"Success has been achieved; the Malumari is contained, and it’s only a matter of time before the ferals within the walls are fully eradicated," announced Sir Whitneye, his words causing his mustache to bristle. "Those who evaded our initial trap are now engaged in combat at the city gates. They too will be expunged."
They were holed up in a makeshift bunker, an underground room scarcely larger than a small cottage. The dim glow of flickering candles cast long, dancing shadows against the damp stone walls. They couldn’t use magelights out of risk of making it easier to detect their location.
The air was thick and stale, reeking of damp earth and a musty scent. Rick could come up with an extensive list of reasons why he should not be there - the omnipresent mold was at the top of it.
Unfortunately for him, their presence here was critical, though none he enjoyed.
They were humans, holders of the bonds. And if any maiden suspected her human was in danger, that same bond would make them drop all else and rush to protect them.
Historically, in times of battle the maidens would remove their collars, severing the bond. This served two purposes. It was a preventative measure to stop the enemy from laying hands on the enchanted collars; and a means to suppress the 'save the human' compulsion triggered by the bond. Which, typically, meant the humans could be left near the field, giving commands, being effective.
Rick had kicked tradition in the teeth.
He had forced every human who held even an iota of influence into this dank subterranean hole alongside him. The justification was simple: he was spiritually tethered to a considerable count of the militia members. If anyone dared to put a blade to his throat, a big chunk of their combat power would freeze. With the bonds to him not being easily removed, it made sense he’d drag the others into the hole with him.
The second and bigger reason for the move was to make certain that not even the slightest hint of command could be stripped from Urtha.
The Orc was the closest approximation to a seasoned battlefield commander they had. Which wasn’t saying much, but their alternatives were limited, and any of Sir Whitneye’s knights would’ve gotten the crap kicked out of them by the tribe to prove they were unfit.
While it may have been a sound plan, it meant that Rick found himself trapped in this series of holes with a dozen others. Yasir, Sir Whitneye, and Rollo were the only ones he’d bothered to acknowledge. The others were merely influential figures within the tribal or city hierarchy, with the majority hailing from the city. Meaning they were more important inside their own heads than outside of them.
"It's time for less pleasant updates," Rick remarked, fixing the constable with a stern gaze to get him talking.
Sir Whitneye shifted uncomfortably, averting his eyes. “The city is being devoured by flames. A cunning diversion, no doubt, to provide their leaders with a window to retreat into the safety of the forest.” He then raised his gaze, his eyes reflecting the flickering candlelight. “With the Seraphim nowhere in sight, knight captain Urtha has commanded the Neigixes to transform the overcast sky into a torrential downpour.”
Knight captain Urtha.
The name itself was enough to bring a smirk to Rick's face. She’d looked downright insulted when he’d slapped the rank onto her. Yet, even Urtha had to admit that the less than ceremonial promotion was better than the alternative. Now no one held the grounds to be able to call her out for ordering Sir Whitneye’s knights around.
“With the situation as it stands, giving chase would be stupid.” Rick declared, trying to ignore the gnawing urge in the back of his head.
A part of him yearned for the chaos of battle, the clash of steel, the roar of victory.
Or was it a desire to not stand around being useless?
Some of this came from the bond. It pulsed, and he was practically swimming in adrenaline. It was a supercharged cocktail of anxiety and battle-frenzy. Urtha and Eva, the main culprits, were practically flooding the bond with their restlessness. He could feel it physically - his skin prickled as if electrified, the tiny hairs on his arm stood on end, and his hands shook slightly as he traced the intricate lines of the city map spread before him.
"If you look any harder, the map might just combust," Yasir's voice broke through his coerced silence, accompanied by a gentle squeeze on Rick’s shoulder. The unexpected contact jolted him out of his thoughts, bringing him back to the dimly lit room.
"Considering the circumstances, you seem to be handling this well enough," he commented, the flickering candlelight throwing long shadows across his face.
The dark-skinned merchant let out a light chuckle, shaking his head and long beard. “I assure you, the calm is merely skin deep," he confessed. His grip on Rick’s shoulder tightened just a fraction. "Perhaps it would be beneficial to talk with someone? You've loaded the dice as best as you could, there is not much more to be done but wait.”
Rick took a moment to glance around the room, only then realizing its emptiness. "Maybe my intense glare scared everyone off," he joked, his fingers unconsciously running through his hair. "How is your family handling all this, Yasir?"
“Not our first time under threat. The road is never safe,” he replied. "My dear Ashina isn’t exactly thrilled with you at the moment," Yasir admitted with a hint of amusement. He stroked his beard thoughtfully, his eyes twinkling in the dim light. "Although, I must say, I am grateful she is not on the frontlines."
Rick shrugged, not attempting to deny the accusation. "I merely suggested that her silk would be of better use at the-"
Suddenly, the world around him blurred and spun wildly. A force like a sledgehammer knocked the wind out of his lungs, leaving him gasping. Eyes wide with confusion, he looked around, trying to make sense of the sudden and disorientating sensation.
“I… I…” he stammered, his voice barely a whisper, fighting for air.
“Rick?” Yasir’s voice seemed to come from a great distance, muffled and distorted.
Rick's legs gave out from under him, buckling as he fell to the floor. His chest was aflame with pain, making it almost impossible to breathe. The world spun again, his surroundings shifting, replacing the dim room with a scene of chaos and destruction.
He found himself lying on cold, hard cobblestones, the glow of fire reflecting off his skin from a house ablaze nearby. Looking down, he saw a smoldering hole in his chest.
Two figures towered over him: a maiden dressed in simple green clothes, her face covered with white cloth, and a figure formed entirely of intertwining green vines, her hand still glowing from the attack.
He had to warn the Lord. The enemies were here; death had snuck inside.
He tried to yell, to raise an alarm, but his voice was stuck in his throat. The crackling of fire mingled with the crashing waves. The world around him faded as a familiar voice cut through the fog.
“RICK!” Dia’s voice, followed by a fresh wave of fear crashing into him through their bond.
Rick was back in the bunker, gasping for air and blinking back tears. His hand instinctively pressed against his chest where the pain throbbed relentlessly, lingering like a vengeful specter. But there was no blood, no injuries.
“They’re here,” he managed to whisper, his voice hoarse.
He had just witnessed the death of someone to whom he was bonded. The reality of the situation hit him hard, leaving him reeling.
“W-”
“She’s here!” He cried out, grasping at Dia’s armor with trembling hands. He pulled her closer, looking into her purple eyes, desperately trying to convey the gravity of the situation. "The Seraphim, and the other one, near the shore, they're killing-”
His words were cut off as the world spun once more, another street, another burning house coming into view. Rick tried to scream, clutching at his throat where a phantom blade had sliced through it. Everything was spinning out of control.
When he came back to his senses, he found himself elsewhere in the bunker.
Muffled voices echoed around him, filled with varying degrees of concern, anger, and fear. Rick heaved for air, disoriented and confused, as a figure emerged from the blur of his surroundings.
“I will do what I can to wake Monica." Dia spoke the words harshly. “Miss Arietta…”
“I cannot do much,” a stern voice replied, “but I will try.”
The name flashed across his mind, the psychic, the Puppeteer, Rollo’s. Rick tried to speak, but couldn’t find the breath to even mutter a word.
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A hand descended to cover his eyes, a sinking feeling enveloped his thoughts, and everything turned black.
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Rick's eyes blinked open, staring at a landscape of glass dunes under a blackened sky heavy with clouds.
He took in his surroundings.
He stood atop a stone outcrop. All around them there was a sea, both transparent and shimmering, spread out before him, its surface an echo of the sky dark above. It reflected and bent the jagged lines of lightning that streaked through the clouds, dancing wildly. Some part of him was certain he knew where he was, the rest couldn’t summon any words or memories of such a place.
The crystal sand dunes rolled across the terrain like waves in a vast ocean, migrating in silent, monolithic procession across the land.
"This is you... or, at the very least, a portion of you," a voice murmured.
The voice came from something that had not been there before. It was a figure made of shadows, its form constantly shifting and changing. For a moment, he was sure it would get blown away by the wind, yet it remained, the only distinguishing feature being its golden eyes.
"Kiara?" He finally ventured, a sensation of recognition nudging at his consciousness.
"An echo," the figure replied, its silhouette taking on the ethereal quality of smoke. "For the most part, I’m the impression of her left within you."
"So this is my mind? My soul or something?" He returned his gaze to the storm-wracked desert, the question hanging in the air.
"Perhaps both, or neither."
His brows drew together in a frown. "You’re unsure, aren’t you?"
Although the figure's face remained hidden, Rick sensed a sulkiness in its demeanor, as though it was pouting. "Maybe," it echoed, its words punctuated by a bolt of lightning that plunged from the sky, striking the sea with a blinding flash.
The glass desert erupted in red, a fiery wave of heat and pain radiating from the point of impact. Wails were drowned out by the wind. For the briefest of moments, the sea flickered with the image of a maiden woven from verdant vines, standing atop its newest victim.
"Another death," the echo sighed, pulling her knees closer to her chest. "I don’t want to die."
Rick grimaced, his gaze darting around their surroundings. Their perch was a solitary island amidst the ever-shifting glass and sand sea. It was the only spot that wasn’t constantly crashing and shifting. "Is there a route out of here? Somewhere safer?"
"There is, but I am unable to move beyond this spot."
Was it some strange rule she had to follow? "Inability or unwillingness?" He challenged.
The figure's grip on her knees tightened. "Unwillingness," she confessed in a low mutter. "Because you are human."
"How is that an issue?"
"I can’t be certain, but it feels significant," she retorted, bitterness tinging her words. "I won’t go any deeper than here."
An air of confusion hung heavy between them, the figure shrouded in shadow shifting and somehow becoming even less tangible. Rick moved to sit closer to her, reaching out to rest his arm over her shoulder, a silent offer of comfort. Though her appearance was nebulous, her skin wasn’t, she felt cold, trembling.
"I’m not real," she protested weakly, her form slight and fragile under his touch. "I can’t be convinced." She made a feeble attempt to shake him off. "You can’t force me to move."
"I'll take a moment to rest, then," he murmured.
There they were, sitting in quiet companionship, their eyes drawn to the spectacle of the storm as it unfurled before them. The sand, shaped into mighty waves by the wind, crashed against their rocky outcrop. Each collision sent up sprays of glass, shimmering in the dim light like a cloud of glitter, only to come crashing back down in deafening cacophony.
Another bolt of lightning ripped through the sky, striking the sea, and in its flash, further glimpses of the world outside the storm were revealed. The pain was far lessened for Rick, only manifesting as discomfort in his stomach.
Most of the deaths were from the Seraphim. A few were from those fighting the ferals. Each time, the lightning would leave behind molten glass, a glowing testament to its power, embedded in the sea.
They left a bitter taste in his mouth. His attention pulled away, falling on a small marble that had landed on their outcrop. Curiosity piqued, he picked it up.
Examining the glass sphere, he noticed it was flawlessly transparent, marred only by a cloudy nucleus. The more he scrutinized this cloudy flaw, the stronger was the inexplicable sense of familiarity that washed over him. It was as if the marble's owner had a name, and this name danced at the tip of his tongue.
“Stop that,” a voice broke through his thoughts. Not-Kiara knocked the marble out of his hand, sending it plummeting back into the maelstrom. “You’re going to hurt yourself if you keep pulling like that.”
Pulling? Confused, his gaze drifted back to the swarm of glass swirling in the storm far below. “These can’t all be bonds.”
“They are, and they aren’t,” not-Kiara replied cryptically. “Each marble is a facet of someone you’re bonded to… I think.”
“That doesn’t make sense.”
“Don’t look at me, I got no say in this.” As she spoke, she made a sweeping motion with her hand. In response, a cluster of marbles flew up from the frothing waves, landing gently in her outstretched palm. “Behold, the almond-cheese-loving aspects of some Mousegirl you happened to bond with.” With a smirk, she let the marbles fall from her hand, where they disappeared back into the tumultuous storm. “You’re such a man-whore.”
He was just about to fire back a witty retort when a sharp bolt of lightning cut through the sky, striking the desert floor. Rick’s lips thinned as he watched the aftermath. In the intense light of the bolt, he could clearly see hundreds of marbles exploding, transforming into lumps of glass slag. “I didn’t know her name.”
Not-Kiara remained silent, her head moving to rest against his shoulder, appearing lost deep in her thoughts. Her captivating golden eyes bore into him, but he maintained his focus on the shifting sands and the storm.
They stayed there for what felt like an eternity, dozens of bolts striking at the glass. Gradually, there was a change. The storm started to lose its fury, the waves of the glass-sea became less violent, and the flashes of color began to dim.
“Rick, there’s…” Not-Kiara’s voice trembled slightly, a note of apprehension evident. She turned to him, her golden eyes, two radiant orbs, meeting his. Her hand, a shadowy silhouette against the dim light, reached out towards his arm, but instead of making contact, it simply passed through. “You’re waking up.” Her expression faltered, a trace of disappointment crossing her features.
He chuckled lightly, nodding in response. “I guess I’ll have to continue our conversation when you wake up, then.”
She pulled back, wrapping her arms around herself. “You mustn't trust me.”
Taken aback, he asked, “Where’s this coming from?” His body was starting to become transparent, and the world around them was fading, growing pale and indistinct.
“I just know you’ll regret it.” She shook her head, a hint of sadness in her voice. “They all do.”
He tried to answer, but no words made it through his lips, he was plunging.
There was no sudden darkness, the world slowly became white noise, and when he blinked again, he was no longer looking at the echo but at an unfamiliar ceiling. For a moment, he wondered whether he’d imagined it, but pushed the thought aside.
The room was reminiscent of a forgotten ghost town, barren and eerie. The only signs of life were Arietta and a figure standing uncomfortably close to the heavy metal door. Upon closer inspection, he recognized Eli, the Hound wearing a full set of leather armor.
Arietta was the first to shatter the silence. Her otherwise unreadable face showed a hint of surprise. "You shouldn't be awake yet," she declared, her tone a mix of a reprimand and concern.
"Don’t ask me," Rick responded, rubbing his throbbing temples as he gingerly sat up from the cold, hard floor. "What’s going on?" His voice was raw, his throat hoarse.
Eli stepped forward, offering a respectful bow. "I believe Lady Monica is currently engaged in combat with the Seraphim, my Lord," she revealed with a solemnity that did nothing to alleviate Rick's growing concern.
The pulsating throb in his head was as rhythmic as a war drum, and a sensation of numbness had laid claim over his chest. "I’m heading outside."
The two maidens voiced some weak protest, their words fading into the background as he dismissed it with a wave. The Hound was quickly at his side, offering support as he made his journey out, body feeling like it’d been made of lead. Arietta busied herself with... whatever it was that she was doing to keep his numbness going. It was most likely something psychic, he reasoned.
He also had a hunch that she had preemptively informed the others, as no one got in their way out of the hole they’d called a “bunker.” That, and there were a handful of Orcs outside looking busy.
The cool night air greeted him with the scent of smoke and the city having become an inferno. Maidens, their faces etched with determination and fear, were scattered about, engaged in a desperate battle against the raging fires. Some armed themselves with buckets, while others summoned streams of water. Their efforts were systematic, almost as if they’d rehearsed it a thousand times over.
Perhaps they had.
As Rick's gaze drifted further upward, his eyes were drawn to the spectacle of beams of light raining down onto Sinco. They crashed on the southern part of the city like some twisted form of divine retribution, each beam thundering from the force. The figure that floated near the clouds was relentless.
Eli broke the quiet, her voice somber and laden with worry. "Matina's screaming," she said, her gaze not leaving the sky. "We really should get you back inside, my Lord."
"I know I should," he responded. Yet, he didn't take a single step, his attention held fast by the spectacle unfolding before them.
In the chaotic tableau above, the Seraphim's form was ablaze like a tiny sun. It illuminated the clouds like a threat, casting an uncanny glow over the city. Each strike was a flash that chased away the darkness for a split second. To Rick, it was reminiscent of some god attempting to squash a pesky insect that kept avoiding its omnipotent shoe.
Rick felt something shift, a change in the air. “It’s coming,” he muttered.
Then, abruptly, an ominous darkness surged from the heart of the city. A mountain of darkness thrust upwards at the sky that swallowed everything in a black veil. A split second later, the shadow began to diffuse.
"What's that?" Arietta pointed at a tiny, glowing red dot that was rushing upwards through the darkness. It was a minuscule spark, yet it was charging towards the Seraphim with an alarming speed.
"Is that a... barrel?" The Hound's voice was tinged with incredulity as she squinted at the fast-approaching speck.
The next moment, the red dot collided with the luminous Seraphim in a violent explosion. The blast was not brighter than the maiden's own light, but its sound was decidedly more intense. It rumbled across the city like an avalanche.
The Seraphim's dazzling light show came to an abrupt halt. In the sudden darkness, Rick was barely able to spot a smoking body plummeting down to the earth.
Behind them, Arietta let out a strangled gasp, her eyes wide.
Eli was the first to find words. "Congratulations, my Lord," she stated, offering him a hesitant but genuine smile. Her face held a mix of emotions; there was an unmistakable hint of nervousness, but it was overshadowed by the pride that lit her eyes. "You won."
Just then, a drop of water splashed on his head, quickly followed by another, and then another. Rick turned up at the sky, feeling the cool touch of rain beginning to pour down onto the city, the droplets washing away the dust and grime and smoke.
"No." He shook his head, his voice firm yet quiet. "Everyone did." He took a deep, weary sigh, his eyes scanning their surroundings. "Now we just have to finish the cleanup."