos ripped himself free of oblivion with burning resolve and a will so cold it tore reason to pieces. Wings of molten rage framed his dashing flight - fingers finding the remaining ivory arm grasping his Ghost, his Ghost, reducing the limb to ash and agony.
The Mothkeeper recoiled with a cry. The other witches twisted around, features contorting with vengeful fury and animal fear. The Broodless Queen was upon him in an instant, a fiery spell building in her throat. Ikharos Blinked, reached over and plucked it out. She fell scrabbling at her neck. He took her voice, her stolen Light, and he forged it into a glowing blade-
A blade that found Agnisia's neck and smote it from her shoulders.
She fell. Dead. Deaddeaddead- her Ghost appeared, eager and afraid and dutiful to the end and he-
He willed her capture. Took her. Took her. As they took his Ghost. His Dark-bitten fingers flensed her shell to melting atoms and closed around her core, shadowing the glow of her illusionary soulfire.
All came to a halt. The roar of Lighted battle faded, replaced only by heavy breathing and a single Ghost's pleading whispers. The other Lightbearers froze, still far too close to comfort.
"Please," Skuldu whimpered. "Please..."
Ikharos didn't so much as spare her a single look. She was beneath him, detestable and twisted and wrong. Worm-like. "Xiān?"
"I'm good," she reported, her voice shaky. "That was too close."
His hold tightened. Skuldu's glass shell cracked. Her pleas turned to screams. The Mothkeeper flinched and the Broodless Queen snarled. "One squeeze," he said tonelessly. "That's all it takes."
Neither witch moved.
"Names. Now."
They glanced at one another. Down at Agnisia's listless head. Each other again. Conferring in silence. He could see the motions - the temptation of fleeing him, the fear of the unknown, the agony of losing one of their own, the helplessness in the face of his experience. The Broodless Queen, her throat knitting together with restorative flames, angrily shook her horns. "In Anânh," she whispered past her full-skull mask. "Broodseeker."
Of course. Of course. Like Alak-Hul wasn't enough; High Coven had to have every Hive warlord slain by Guardian hands. Even those who swore by the sword. An insult to every life lost trying to kill them in the first place.
"And you?" Ikharos glared at the Mothkeeper.
She ducked her head almost shyly - a Hive gesture to denote deep thinking. "Ir Šimmumah ur-Nokru," she quietly hissed. The cloud of moths fluttered down to perch on her arms and shoulders. "Lifesinger."
Her name only drew passing interest. Half-familiar. Mustn't have been a big player in the grand scheme of things. Regardless, he had his measure of them. Large for Wizards, strong for months-old Risen, yet compromised by compassion of all things. Consideration for their own kin.
Hive who valued lives other than their own. What a novelty.
"Angela," Ikharos called out. "Circle around."
"Alright." Angela backpedaled from the witches and over to his side. "What now?"
"You should go."
"Please," Skuldu blubbered. "Please don't kill me, please..."
"I..." Angela hesitated. "I don't think I should."
"It's not safe here." Ikharos paused. His eyes darted up to the tower behind the Hive. The dragon. Watching. Waiting. "Go. Now."
"Not safe," Xiān blurted. "Scorn closing in. Fast."
Ikharos turned his head a fraction, listening. Another howl, distant, reached them but it was the soft rustle, the ghostly drag of blades pulling free of scabbards, the clack-clack-clack of claws on stone that gave the ghouls away. What was more conspicuous was the lack of slug-fire. Of war-cries and battle-speech. Even the grunting buzz of the BattleNet.
The War Beasts were dead.
And they were next.
He turned back, muscles tensing-
Agnisia's corpse glowed. She rose. Shrieking. Fingers splayed. Eyes closing in on his visor, set over gnashing teeth. A Blink. He tried to Blink. She followed him through, Blinked herself. Claws found his wrist.
Not her claws. Not her Darkness rising up around them. Not her Solvent catching on the edges of their robes, breaking the ground to swallow them whole.
Not her. But she went with him. Teeth in his throat. His Light in her neck. Killing her as she killed him. When the end came, when the Dark truly took them, they were helpless to stop it.
AN: Thanks to Nomad Blue for edits and feedback!
