The interior of the arena they had earlier spied was all the more awe-inspiring as the party saw it in its entirety. The door they passed through opened out onto a gangway made entirely of nullstun that hung almost impossibly over a great pit whose depths were lost to darkness. Above them, a shroud of that same mineral backed sparking pylons and wires that had haphazardly been used to repair the complex. As the group ran past undulating rods of aulind that writhed in channels cut into the walls, they saw an expansive central platform engraved with aulind patterns that Mara could only assume were magical. They met at the apex of the circular platform, feeding into the roots of what appeared to be a segaris tree stripped of its leaves and marked with magical signifiers. Renaud and his captors were ascending the stairs surrounding this tree, the professor himself looking at his destination like a condemned man towards the noose.
Mara called out to Renaud, who turned with a measure of surprise. His escort drew weapons and levelled them at the intruders. Several yelled for reinforcements, to no avail. The corridor behind the party emitted a deathly orange glow and billowing black smoke that strangely fell into the bottomless pit beneath the gangway. Twitcher clung to a railing as the party stopped their mad dash, once more between past and present. Ranva wasted no time in manifesting her golden blade, eyes searching the six Army soldiers that stood between her and her quarry. Fred swung his rifle from his shoulder, loading one of his crystalline armaments as he did so. Arthur assumed his position at the vanguard, trying to keep Mara behind him as she attempted to push through. She seemed to think a peaceful solution was still possible.
“Renaud, we came to rescue you! Take the crook and run! We’ll deal with the rabble.” Mara shouted to her sora, who wore an almost pained expression. Fred momentarily lowered his weapon, coming to an uncomfortable conclusion. A conclusion that his fellows seemed to draw. Except Mara. Mara’s eyes shone with resolve, hope staining her voice even as it fell upon deaf ears. “Whether Albrecht, Herald or Marshal stand in my way, we’ll be back in Yanhelm by supper time!” Mara insisted against the silence that grew between the two parties. The Army members chuckled amongst themselves.
Renaud did not respond, instead continuing his journey up the steps. He used the Crook to steady himself, holding a hand aloft towards the tree. At once, some form of interface or console traced in illusions manifested. He began to meddle with it, entering pertinent information. Fred, who could no longer stomach the charade, fired a warning shot past Renaud’s head. He spun around, irritation creasing his features.
“Tell her, damn you!” Fred bellowed as he worked the lever on his rifle, lining the next shot up between the eyes of an Army member who’d dared to take a step towards Arthur. Fred’s eye flicked to the cover they could take. Metal of some kind, three large, curved walls. He didn’t know what they were, which complicated things. “I knew you were low Renaud, but you had to grab a bleedin’ pickaxe!” Fred added insultingly, hoping to buy himself more time as he scrutinized the metal shrouds that abutted the stairs. Aulind, almost certainly. Bad mix for magical ammunition.
“Good gods Master Seeker, did you follow her knowing this?” Renaud laughed mockingly, his attention returning to the console before him. He once again began working his machinations upon it, seemingly ignoring Fred. “My ruse accomplished the goal of getting her here. I did not expect her to bring her pets. No matter, you can be audience to my victory too.” Renaud waved a hand over his shoulder before completing his initial work, turning to face them once more. As he did so, the bottomless pit about them erupted.
It looked to the uninitiated as if they were in the eye of a tornado of purple flames. Lightning crackled high above their heads, surging from one part of the conflagration to another. The aulind elements around them began to glow as the rods emerged from their housing. The frighteningly fragile mortals were preserved only by the miraculous mineral beneath their feet. All eyes collectively turned to Renaud and the tree, which had grown leaves of tiny purple flames. Renaud wore an expression of triumphant vainglory, holding the Crook aloft with a joyous yell. He laughed with sheer elation. His laugh soon soured as his body convulsed with a horrific coughing fit. His hand came away bloody, face a picture of resolve as he returned to his duty.
“I’d say this meets Recala’s standard. Call her.” Ranva ordered the struggling Twitcher, who seemed to be having a nervous breakdown. The Espali reached down and attempted to open their compartment, only to be slapped away with a snarl. Twitcher reached for the speaking stone, delivering an Elysian code word to the listener on the other end. Ranva had to intercede as a bolt of lightning almost struck them. Instead, Ranva directed it behind them, grunting with the exertion. Renaud’s smoking fingers and belligerent expression were a silent admission.
“Stop it, sora! A man of science has no need of a marshal! We’ll find you the funding, the support, whatever you need! Anyone but these people!” Mara called over the din, trying to reason with her elder. Renaud looked at her, his expression softening as he did so. The young elf felt relief for the moment before the professor slid his fingers further along the console. More control rods freed themselves, rising next to the gangway and sparking with lightning.
“Dearest Mara. I am the Marshal.” Renaud sighed, his voice carrying through the roaring flames directly into their minds. Mara’s face fell, her eyes losing their glow for the first time since the hill with Lorana. “I’ve been the Marshal since the war. I had hope you’d see things my way when I saw you at the meeting. Thanks for the circle, incidentally. It ensured I wasn’t missed.” Renaud continued politely, smiling as he spoke telepathically. An elementary trick for a man who specialized in illusion and domination magic. Arthur spat a curse up at the man, levelling his mace threateningly.
“You murdered my countrymen, profaned the gods and still you stand there with pride? Look at yourself!” Arthur howled indignantly, flinging an unexpected spell towards Renaud. It caught him before he could counteract it. The illusion he’d cloaked himself in weathered like sand in the wind, vanishing into a stream of purple motes as it did so. What stood before them was most likely the form of Mara’s sora but completely altered. His skin had become leathery and almost translucent, his nose a hollow gap in his features. His mouth had pulled back over the teeth, giving him a ghastly grimace. There was no hair atop his head nor elvish ears, merely the holes where ears once had been.
“How did you know?!” Renaud hissed, reasserting the illusion as he pointed a skeletal finger at his assailant.
“Did you think this power came without sacrifice? That the Crook would meekly submit to a misguided child of Sirona?” Arthur berated with a flailing mace to punctuate his anger. Fred had never seen him so animated. He relished the rare sight of the cleric’s fury as he took aim at Renaud. There would be no warning this time.
“Ardan!” Armin’s voice thundered through their minds, the ghost manifesting from Mara’s sickle as she held her head in her hands, her knees tucked against her chest. She had lost control, allowing Van Brenin to vent his spleen at this uppity old man. “You toy with powers beyond your ken! The conduits were never meant to be activated in such numbers; you’ll kill us all!” Armin warned with such fear in his voice that even the Army members shuffled uncomfortably. Renaud bellowed at them to steady themselves, to find their spines. He glowered at Armin with such enmity that Fred briefly wondered whether he was attempting to kill with a single stare. That stiffened, angry gaze would make his forehead a nice target.
“You would speak to me of sacrifice, of danger? You, who cowered in the woodlands like some frightened kopran while I punished those murders!?” Renaud seethed with an accusing finger pointed directly at Armin. The ghost glared, hand reaching for Mara’s sickle as the mage whimpered. She feebly tried to block out the sound of her sora’s words, as if she could return to her righteous narrative by sheer force of will. “When I was born, the world was sunlit and beautiful! Smiles graced the faces of my family and friends. We wanted for nothing! Yan took everything! Piece by piece, he tore my heart from me! He saw the blood on his hands as sacrosanct! A righting of history’s wrongs. But I saw in him the same barbarism I see in all of us. I thank him to this day for the lesson he taught me. The most important lesson: Only through fear can the beast inside us be cowed!” Renaud ranted; his voice infused with such passion that the raw flesh of his mental scars was laid bare. Mara’s thoughts involuntarily slid to the first time he’d confronted Ranva, of the burning buildings and screaming. That illusion had not been theatrics. It had been a memory.
“I received a second chance at life. I wanted to spend it as a better man than Ardan. But the truths Yan gave me hold firm even in this ‘enlightened’ age.” Renaud continued ruefully, looking towards the cowering form of his sana with a surprising pain in his eyes. Like the passing of a cloud over the sun, his expression shifted once more to the resolved Marshal. “And so, I turn to someone well versed in the ways of terror. I cannot make you understand, only ask that you not stand in my way. I’m doing it for you, Mara. For all of us! Because if I don’t free the monster that haunts them, they will become the monsters that haunt us!” Renaud pleaded in a strained voice, a wracking cough taking hold of him once again. The cough saved him for it struck at the exact moment Fred pulled the trigger, the bolt whizzing through the air over his head. He looked to Fred, more indignant that he’d attempt to hurt him than anything else. Fred’s expression on the other hand had taken on the affectation of a grim executioner, reloading without so much as a breath.
“You won’ be freein’ anyone! Yer going in the ground, today!” Fred shouted towards the professor, who began to weave a barrier of magic between himself and the party. Renaud shouted orders, his lackeys surging forward to deal death to their master’s enemies. “Always the same! Buncha gits spewin’ hate to the desperate! Even when ye win, you don’ free anyone! Y’just paint the locks a differen’ colour!” Fred howled at Renaud, firing shot after shot into the barrier while its occupant desperately tried to maintain it, doing whatever needed doing with the console.
Arthur shoved back against the Army soldiers, staggering as one of the smarter ones hooked his axe around Arthur’s ankle. As the shield fell away, swords bristled out. A golden blur embedded itself in the neck of one of Renaud’s soldiers, red glistening as it withdrew. A cleric attempted to heal her fellow, only for dark tendrils to wrap themselves about her and begin to choke the life from her. Ranva looked behind her to see Mara with her hand held out as a wicked claw. She knew it was not the mage but her ghostly companion. Her eyes had been replaced by his glowing orange orbs. With a strangled gurgle, Armin’s foe fell to the ground. The dark lord of the dead then rose above them, his eyes set upon his old ally with a hatred so pure the magic around them rippled.
“Break his toys. I will do what I should have done five centuries ago.” The reverberating voice of Armin commanded through Mara’s throat. He dove towards the barrier before forming Mara’s favoured spectral claws and hammering it like artillery fire. Renaud could not split his concentration any longer, turning to hold Armin at bay with the same hatred contorting his features.
The four remaining Army members closed ranks between the two barricades of aulind, shields raised as they attempted to hold back the party. Fred had given up on the barrier, instead choosing to pepper the desperate Army members. Their swings were wild, foundering in the face of Ranva who seemed to dismantle them like a huntress dressing a kill. Their shield would lift to block one of Fred or Arthur’s blows, only for the golden sword to bite into them. Twitcher had returned to the present as a devil possessed of desperation. They ran against the barricades, sailing cleanly into the air before landing atop the screaming cleric, who had begun to recover from Armin’s attack.
The fight grew more desperate as the burning need for survival drove the Sunburst Army wild with adrenaline. They lashed out even as their own armour was rent, their flesh hewed by the party’s swords. The desperation nicked and bled Arthur, who resorted to breathing radiant fire in the faces of his opponents. Locking her enemy’s blade, Ranva set her devilish familiar upon a white-haired veteran. He hissed in pain, severing the creature’s head. His instinct cost him far more than it had cost Ranva as she whipped her sword across his throat as she had done Albrecht. This man was less fortunate, falling to the ground into a growing red pool. Fred traded fire with the other arquebusier, a shot passing clean through his ear. Another clanged off his armour, sending him to the ground. As one of the Army sought to capitalize, Twitcher’s arm sword found his back. With a crack, the automaton dispatched him. Fred used this grace to pull himself to his feet, dangling himself off the side of the gangway to get an angle. The angle was true as the enemy sniper’s body fell over the railing into the purple flames below, evaporated on the spot. Fred whipped himself back over before the same happened to him.
Armin, amidst his feral assault, saw the tiniest nick in the barrier appear. Seizing on the opportunity, he plunged his claws into the energies Renaud had manifested. With a howl of exertion, he tore open the barrier like an alleg on a fresh kill. With one hand keeping the gap open, his free hand raked at Renaud who used the Crook to defend himself. The desperate struggle between the two caused the barrier to weaken further, allowing Armin to fight on equal terms.
“No escape this time, Ardan.” Armin grinned with a wicked laugh, wrapping both hands about the Crook. They fought for control, Renaud kicking Mara’s stomach with a vicious rage. His ability to concentrate on his illusory self shattered, once more revealing the withered man beneath. “When you return to Annun do the world a favour and stay there.” Armin giggled, taking a claw from the Crook to swipe at Renaud’s face. The grisly creature ducked beneath the blow, shoving the staff against Mara’s body with enough force to send the pair spiralling to the ground. Armin wasted no time in rolling to his feet, knowing well that Renaud was not a stupid man. He knew what killing him meant for Mara.
“Foul approximation. You’ve the nerve to speak on staying dead?” Renaud spat as he grabbed Armin’s shoulder with an electrified hand. Armin convulsed with pain, headbutting the other mage in kind. Renaud staggered against the console, coughing once more. He then composed himself with a sinister chuckle. “Is that how she did it? Pressganged you into her service?” Renaud asked as he propped himself against the segaris tree. Too dead to be poisonous, Armin surmised. He whipped a claw to Renaud’s chin, enjoying the moment of having this thorn in his side at his mercy. “Come now, you can tell an old man. Grant him this last wish at least.” Renaud teased after yet another coughing fit. Armin shook his head, pressing the claw ever closer to Renaud’s leathery jugular.
“She’s not you, Ardan. She asked for help. She’s not me. She didn’t need it.” Armin explained ruefully, recalling his first meeting with Mara. The past passed between them through their eyes, both coming to a realisation at once. Armin couldn’t help but smile beneath the mask, drawing his claw back to deliver the final blow.
“I did not ask her for her help. But she gave it anyway.” Renaud smiled up at Armin’s glowing orange eyes. Armin felt Mara’s body constrict, every muscle fibre tensing like a harp string. He growled, attempting to discern what manner of enchantment he’d placed on Mara. “It’s not an enchantment, Armin. I allowed your existence because you seemed to help her. But you’ve led her down the fraught path of sentiment. Of everything she wasn’t meant to be. Ironic, then, that I use her own discipline to correct her mistake.” Renaud spoke at length, though not without purpose. As he spoke, the Crook began to drip with a sickly green glow that Armin could not recognize at first. When Renaud admitted to necromancy, Armin’s eyes flew open. He had no time to counteract the spell- it was already cast.
With a two-handed thrust of the Crook, Armin felt himself forcefully ejected from Mara’s body. Mara fell to the floor in eerie silence, motionless as she lay at Renaud’s feet. Armin’s form began to dissolve into black mist, flesh stripping away as he silently mouthed the words to some form of spell. Renaud’s empty eye sockets turned upward to stare directly at what should have been an invisible manifestation. Armin panicked as Renaud worked a far more familiar spell, tossing grave dirt into the air. With a swift incantation, Armin’s skeletal form evaporated.
Below him, he noted that the fight was not going the way of his underlings. With a debonair wave of his hand, his illusory form manifested once more. The barrier fell completely, and he rose above them, Crook held casually. Fred noticed the professor’s flight and, thinking he aimed to escape, shot at the hand holding the Crook. Renaud caught the blast in his free hand, holding it to the Crook to draw yet more power. He then slung it back at the skitti, an almighty detonation sending the small man sliding backward. The rest of the party were blown forwards, Arthur narrowly avoiding impalement thanks to his shield.
The remaining three Army members crowded around their master as he alighted to their position, wreathing the circular platform in flames as he did so. Fred had to dive through the emerging inferno, catching his tail with a shout of pain. Then Renaud revealed his true intentions, weaving a dome of magic over their heads until a distorted nightmare visage of the day his world ended manifested once more. With the power of the crook, every detail had been enhanced. The cries of elvish families, wailing for mercy to a dark army of thugs. The segaris tree was replaced by the fountain, its waters running red from the chopping blocks set in its pool.
“Look upon the past, ye righteous! Look upon what you fight for!” Renaud bellowed towards the party, who regrouped into a more defensive position. Arthur briefly touched a hand to Fred’s ear, stopping the bleeding. “With one spell, I shall change the course of the future! The Herald of Ruin will return to lead our people once more!” Renaud cackled, drawing a considerable amount of energy to himself. At his word, illusions of the Yandite dead rose to do battle with them. They along with the living Army members surged forth, Arthur wading forwards with a trickle of blood leaking down his face. Ranva reached to her bandoleer and held a crystal before her. Twitcher and Fred exchanged a look of solidarity before preparing their respective weapons.
“Don’ feel right dyin’ without Solvi.” Fred chuckled weakly to his comrades. “’Ope ‘er and Julie get a long ways off. Fin’ somewhere nice.” The skitti then loaded his gun with malicious intent, putting aside those regrets.
“I already died once. Not happy to do it again.” Twitcher shook their head, the lights of their eyes turning red. They then moved to the vanguard with Arthur, striking at the illusions with a practiced blade that scattered them. Ranva knew it did not matter how many they killed. Renaud would simply make more. And with the Crook as the battery, who knew how long he could sustain these spells?
“If we can hold out, he’ll run out of energy.” Ranva growled as she shattered the crystal at her feet. One she’d been saving especially for the mad mage. From within, a muscular humanoid shape emerged with a two-handed axe at the ready in his hands. His flesh was a scaly white colour, protruding horns already going to work as he charged forth, sending illusory foes barrelling. Ranva took aim at one of the few flesh and blood enemies remaining, throwing a fire bolt in her direction. She was a large Spardali woman who howled with rage as she charged. Arthur was there, meeting her shield charge with one of his own. With a deafening clang, his mace bounced off her shield before whipping around to bash her torso. There was a crunch, yet his foe continued to fight.
Fred was not content to harvest the lives of fodder. He took aim directly at Renaud who seemed to be conducting a macabre orchestra as he raised abomination after abomination. The shot was true, shredding Renaud’s shoulder as it passed through him. He drew on the Crook’s power, welding his flesh together with a scream of pain. Then his terrible retort impacted Fred. He was sent sprawling to the ground, screeching as one of Renaud’s nastier spells took effect. Fred had seen him use it on others and the discomfort he felt then was ephemeral compared to the spell that now flayed his nerves. Every muscle convulsed; every sensation amplified to extremity. Sight was but a distant dream. Sound consisted of nothing but his own agony.
Twitcher saw their friend fall and recognized the spell immediately. The Solve Macht had developed it for the torture of prisoners. The automaton once more leapt to the aulind barricades, catapulting themselves from the apex towards Renaud. He noticed them with a condescending smirk before throwing the body of his own subordinate at them. They collided mid-air, though it did not stop Twitcher from spitefully firing their arm cannon at him. Renaud convulsed and wriggled as he battled his own muscles to remove the stun round, they’d loaded. Fred had saved himself in a way. The automaton landed at some distance, Arthur shoving the elf away to move the formation over to their friend.
Arthur looked more malady than man at this point. His face was wreathed in blood, bruises and belligerence. Yet on he fought, parrying a blow with his shield before driving it into the neck of the Army soldier who’d dared venture too close. She gurgled to the ground, Arthur stomping on her to free the shield.
“We cannot hold against this forever!” Arthur shouted to his companions, indicating to Renaud and his infuriating grin. He’d since freed himself of the stun bullet, though conspicuously flew lower to the ground now. Ranva followed his train of thought. Without the Crook, his reserves would diminish in seconds. She assumed direct control of her bisoro, forcing him to interject himself between Renaud and the party. With a whispered command, the bisoro lashed out with a swift hand to grab Renaud in his fist. The elf began incanting a spell, only to find Twitcher’s hand crushing his windpipe with a ferocious, red-eyed glare.
All around them, the illusions began to puff out of existence. Arthur cried with victory, but Ranva howled a warning and dragged him backwards. The party were momentarily shielded by Ranva’s spell. All but Twitcher who, in their exuberance, had left themselves wide open to Renaud’s silent cast. The bisoro was torn asunder by a sudden flurry of illusory blades, whirling around Renaud like a maelstrom of steel. Twitcher tried with everything they had to maintain their grip on the Marshal’s throat, to kill him at last. It proved costly as the fingers loosened without their owner’s command. Twitcher’s mangled body fell from the dissolving bisoro, motionless against the ground.
“Still, you persist in this folly! The supremacy of elves is without question. And yet you still resist us?” Renaud questioned with malice, hammering Ranva’s barrier with strikes of magical energy. Arthur wondered why none of his compatriots joined the assault until he saw the riven remains of those he called his Army. To die at the hands of a madman you called an ally. None deserved such betrayal. “What does this folly buy you? If you cannot stand against me, what hope have you against what is to come?!” Mara’s sora demanded, punctuating his question with an almighty slam of the Crook against the barrier. It shattered with a thunderous detonation, sending the party and Renaud both in opposite directions.
“Tha’s the point in killin’ you. So yer big bad monster dun come out!” Fred retorted as he recovered from the blast. He lifted his rifle weakly, propping it against his knee. His arm wouldn’t work right. That was fine. Renaud’s head was a big enough target all on its own. “Say ‘ello to Dan, y’bastard.” Fred rumbled with such malice that Renaud stalled in place, hollow eyes wide as he got to his feet. The blast that found him impacted the hand in which he held the Crook, sending the staff flying from his grasp. Renaud sank to his knees, grasping the bloodied remains of his wrist.
Ranva needed no encouragement, hauling herself free of the ground. She could not run to Renaud and so settled for hefting her sword. With a scream of fury, Ranva flung the golden blade at her hated foe. It sailed through the air with far more accuracy than expected, guided by its owner’s magical expertise.
It landed in Renaud’s hand. He deftly struck it from the air as if he were catching a ball. Holding his injury against his breast, his hate-filled eyes searched between Fred and Ranva as to which deserved punishment first. Renaud flung the sword upwards, striking his own illusion as it began to unravel. With a malicious laugh, the beams and stones of the illusory houses began to fall about them. Fred and Ranva were soon buried, nothing more than twitching limbs bludgeoned by the force of Renaud’s will.
Satisfied he had won, Renaud dispelled his illusion and set about retrieving the Crook from its resting place. As he reached down, he found a grieve-encased foot pinning it to the ground. He followed the heavily armoured leg to its owner, blood running like rivers from his lips. Arthur De Reyes, barely standing as he leaned against the aulind barricade he’d impacted, swung his mace downwards. Were it not for the debilitating injuries Arthur had sustained, Renaud would have joined his betrayed comrades. With that small advantage, the professor ducked backwards and drew himself to his full height with gritted teeth.
“Still? Surrender, boy, or I shall be forced to kill you.” Renaud spat, working a fresh spell between his fingers. Arthur looked at him, a weak laugh escaping his lips. He knew that spell from the stone cottage. Mara had told him of it on the journey. The professor disliked the mirth of the cleric, slapping him with the remains of his other hand.
“There is no surrender to you people.” Arthur spat a globule of blood, grinning through red-stained teeth at the other man. “It’s supplication and death, or just death. And I’d rather die with some dignity.” The cleric then closed his eyes, murmuring a final prayer to Sirona. And perhaps to Arawn, that his soul be taken far from this place. This damnable chamber and its lost souls. He prayed that he would see them again, as Renaud roared with rage and flung the spell against his chest.
Gaius staggered back from the explosion, shielding his face. Smaller than he’d have liked, but he was not about to destroy himself for impotent resistance. He looked down to see the motionless form of Arthur, the glow of his armlet shimmering in the light of the flames. They had died bravely, in the end. Perhaps braver than his own people had. Renaud sniffed derisively as he retrieved the Crook from beneath Arthur, commenting on the weakness of modern elves. Restoring his hand, he began the ascent to his victory. With Mira, the Empire would return. And the impure would be made to serve. The errant vampires would be returned to serve their creator. As he sat before the console, among the roots to collect himself, he took a breath and allowed himself a smile. The sounds of battle outside did not dissuade him. They would soon meet their Ir. And he would be making the introductions.
The interior of the arena they had earlier spied was all the more awe-inspiring as the party saw it in its entirety. The door they passed through opened out onto a gangway made entirely of nullstun that hung almost impossibly over a great pit whose depths were lost to darkness. Above them, a shroud of that same mineral backed sparking pylons and wires that had haphazardly been used to repair the complex. As the group ran past undulating rods of aulind that writhed in channels cut into the walls, they saw an expansive central platform engraved with aulind patterns that Mara could only assume were magical. They met at the apex of the circular platform, feeding into the roots of what appeared to be a segaris tree stripped of its leaves and marked with magical signifiers. Renaud and his captors were ascending the stairs surrounding this tree, the professor himself looking at his destination like a condemned man towards the noose.
Mara called out to Renaud, who turned with a measure of surprise. His escort drew weapons and levelled them at the intruders. Several yelled for reinforcements, to no avail. The corridor behind the party emitted a deathly orange glow and billowing black smoke that strangely fell into the bottomless pit beneath the gangway. Twitcher clung to a railing as the party stopped their mad dash, once more between past and present. Ranva wasted no time in manifesting her golden blade, eyes searching the six Army soldiers that stood between her and her quarry. Fred swung his rifle from his shoulder, loading one of his crystalline armaments as he did so. Arthur assumed his position at the vanguard, trying to keep Mara behind him as she attempted to push through. She seemed to think a peaceful solution was still possible.
“Renaud, we came to rescue you! Take the crook and run! We’ll deal with the rabble.” Mara shouted to her sora, who wore an almost pained expression. Fred momentarily lowered his weapon, coming to an uncomfortable conclusion. A conclusion that his fellows seemed to draw. Except Mara. Mara’s eyes shone with resolve, hope staining her voice even as it fell upon deaf ears. “Whether Albrecht, Herald or Marshal stand in my way, we’ll be back in Yanhelm by supper time!” Mara insisted against the silence that grew between the two parties. The Army members chuckled amongst themselves.
Renaud did not respond, instead continuing his journey up the steps. He used the Crook to steady himself, holding a hand aloft towards the tree. At once, some form of interface or console traced in illusions manifested. He began to meddle with it, entering pertinent information. Fred, who could no longer stomach the charade, fired a warning shot past Renaud’s head. He spun around, irritation creasing his features.
“Tell her, damn you!” Fred bellowed as he worked the lever on his rifle, lining the next shot up between the eyes of an Army member who’d dared to take a step towards Arthur. Fred’s eye flicked to the cover they could take. Metal of some kind, three large, curved walls. He didn’t know what they were, which complicated things. “I knew you were low Renaud, but you had to grab a bleedin’ pickaxe!” Fred added insultingly, hoping to buy himself more time as he scrutinized the metal shrouds that abutted the stairs. Aulind, almost certainly. Bad mix for magical ammunition.
“Good gods Master Seeker, did you follow her knowing this?” Renaud laughed mockingly, his attention returning to the console before him. He once again began working his machinations upon it, seemingly ignoring Fred. “My ruse accomplished the goal of getting her here. I did not expect her to bring her pets. No matter, you can be audience to my victory too.” Renaud waved a hand over his shoulder before completing his initial work, turning to face them once more. As he did so, the bottomless pit about them erupted.
It looked to the uninitiated as if they were in the eye of a tornado of purple flames. Lightning crackled high above their heads, surging from one part of the conflagration to another. The aulind elements around them began to glow as the rods emerged from their housing. The frighteningly fragile mortals were preserved only by the miraculous mineral beneath their feet. All eyes collectively turned to Renaud and the tree, which had grown leaves of tiny purple flames. Renaud wore an expression of triumphant vainglory, holding the Crook aloft with a joyous yell. He laughed with sheer elation. His laugh soon soured as his body convulsed with a horrific coughing fit. His hand came away bloody, face a picture of resolve as he returned to his duty.
“I’d say this meets Recala’s standard. Call her.” Ranva ordered the struggling Twitcher, who seemed to be having a nervous breakdown. The Espali reached down and attempted to open their compartment, only to be slapped away with a snarl. Twitcher reached for the speaking stone, delivering an Elysian code word to the listener on the other end. Ranva had to intercede as a bolt of lightning almost struck them. Instead, Ranva directed it behind them, grunting with the exertion. Renaud’s smoking fingers and belligerent expression were a silent admission.
“Stop it, sora! A man of science has no need of a marshal! We’ll find you the funding, the support, whatever you need! Anyone but these people!” Mara called over the din, trying to reason with her elder. Renaud looked at her, his expression softening as he did so. The young elf felt relief for the moment before the professor slid his fingers further along the console. More control rods freed themselves, rising next to the gangway and sparking with lightning.
“Dearest Mara. I am the Marshal.” Renaud sighed, his voice carrying through the roaring flames directly into their minds. Mara’s face fell, her eyes losing their glow for the first time since the hill with Lorana. “I’ve been the Marshal since the war. I had hope you’d see things my way when I saw you at the meeting. Thanks for the circle, incidentally. It ensured I wasn’t missed.” Renaud continued politely, smiling as he spoke telepathically. An elementary trick for a man who specialized in illusion and domination magic. Arthur spat a curse up at the man, levelling his mace threateningly.
“You murdered my countrymen, profaned the gods and still you stand there with pride? Look at yourself!” Arthur howled indignantly, flinging an unexpected spell towards Renaud. It caught him before he could counteract it. The illusion he’d cloaked himself in weathered like sand in the wind, vanishing into a stream of purple motes as it did so. What stood before them was most likely the form of Mara’s sora but completely altered. His skin had become leathery and almost translucent, his nose a hollow gap in his features. His mouth had pulled back over the teeth, giving him a ghastly grimace. There was no hair atop his head nor elvish ears, merely the holes where ears once had been.
“How did you know?!” Renaud hissed, reasserting the illusion as he pointed a skeletal finger at his assailant.
“Did you think this power came without sacrifice? That the Crook would meekly submit to a misguided child of Sirona?” Arthur berated with a flailing mace to punctuate his anger. Fred had never seen him so animated. He relished the rare sight of the cleric’s fury as he took aim at Renaud. There would be no warning this time.
“Ardan!” Armin’s voice thundered through their minds, the ghost manifesting from Mara’s sickle as she held her head in her hands, her knees tucked against her chest. She had lost control, allowing Van Brenin to vent his spleen at this uppity old man. “You toy with powers beyond your ken! The conduits were never meant to be activated in such numbers; you’ll kill us all!” Armin warned with such fear in his voice that even the Army members shuffled uncomfortably. Renaud bellowed at them to steady themselves, to find their spines. He glowered at Armin with such enmity that Fred briefly wondered whether he was attempting to kill with a single stare. That stiffened, angry gaze would make his forehead a nice target.
“You would speak to me of sacrifice, of danger? You, who cowered in the woodlands like some frightened kopran while I punished those murders!?” Renaud seethed with an accusing finger pointed directly at Armin. The ghost glared, hand reaching for Mara’s sickle as the mage whimpered. She feebly tried to block out the sound of her sora’s words, as if she could return to her righteous narrative by sheer force of will. “When I was born, the world was sunlit and beautiful! Smiles graced the faces of my family and friends. We wanted for nothing! Yan took everything! Piece by piece, he tore my heart from me! He saw the blood on his hands as sacrosanct! A righting of history’s wrongs. But I saw in him the same barbarism I see in all of us. I thank him to this day for the lesson he taught me. The most important lesson: Only through fear can the beast inside us be cowed!” Renaud ranted; his voice infused with such passion that the raw flesh of his mental scars was laid bare. Mara’s thoughts involuntarily slid to the first time he’d confronted Ranva, of the burning buildings and screaming. That illusion had not been theatrics. It had been a memory.
“I received a second chance at life. I wanted to spend it as a better man than Ardan. But the truths Yan gave me hold firm even in this ‘enlightened’ age.” Renaud continued ruefully, looking towards the cowering form of his sana with a surprising pain in his eyes. Like the passing of a cloud over the sun, his expression shifted once more to the resolved Marshal. “And so, I turn to someone well versed in the ways of terror. I cannot make you understand, only ask that you not stand in my way. I’m doing it for you, Mara. For all of us! Because if I don’t free the monster that haunts them, they will become the monsters that haunt us!” Renaud pleaded in a strained voice, a wracking cough taking hold of him once again. The cough saved him for it struck at the exact moment Fred pulled the trigger, the bolt whizzing through the air over his head. He looked to Fred, more indignant that he’d attempt to hurt him than anything else. Fred’s expression on the other hand had taken on the affectation of a grim executioner, reloading without so much as a breath.
“You won’ be freein’ anyone! Yer going in the ground, today!” Fred shouted towards the professor, who began to weave a barrier of magic between himself and the party. Renaud shouted orders, his lackeys surging forward to deal death to their master’s enemies. “Always the same! Buncha gits spewin’ hate to the desperate! Even when ye win, you don’ free anyone! Y’just paint the locks a differen’ colour!” Fred howled at Renaud, firing shot after shot into the barrier while its occupant desperately tried to maintain it, doing whatever needed doing with the console.
Arthur shoved back against the Army soldiers, staggering as one of the smarter ones hooked his axe around Arthur’s ankle. As the shield fell away, swords bristled out. A golden blur embedded itself in the neck of one of Renaud’s soldiers, red glistening as it withdrew. A cleric attempted to heal her fellow, only for dark tendrils to wrap themselves about her and begin to choke the life from her. Ranva looked behind her to see Mara with her hand held out as a wicked claw. She knew it was not the mage but her ghostly companion. Her eyes had been replaced by his glowing orange orbs. With a strangled gurgle, Armin’s foe fell to the ground. The dark lord of the dead then rose above them, his eyes set upon his old ally with a hatred so pure the magic around them rippled.
“Break his toys. I will do what I should have done five centuries ago.” The reverberating voice of Armin commanded through Mara’s throat. He dove towards the barrier before forming Mara’s favoured spectral claws and hammering it like artillery fire. Renaud could not split his concentration any longer, turning to hold Armin at bay with the same hatred contorting his features.
The four remaining Army members closed ranks between the two barricades of aulind, shields raised as they attempted to hold back the party. Fred had given up on the barrier, instead choosing to pepper the desperate Army members. Their swings were wild, foundering in the face of Ranva who seemed to dismantle them like a huntress dressing a kill. Their shield would lift to block one of Fred or Arthur’s blows, only for the golden sword to bite into them. Twitcher had returned to the present as a devil possessed of desperation. They ran against the barricades, sailing cleanly into the air before landing atop the screaming cleric, who had begun to recover from Armin’s attack.
The fight grew more desperate as the burning need for survival drove the Sunburst Army wild with adrenaline. They lashed out even as their own armour was rent, their flesh hewed by the party’s swords. The desperation nicked and bled Arthur, who resorted to breathing radiant fire in the faces of his opponents. Locking her enemy’s blade, Ranva set her devilish familiar upon a white-haired veteran. He hissed in pain, severing the creature’s head. His instinct cost him far more than it had cost Ranva as she whipped her sword across his throat as she had done Albrecht. This man was less fortunate, falling to the ground into a growing red pool. Fred traded fire with the other arquebusier, a shot passing clean through his ear. Another clanged off his armour, sending him to the ground. As one of the Army sought to capitalize, Twitcher’s arm sword found his back. With a crack, the automaton dispatched him. Fred used this grace to pull himself to his feet, dangling himself off the side of the gangway to get an angle. The angle was true as the enemy sniper’s body fell over the railing into the purple flames below, evaporated on the spot. Fred whipped himself back over before the same happened to him.
Armin, amidst his feral assault, saw the tiniest nick in the barrier appear. Seizing on the opportunity, he plunged his claws into the energies Renaud had manifested. With a howl of exertion, he tore open the barrier like an alleg on a fresh kill. With one hand keeping the gap open, his free hand raked at Renaud who used the Crook to defend himself. The desperate struggle between the two caused the barrier to weaken further, allowing Armin to fight on equal terms.
“No escape this time, Ardan.” Armin grinned with a wicked laugh, wrapping both hands about the Crook. They fought for control, Renaud kicking Mara’s stomach with a vicious rage. His ability to concentrate on his illusory self shattered, once more revealing the withered man beneath. “When you return to Annun do the world a favour and stay there.” Armin giggled, taking a claw from the Crook to swipe at Renaud’s face. The grisly creature ducked beneath the blow, shoving the staff against Mara’s body with enough force to send the pair spiralling to the ground. Armin wasted no time in rolling to his feet, knowing well that Renaud was not a stupid man. He knew what killing him meant for Mara.
“Foul approximation. You’ve the nerve to speak on staying dead?” Renaud spat as he grabbed Armin’s shoulder with an electrified hand. Armin convulsed with pain, headbutting the other mage in kind. Renaud staggered against the console, coughing once more. He then composed himself with a sinister chuckle. “Is that how she did it? Pressganged you into her service?” Renaud asked as he propped himself against the segaris tree. Too dead to be poisonous, Armin surmised. He whipped a claw to Renaud’s chin, enjoying the moment of having this thorn in his side at his mercy. “Come now, you can tell an old man. Grant him this last wish at least.” Renaud teased after yet another coughing fit. Armin shook his head, pressing the claw ever closer to Renaud’s leathery jugular.
“She’s not you, Ardan. She asked for help. She’s not me. She didn’t need it.” Armin explained ruefully, recalling his first meeting with Mara. The past passed between them through their eyes, both coming to a realisation at once. Armin couldn’t help but smile beneath the mask, drawing his claw back to deliver the final blow.
“I did not ask her for her help. But she gave it anyway.” Renaud smiled up at Armin’s glowing orange eyes. Armin felt Mara’s body constrict, every muscle fibre tensing like a harp string. He growled, attempting to discern what manner of enchantment he’d placed on Mara. “It’s not an enchantment, Armin. I allowed your existence because you seemed to help her. But you’ve led her down the fraught path of sentiment. Of everything she wasn’t meant to be. Ironic, then, that I use her own discipline to correct her mistake.” Renaud spoke at length, though not without purpose. As he spoke, the Crook began to drip with a sickly green glow that Armin could not recognize at first. When Renaud admitted to necromancy, Armin’s eyes flew open. He had no time to counteract the spell- it was already cast.
With a two-handed thrust of the Crook, Armin felt himself forcefully ejected from Mara’s body. Mara fell to the floor in eerie silence, motionless as she lay at Renaud’s feet. Armin’s form began to dissolve into black mist, flesh stripping away as he silently mouthed the words to some form of spell. Renaud’s empty eye sockets turned upward to stare directly at what should have been an invisible manifestation. Armin panicked as Renaud worked a far more familiar spell, tossing grave dirt into the air. With a swift incantation, Armin’s skeletal form evaporated.
Below him, he noted that the fight was not going the way of his underlings. With a debonair wave of his hand, his illusory form manifested once more. The barrier fell completely, and he rose above them, Crook held casually. Fred noticed the professor’s flight and, thinking he aimed to escape, shot at the hand holding the Crook. Renaud caught the blast in his free hand, holding it to the Crook to draw yet more power. He then slung it back at the skitti, an almighty detonation sending the small man sliding backward. The rest of the party were blown forwards, Arthur narrowly avoiding impalement thanks to his shield.
The remaining three Army members crowded around their master as he alighted to their position, wreathing the circular platform in flames as he did so. Fred had to dive through the emerging inferno, catching his tail with a shout of pain. Then Renaud revealed his true intentions, weaving a dome of magic over their heads until a distorted nightmare visage of the day his world ended manifested once more. With the power of the crook, every detail had been enhanced. The cries of elvish families, wailing for mercy to a dark army of thugs. The segaris tree was replaced by the fountain, its waters running red from the chopping blocks set in its pool.
“Look upon the past, ye righteous! Look upon what you fight for!” Renaud bellowed towards the party, who regrouped into a more defensive position. Arthur briefly touched a hand to Fred’s ear, stopping the bleeding. “With one spell, I shall change the course of the future! The Herald of Ruin will return to lead our people once more!” Renaud cackled, drawing a considerable amount of energy to himself. At his word, illusions of the Yandite dead rose to do battle with them. They along with the living Army members surged forth, Arthur wading forwards with a trickle of blood leaking down his face. Ranva reached to her bandoleer and held a crystal before her. Twitcher and Fred exchanged a look of solidarity before preparing their respective weapons.
“Don’ feel right dyin’ without Solvi.” Fred chuckled weakly to his comrades. “’Ope ‘er and Julie get a long ways off. Fin’ somewhere nice.” The skitti then loaded his gun with malicious intent, putting aside those regrets.
“I already died once. Not happy to do it again.” Twitcher shook their head, the lights of their eyes turning red. They then moved to the vanguard with Arthur, striking at the illusions with a practiced blade that scattered them. Ranva knew it did not matter how many they killed. Renaud would simply make more. And with the Crook as the battery, who knew how long he could sustain these spells?
“If we can hold out, he’ll run out of energy.” Ranva growled as she shattered the crystal at her feet. One she’d been saving especially for the mad mage. From within, a muscular humanoid shape emerged with a two-handed axe at the ready in his hands. His flesh was a scaly white colour, protruding horns already going to work as he charged forth, sending illusory foes barrelling. Ranva took aim at one of the few flesh and blood enemies remaining, throwing a fire bolt in her direction. She was a large Spardali woman who howled with rage as she charged. Arthur was there, meeting her shield charge with one of his own. With a deafening clang, his mace bounced off her shield before whipping around to bash her torso. There was a crunch, yet his foe continued to fight.
Fred was not content to harvest the lives of fodder. He took aim directly at Renaud who seemed to be conducting a macabre orchestra as he raised abomination after abomination. The shot was true, shredding Renaud’s shoulder as it passed through him. He drew on the Crook’s power, welding his flesh together with a scream of pain. Then his terrible retort impacted Fred. He was sent sprawling to the ground, screeching as one of Renaud’s nastier spells took effect. Fred had seen him use it on others and the discomfort he felt then was ephemeral compared to the spell that now flayed his nerves. Every muscle convulsed; every sensation amplified to extremity. Sight was but a distant dream. Sound consisted of nothing but his own agony.
Twitcher saw their friend fall and recognized the spell immediately. The Solve Macht had developed it for the torture of prisoners. The automaton once more leapt to the aulind barricades, catapulting themselves from the apex towards Renaud. He noticed them with a condescending smirk before throwing the body of his own subordinate at them. They collided mid-air, though it did not stop Twitcher from spitefully firing their arm cannon at him. Renaud convulsed and wriggled as he battled his own muscles to remove the stun round, they’d loaded. Fred had saved himself in a way. The automaton landed at some distance, Arthur shoving the elf away to move the formation over to their friend.
Arthur looked more malady than man at this point. His face was wreathed in blood, bruises and belligerence. Yet on he fought, parrying a blow with his shield before driving it into the neck of the Army soldier who’d dared venture too close. She gurgled to the ground, Arthur stomping on her to free the shield.
“We cannot hold against this forever!” Arthur shouted to his companions, indicating to Renaud and his infuriating grin. He’d since freed himself of the stun bullet, though conspicuously flew lower to the ground now. Ranva followed his train of thought. Without the Crook, his reserves would diminish in seconds. She assumed direct control of her bisoro, forcing him to interject himself between Renaud and the party. With a whispered command, the bisoro lashed out with a swift hand to grab Renaud in his fist. The elf began incanting a spell, only to find Twitcher’s hand crushing his windpipe with a ferocious, red-eyed glare.
All around them, the illusions began to puff out of existence. Arthur cried with victory, but Ranva howled a warning and dragged him backwards. The party were momentarily shielded by Ranva’s spell. All but Twitcher who, in their exuberance, had left themselves wide open to Renaud’s silent cast. The bisoro was torn asunder by a sudden flurry of illusory blades, whirling around Renaud like a maelstrom of steel. Twitcher tried with everything they had to maintain their grip on the Marshal’s throat, to kill him at last. It proved costly as the fingers loosened without their owner’s command. Twitcher’s mangled body fell from the dissolving bisoro, motionless against the ground.
“Still, you persist in this folly! The supremacy of elves is without question. And yet you still resist us?” Renaud questioned with malice, hammering Ranva’s barrier with strikes of magical energy. Arthur wondered why none of his compatriots joined the assault until he saw the riven remains of those he called his Army. To die at the hands of a madman you called an ally. None deserved such betrayal. “What does this folly buy you? If you cannot stand against me, what hope have you against what is to come?!” Mara’s sora demanded, punctuating his question with an almighty slam of the Crook against the barrier. It shattered with a thunderous detonation, sending the party and Renaud both in opposite directions.
“Tha’s the point in killin’ you. So yer big bad monster dun come out!” Fred retorted as he recovered from the blast. He lifted his rifle weakly, propping it against his knee. His arm wouldn’t work right. That was fine. Renaud’s head was a big enough target all on its own. “Say ‘ello to Dan, y’bastard.” Fred rumbled with such malice that Renaud stalled in place, hollow eyes wide as he got to his feet. The blast that found him impacted the hand in which he held the Crook, sending the staff flying from his grasp. Renaud sank to his knees, grasping the bloodied remains of his wrist.
Ranva needed no encouragement, hauling herself free of the ground. She could not run to Renaud and so settled for hefting her sword. With a scream of fury, Ranva flung the golden blade at her hated foe. It sailed through the air with far more accuracy than expected, guided by its owner’s magical expertise.
It landed in Renaud’s hand. He deftly struck it from the air as if he were catching a ball. Holding his injury against his breast, his hate-filled eyes searched between Fred and Ranva as to which deserved punishment first. Renaud flung the sword upwards, striking his own illusion as it began to unravel. With a malicious laugh, the beams and stones of the illusory houses began to fall about them. Fred and Ranva were soon buried, nothing more than twitching limbs bludgeoned by the force of Renaud’s will.
Satisfied he had won, Renaud dispelled his illusion and set about retrieving the Crook from its resting place. As he reached down, he found a grieve-encased foot pinning it to the ground. He followed the heavily armoured leg to its owner, blood running like rivers from his lips. Arthur De Reyes, barely standing as he leaned against the aulind barricade he’d impacted, swung his mace downwards. Were it not for the debilitating injuries Arthur had sustained, Renaud would have joined his betrayed comrades. With that small advantage, the professor ducked backwards and drew himself to his full height with gritted teeth.
“Still? Surrender, boy, or I shall be forced to kill you.” Renaud spat, working a fresh spell between his fingers. Arthur looked at him, a weak laugh escaping his lips. He knew that spell from the stone cottage. Mara had told him of it on the journey. The professor disliked the mirth of the cleric, slapping him with the remains of his other hand.
“There is no surrender to you people.” Arthur spat a globule of blood, grinning through red-stained teeth at the other man. “It’s supplication and death, or just death. And I’d rather die with some dignity.” The cleric then closed his eyes, murmuring a final prayer to Sirona. And perhaps to Arawn, that his soul be taken far from this place. This damnable chamber and its lost souls. He prayed that he would see them again, as Renaud roared with rage and flung the spell against his chest.
Gaius staggered back from the explosion, shielding his face. Smaller than he’d have liked, but he was not about to destroy himself for impotent resistance. He looked down to see the motionless form of Arthur, the glow of his armlet shimmering in the light of the flames. They had died bravely, in the end. Perhaps braver than his own people had. Renaud sniffed derisively as he retrieved the Crook from beneath Arthur, commenting on the weakness of modern elves. Restoring his hand, he began the ascent to his victory. With Mira, the Empire would return. And the impure would be made to serve. The errant vampires would be returned to serve their creator. As he sat before the console, among the roots to collect himself, he took a breath and allowed himself a smile. The sounds of battle outside did not dissuade him. They would soon meet their Ir. And he would be making the introductions.
