I can sense my loved ones fanning out, working to protect the vulnerable among us. Those vulnerable mostly being me and Teuila who have to focus all our efforts on drawing in these dragonforces. Unlike Kozzurth’s, whose was concentrated in her heart, these generals kept theirs spread throughout their entire body. I use the arcane knocking spell a few times, to increase the blood flow, which helps speed up the process by a tiny fraction. Some of the Vivant might be vulnerable right now too. I think worriedly about Prinrin who was telepathically hurting at the hands of too many fire mages. What if invisible mages assail her with something more potent?
Oh, hey, come to think of it, the invisible ones might not even be mages, they might just be combatants with invisibility potions, or who had invisibility cast on them by the mages, or cloaks or rings or other such things. Also, apparently Lu, Lucky, and Salamanderian missed at least one invisible mage. Thankfully, danger wraps are still a thing that I always wear. The enchanted dagger sailing my way makes it into and through the back of my armor by the time I can react to when the danger registers, with how fast it was moving. The tip of the blade is fractions of a millimeter from contacting my flesh. It’s some sort of temporary ethereally-metal-bypassing enchantment, and it’s set to tear into my spine, or even my heart with the length, strength, and speed of the blade and its throw.
Of course, I do have one use left of Q C R number one. The Ravenfeather Coat is on and I’m instead, three birds, far from where the dagger plunges uselessly into Vanathar’s chest cavity’s dead flesh. Swarming about our assailant, we make certain he’s disoriented before we return to the form of Reggie Shellcracker, who immediately doffs the wonderful life-saving coat, as we, I, do, every time I return to form.
Sighing, as I’ve literally got the drop on him, I bring down my fist heavily on the teal Draconiac man’s skull while swapping to Q C R number four for the briefest of seconds then back to five. I use the boosted electrical charge to deliver a knockout blow with a tazing effect, one of the first Electro Shock Punches, my E S Ps that I’ve delivered in a while. I can tell I haven’t killed him, so I divest him of everything as I’m tying him up with rope from my hyperdimensional haversack. I truss him from a broken wingtip thirty feet off the ground. High enough where it would hurt, maybe even debilitate if he struggles free, but probably not kill him.
I wish I had shown this mercy to the salmon Draconiac, I wish I had had time, to be able to offer it. I wish I could have offered it to her, and to all the others I slew. But especially to those fearful, sad, scared eyes. I wish I could trust that those pleading eyes were genuine, that she’d have fled and never looked back, never fought or hurt someone again.
I sit, crying inside Vanathar’s chest cavity as I work to continue consuming his dragonforce. If I harden my heart, I’d say this was just practical, not merciful. I can tear his brain to shreds later if necessary, during an interrogation. It’s just not me though. I want to use non-lethal options. I want to be merciful. This is a literal war though, against opponents that outnumber us by the thousands. Over eight times as large of a populace, and all of them are combatants, unlike the, what is it, maybe three percent of our populace that are combatants.
That enormous populace? They literally are fighting to watch the world burn. It kind of doesn’t get more cut and dry than that, does it? This isn’t really a sliding shades of gray kind of deal, where redemption is much of a possibility. The humans of Eimsas came to regret their actions. Would any of the Draconiacs, kobolds, or dragons under Terrorzin regret rending the world asunder? Could that even be forgiven?
Hell if I know Reggie, hell if I know. It’s easier to just assume they won’t. You’ve never really just done the easy route mentally though, have you? Yeah. True. I’m worried about the amount of time this is taking, each second seems to be an eternity where my allies and loved ones could be in danger, danger that I could aid them against. Then again, it’s not like I didn’t face my own danger even here, even now. Even still, no matter how dangerous it is, I wish I could afford to be offering mercy to everyone at every turn. I wish I could convince people to leave such a spiteful ruler as Terrorzin, to simply live in peace.
As I’m about to contemplate more on the nature of mercy, a beautiful, regal, nearly nine foot tall woman approaches the chest cavity I’m sitting within. This vision of perfection, this resplendent beauty with skin like midnight, and a form like heaven, offers me a weak, sad smile as she nears me. My lower jaw quivers as I try to keep my emotions in check, but Kinzul approaches me with arms wide open as I finish absorbing the last of Vanathar’s dragonforce.
She kneels to embrace me, both of us with tears in our eyes as she privately whispers, “I know. My beloved Schism. True Hero of the Onyx Dawn. I know the mercy you desire to give. The very mercy I want you to nurture, that I plead that you continue to nurture, while I simultaneously ask you to ignore it, to spread your wrath ruthlessly across battlefields. I know what it is I ask of you, and it breaks my heart to hurt you so. My beloved Void Dragon. If I could, I would become that void to absorb your pain, your traumas, your sadness and distress.”
I have no words as Lady Kinzul clasps me tightly to her bosom, and I cry into her chest. How? How can she, how can she bear to, to offer such kindness? I can sense the devastation within her broken heart. I can feel the hurt, the anger, the betrayal, the loss. Her grief is weighty, heavy in the air, its own sad yet oppressive force. She wants to take my pain away? Mine? When she is so wrought with pain, devastated by guilt, that I don’t know if I could stand under the weight of it all. My Lady, our beloved Lady Kinzul, if only I could do for you what you wish to offer me. I’d gladly take it on, despite how likely debilitating it would be for me.
Kinzul, with absolutely no inflection in her whisper, jokes, “Does your offer still stand, my beloved Schism?”
At least, I think she’s joking, perhaps to take my mind away from her pain, to stop the feedback loop where we feel each other’s pain, and remind each other of their pain. I think. Still, my heart flutters and I feel lightheaded all of a sudden, and flush in my cheeks.
I nod wordlessly at first, somewhat stupefied that Kinzul isn’t laughing or smirking or relaying devious undertones through our psychic connection. There’s not a single hint of humor in her posture, her sad, beautiful onyx orbs that are her eyes, nor anywhere I can see or perceive. It really, truly, utterly seems like she is not joking. I make certain all of my psychic walls are up as I attempt to wipe my tears away.
Choking down a knot in my throat that contains the emotions attempting to wrack me with sobs, I respond, “Yes, of course. Always. Your safety is paramount. Especially now that I know you are the Worldstorm. Your dragonforce is spread across the whole world, to keep all the other dragons from being able to use their full forms, to be able to rain down destruction from the sky, to even be able to travel from the tops of their mountains. Lady Kinzul, you’ve given up so much, not just for me, but everyone, everywhere. I love you in ways I haven’t found names for, in ways beyond measure.”
A soft half smile crosses her divine lips as Kinzul offers, “Worldstorm, I quite like that title for our enchantment. How I wish in some ways you weren’t quite so clever, my beloved Schism. I can see in your eyes that you know some of the rest as well.”
Nodding, I hazard my guesses, “You basically verified it by saying *our* enchantment. This, even as ancient as you are, as powerful as you are, took more than you. They gave themselves willingly, but it still hurts you so. The flight of the Acids who drove back the Felgre horde? Most of them? Possibly also blues or bronzes for the lightning. It was a bid for peace, to keep dragons from being able to fight. You couldn’t have guessed that Terrorzin would begin abducting eggs for a new kind of force, a ground army. More and more shock troops to abduct more and more eggs, with targets acquired through his scrying pool. Eventually he likely required all clutches be turned over. His troops always slaying anyone who resisted, still resulting in Terrorzin gaining more of his troops. Oh gods. You blame yourself for—. Oh my beloved Lady Kinzul.”
The lump jumps back into my throat and I can’t breathe or even sob as I weep, and Lady Kinzul weeps with me, acknowledging my conjecture. We’re both so broken, so hurt, and so full of love. We want the world around us to love, to be safe, and happy, and we want each other to nurture love in ourselves and one another. How do I save her from this hurt? This guilt? I can’t. The truth is, I can’t. And no relationship can be built upon desire to offer salvation. No one can truly handle the cost of being either the savior or victim, perhaps both in turn. In the end, instead, I would offer Kinzul simply whatever equality I could in sharing our burdens, our loads, our loves.
There’s acceptance in our shared psychic bond, in our something like eight shared psychic bonds. Kinzul’s emotions are almost as much a part of me as my own are, with so much enchantment guiding together our minds and thoughts. I’m the infant of an insect compared to her, yet I feel her acceptance, her curiosity, her love.
I furrow my brows with worry, with compassion, with curiosity, wondering if we really are on a route that ends in us finding a way to prove to the system of my world that our souls should unite as Shellcrackers. I want to be upset with myself that my heart races at the prospect. It seems ridiculous, impossible, but Lady Kinzul outright states the opposite. Still, I don’t even know what marriage would mean for a Can’Z’aasian. Lao and Agwai were going to have a ceremony, an official wedding proposal and such, but, I don’t know how that will turn out, how it did, if it did, if it will.
Wait. Did she come straight to me after—. Oh Kinzul. I work my Changeling Fae shapeshifting gift to temporarily increase my size more than I’ve been working to slowly permanently increase it. I’m able to temporarily reach a little over six feet two inches tall or so. Lady Kinzul does the opposite, shrinking in response, and I can finally offer her an embrace where I can guide her head to my shoulder to let her weep.
My lower jaw quivers, as my emotions return to the sadness and pain that she has gone through. My inability to offer the mercy that we both desire me to continue to cultivate and nourish and nurture. I can’t help crying along with Kinzul as I stroke her marvelous cascade of flowing raven hair along the back of her head and shoulders. I’d chuckle at the descriptor of its color if we weren’t both in so much pain. We stand chest to chest, with my right arm around her waist, her left arm about my shoulders, my left arm around hers such that my hand can massage her skull, and her right hand grasping almost feebly at my shoulder blades between sobs.
A sudden screaming from outside, about thirty feet up, startles us from our all-too-briefly briefly shared affectionate embrace. I can’t help loosing a single half chuckle, shaking my head. My own act of mercy breaking one of the most touching moments of my entire set of existences. If I were more ruthless, I might kill the hanging Draconiac man to shut him up to return to hugging Kinzul, but I’m not, and that’s why she even allowed herself this moment of vulnerability. It’s why she entrusts her secrets to me.
My beloved Lady Kinzul, I would stand with you in my arms until the end of time if it could offer you a shred of comfort, without costing us both everything else that we hold dear. Sadly, there is work to be done.
With a regal minuscule tilt of her head in place of a nod, Kinzul agrees, “Yes my beloved Schism, there is work to be done. Tomorrow you and the Dormir will be infiltrating a stronghold while Boetah and Shaylon cover the fore. My Queens shall ever guard your precious treasure trove, and all of Mount Solace. They are what keep us safe from reprisal, why none would foolishly fly from their mount to ours to land within. They can never be seen having left, or it would embolden our enemies to try such a strategy. And, of course, if one of our enemies should decide such a strategy, Pawn would have the Queens there instantly to remove the threat.”
Sighing, our Lady continues, “While you and the Dormir attack the stronghold of Tinth, Shiz, and their allies, our Tenith, our Dark, and our Quick will be guided elsewhere by our strategists. In these early days, we can not let up the pressure while we still have the element of surprise. Spymaster’s network is in motion, and she will devise the best targets as swiftly as she can. For now, for today, we pick clean the ashes of our engagement, collecting scales and wings, trinkets and claws, anything that you think might aid us in our endeavor. Please excuse me my love, as I feast.”
Nodding to Kinzul, I step aside as she begins to retake her dragon form, growing far larger than Vanathar, but nowhere near the mountainous size she’d reached while above the clouds. I understand that the titles for Pawn and Queen offer additional aid in moving about Mount Solace, so I’m glad of that. Wait. She didn’t say my beloved something there. She just said my love.