“You're too impatient.” Nala chuckled. “Calm yourself.”
“Two months have passed! Two months!” And not a single sign of Hastur. He had definitely been here, and would be here in the future. In service to the chancellor and 'Gran Taurus', for all intent and purposes the title for the king of Baccia. No matter how much coin Tyr tried to bribe the various officials there, they didn't know. And he believed them. Hastur wasn't on a schedule and they only expected him three or four times a year. Having been here far longer than anyone had guessed.
“What does two months matter?” She mused, humming pleasantly. Lapping at a remarkable invention known as 'iced cream' in the successor states. Some product of Saorsa improved by the Milanese and traded north as a commodity. “We will grow old together. Centuries will pass and all of these people will be long gone. Your wives? Long gone. Only we will remain, the others of your kind and mine. Two months is nothing to us.”
“Don't go acting like we're married.” Tyr sighed. Except this time, he leaned into her. Nala was a great source of wisdom. A good teacher, and far superior in mannerisms than Abaddon or Varinn. She knew him best out of anyone life, and it was very possible that consideration was vice and versa. They had a soul bond, and it grew stronger every day. Every single thought was accessible to the other as long as they were in range. At first, it had been terrifying, until he'd learned to accept it for what it was. The greatest educational tool of all time.
Naturally, it wasn't always 'open'. Nala had a consideration of privacy and so did he, but when the other mind came knocking he'd learned not to turn it away no matter how uncomfortable it was. She taught him proper shaper magic. Schooled him on philosophy. Showed him the events of the past and nurtured his every curiosity.
“Those petty humans will never be my equal.” She asserted, for the dozenth time. “Am I not beautiful? Radiant? I've shaped myself specifically for your preference. That is our gift. One of them, and if not I can take any other form. Just like you'll be able to, one day.”
“Yeah, yeah.” Tyr agreed, but as she was well able to sense by now – he didn't. Nala was thick in the shoulders and well muscled. If this was his preference, he hadn't awakened to it just yet. “What do you want to do today?” He asked.
“Hmm...” She leaned her weight against him, followed by her head. Nala was a strange being. She had no need for showers or bathing, she always smelled good. She never sweat, and never acted in a way one would assume a manticore would. Even as Tyr thought these things, considering how perfect she was, she purred in contentment. Every thought was felt, and heard, and seen when real enough. And she didn't truly mind their platonic relationship, he saw more of a mother figure in her than a lover, and she was fine with that. “You've a strong heart and mind for vengeance, but...”
She didn't want to. He could feel it. She wanted to leave, to give up on her quest and approach it at a later date. Nala was a fickle woman. Well... In human consideration, she wasn't. Revenge was strong in her heart, but eclipsed by other things. The need to live and thrive. “I've grown bored of Baccia...” Tyr chuckled. “I...” Contrary to her opinion on the matter, he could taste her need for release on his tongue. Soon, Hastur would return. Tyr would flay him alive, but revenge was a thing. Time was ultimately irrelevant, her mind was shaping and changing him in ways he couldn't explain. What it couldn't do, she'd done physically. Sleeping with him, bathing him, all platonic. He refused to court her as a woman.
Revenge, though. Had it helped him be a more whole and complete person? It hadn't, and Nala had taught him that. Vengeance was fair was there was no point in chasing it down relentlessly. If he felt so strongly, that wouldn't wane with time. If it did, his convictions meant nothing.
The only thing he could ask was: “Where do you want to go?”
Nala had many young. Woeobogen was only one of them. While she mourned him, it was something that could be shelved until later. Tyr was warm and a good listener unlike her other mates. Not out of mock concern, but because that was his nature. He was so impossibly bad at human relations that he remained blunt and candid to the point of absurdity. These were all good things, in her mind.
She didn't want to breed with him, not necessarily. Once three centuries passed, one would find that the physical delights were immaterial. Worthless in the greater scheme of things. Life was about enjoyment, and she'd always planned to do just that. It would've been nice to be the first to see what a blend of chimera and primus could be, but ultimately irrelevant. He thought of others in that way, but she would far outlive them. There was so much time, seven centuries of it, nearly.
“You, me, and the wolf. I say we go to Milano. See what they have to offer – and decide from there.”
Nala could fly. And her ability to gate herself throughout the land was second only to Abaddon, yet she insisted on riding. It wasn't about the destination, she said. It was about the journey. A piece of wisdom only great age could bring. Tyr could not agree more. Traveling in and of itself was fun, just the process of it. Long had the second term of the academy school year began, and he'd deactivated his communication amulet. That kind of disconnection pleased him on a level he couldn't explain. To give it all up and just live the way he wanted to live.
“You've an old soul, my love.” She laughed, loud and bright. Honest and true.
“Don't say that word.” He said. But in her presence, he understood the emotion for the first time. Love was a complex thing. To care for someone far beyond the self. Tyr had never felt it before. Couldn't feel it, but she showed him what it must be like. Giving him examples of it. He loved Iscari, and 'the boys'. Loved Alex, and Sigi, and Astrid. Loved Nala. For who and what she was, she was a fine companion, and she knew it thanks to their bond.
Tyr could hide nothing from her. At first, he'd hated it, but now... It felt nice. Not only the fact that he was no longer hiding himself but also the fact that she accepted it. Could still stomach his presence even when his deepest secrets were revealed.
Milano was a massive city. Bigger than the capital of Haran. A sprawling metropolis and center of trade between the north and south. Everything was brick and stone and metal. Ships of all sizes docked in her ports. The flat decked trireme's of Varia, the sturdy bodied, tall masts of Haran, a few 'long ships' of northern Oresund, and even the triangular masts of the Assyrian dhow. All could be seen, and all of the races flourished in this center of trade.
Orc, goblin, maxxid, human, dwarf, kijin, telurian. There was an undercurrent of capitalism, something which neither of them liked, but it had benefits. Progress could be found here. Capitalism was innovation and the Milanese, with their absurd wealth, were an example of it. Crossbows and galleons and vast projects of architecture.
Beyond the city were wealthy farmers living in fine villas. Growing Varian olives and grapes that would one day become the finest of wines. Oils and otherwise. Everyone tending to their duties energetically, with a great deal of happiness.
“Pleasant, isn't it?” Nala purred in his ear. Her presence was intoxicating, resting his head against her bosom as they stared off into the crystal blue waters of the sea. Milano was a place of great reefs and and sea life as diverse as the city above. It would've been hard not to be impressed.
“Thank you.” He replied simply, in wonder of the scope of the world. Haran's seas were cold and mostly dark, but not here. She asked him verbally, despite being well aware of his thoughts. There was such a sincerity in her doing that, making him feel grateful. A soul bond was just that, yet Nala remained respectful. Teaching him to use it to his advantage in only revealing what he wanted to. If she wanted to, she could force her way inside, even wounding him – but never did.
She laughed. She did that a lot, considering her age. Not so bitter as one might expect.
“I'm not that old!” She chided, still laughing.
Tyr wasn't sure what he'd done to be blessed so, but he appreciated it nonetheless. On his first real vacation where he wasn't forced to fight or execute anyone. He could smell it on Nala. She was, literally, watching his back – ensuring that he need not dirty his hands. Perhaps that was love. Maybe she was right. Try as she might to hide it from him, he could sense it. She'd bloody her hands so that his might remain clean. Tyr was by no means a changed man, but the thought counted.
Change couldn't be counted in days, months, years or chapters through life. It came hard and couldn't be forced, but he felt it. Slowly, he was so different from the boy he used to be.
Two months. Two months and he knew her better than he knew himself. A life lived without regret. Three centuries of it. Three hundred years. Four or five times that of the average person. It was...
“Thank you.” Nala smiled shyly, blushing. So innocent after all these years. That of nature and of the wilds, unused to human thoughts and complexities. It was humbling. Amazing. To think that someone could live that long and still hold onto their sense of self.
Immortality seemed like a gift. But it wasn't. A man might reach eighty and wish for it, but he'd regret it soon. Immortality was a curse. The long sleep was a blessing. Things who experienced life in all its glories would understand that. To live a century or half again had to be good enough. Anything more was a stairway to madness. Perhaps that was why primus' did not remain among the lands of men for so long comparative to what they were capable of.
“What's next?” She asked. “We could go to the north... Or the republic. I've seen the republic, it's not bad. Maybe...” Maybe they could attempt to cross the sea. To see lost Trafalgar and the lands beyond. Or go south to Agoron, but they could not. Both knew in that very moment that the time had come.
In their heart of hearts. And in the words spoken by the man sitting across the plaza from them, speaking to his wife with great interest.
“Did you hear!? Hastur is coming to Milano!”
“Really? Bloody Hastur...?” The woman grimaced. “Why would you be so interested in--”
“One of the greatest mages of our time visiting our city!? Are you crazy? They say he'll be here soon, we should prepare! If he notices us, perhaps...”
The tale has been taken without authorization; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.
Revenge might be a dish best served cold to Nala. But to Tyr, all he could feel was heat, and in that surety of emotion – she understood. Now would be the time. There could be no further delay, even if they both came to regret it.
–
“Vestia!” First had been the city. Now, the academies. Brenn's arms were leaden and his eyelids felt even heavier. Same as before, the skinless things had come, but they had been ready. An army of them were arrayed before the gates to greet them. Professors and students alike, fighting side by side against the red tide.
Faith was a fuel. It was a source of hope that could enliven a man. Make him see beyond all things material and reach for power beyond mortal comprehension. Brenn had never felt the touch of his goddess as he'd imagined it, but that was okay. He was humble to that. To try and succeed, or fail, by his own merit was well enough. Still, her name was hot on his lips.
He loved her. Ever since the day the sisters had rescued him from the hell that was his life as an orphaned urchin. Standing in as surrogate mothers and raising him in a real family. Part of being human is looking for a family from the moment you're born. You never know when you're going to find it, or where. Brenn had found his, and it was all thanks to Her.
“Vestia!” He hoisted aloft the flag of his order. While most mages called themselves atheist, only the rare few would remain so in times of war. No atheists in the trenches, they said, and that was a truth of man.
“Can you stop yelling that nonsense!?” Micah screamed over the clamor of. This time, there were a great deal more than before. The city and interior of the academies were untouched. They'd come from somewhere else. Neighboring states or the twin empires, most likely. One moment it had been calm and serene, the perfect evening, and the next the alarms were blaring and the gate shuddering under their force. “I can't focus on casting with that racket!”
Spells went awry. Men fell from the walls surrounding the academy. Micah and the other mages graced with the power of dimensional mage would catch them or correct the path of their magic if possible. Hundreds of shimmering discs floated through the air to perform this task. When there were no spells to redirect, they'd let the gates collapse inside one of the creatures, tearing them apart from the inside out. It was taxing work, and the sweat beading his brow was pouring like rain down his face.
The others were in the fields behind. Somewhere... He didn't know where Iscari was, or Tyr for that matter. Nobody was coming to save them this time. Micah had lost all hope, but that didn't mean he'd lost. If he was going to go down, he'd do so screaming and swinging this time. No more cradling his head in his hands and wishing for it all to be a dream.
–
Sleeting rain and the bright flash of lightning set the sky alight in the distance. When it rained, it poured. Both in the literal or metaphorical sense. There seemed to be a new horror for every drop of moisture that fell from the air. As if the weather served as their herald.
“What's the situation? Why hasn't reinforcement arrived?” Someone screamed, their faces distraught. These were students, not soldiers, few of them fought let alone accepted the situation. The professors did what they could, but for all their magic they were forced to measure their expenditure lest they turn as the others had. Only those students protected by Wilhelm's hastily constructed arrays were 'safe'. For now.
The man was bleeding from a slashed gut, a wound that would not heal, turning grayer by the second. As soon as he perished, the entire force comprising the front line would follow. The more powerful the mage, the more 'things' would come from them. There was no time to waste, and their desperation was such that even the youngest mages were forced to fight.
“There are no reinforcements.” Lernin's lips made for a grim line. “We're all we've got.”
He stood on the back of the last remaining lindwurm in the area. A creature intelligent enough to know that it was better to join forces rather than hunt the humans. Roaring balefully in the night and taking half a score of abominations with each swipe of its claws.
They came in the night. They seemed to last longer when it was cool and the sun didn't dry their flesh out, for whatever reason. Thousands of baying maws, screeching into the twilight their desire to kill and feed or both. Perhaps all they wanted to do was die. They certainly gave no regard to self preservation.
Valkan joined the students engaged in the melee, crushing a swath of creatures with every swing of his great maul. To use the spellbreakers now would be to betray the fact that his people had them, something they were not willing to do just yet. Should the humans learn of this newfound capability, their situation in the republic would surely devolve. As loathe as he was to deny them his best aid, this place that he was so fond of, he had a responsibility first to his people.
He was joined by Kael, wielding his greatsword with supreme grace and skill, they had been fighting for hours. Both man and Anu were at their wits end. There were no end to the things. No relief from the council. Two academies had fallen in their entirety and the city itself was in shambles again. If not for the high wall surrounding their academy in particular, nothing would've been able to stop these things. No support would come from their neighbors, either.
Even if they'd had the mind to, Varia and Haran both were facing their own problems. The republic was doing better, but not by much. Oresund was too far afield to request timely aid, and those successor states not beset by the calamity were silent to it. Long had they been jealous of Amistad. A pillar of power in the region, with a near monopoly on all things magic. They'd only benefit from its destruction, even if they refused to admit it.
They saw the white wolf returned some time ago, Alex on his back with her spear doing grisly work. Full of fear and revulsion, but no longer hesitant. Fear was a guide, not a shackle. Beset by a hundred foes until they fell beneath the tide and those men nearest them followed. But in their failure they would provide reprieve for those in the rear. Alexis Goldmane was a supreme talent and she'd remained so until she disappeared beneath the tide. Okami no less able, taking hundreds of the things by themselves, true paragons of the academy.
Gone, though. He was sure of it, and their gates were not working. What had been their greatest defense, the academy, was nothing more than a prison now. Hemming them inside tall walls and the howling beasts beyond them. Those mages that fell to their anxieties and were capable of flight did so. Taking to the air only to be lashed down by the lightning. Struck from the sky and falling into the horde of creatures. It wasn't just the abominations, but the mana phenomena shrouding them as well until most of the towers had ceased in operation, something long thought impossible.
These were different. That which they killed would rise again. Some bizarre amalgam of necromancy returning just enough mana for them to be an appropriate host to the anima parasites.
Hope... Not much of that here.
And just as the enemy managed to climb that wall and begin launching their grisly corpses into the mages below, time seemed to freeze. Droplets of rain hung suspended in the air, even the distant lightning ceased, hanging still and burning the eyes. Impossible magic. Old magic.
“What's happening!?” Brenn cried in fright. Just a moment before Micah had been dragged into the mass, the creatures were frozen. Trembling impotently against unseen bonds. He pulled his friend from the mass, thankful that he hadn't been injured. Looking about, people were rising all over the field and fleeing toward the academy. People he was sure that were mortally wounded just moments ago were rising again, and not in the fouler sense of all he'd seen. “Alex!”
“I'm here!” She was covered in shallow wounds, but otherwise healthy enough to be dragged from the press and tossed free of it by a limping Okami. His wounds were much deeper, but he stood tall. He had protected the mate of his partner and remained unbroken by these things. Alex choked on the still, incredibly dry air. Everything was charged with such vicious mana that it made it uncomfortable just to be here. “Professors!?”
Kael sighed, laying a tired hand on the panting form of Valkan kneeling in the dirt. He'd fought hard. They all had, but the Anu had done so much.
“He has awoken.” Valkan growled.
“And it's about damn time.” Kael added. “Get out of here and return to your quarters. Unless you want to watch. I know what I'll be doing.” He winked. Not even a situation like this could come between Kael and his love for all things arcane.
A figure stepped forward. 'Stepped' being the operative word. Stepped through space itself with no apparent sign of a gate being formed, blinking into existence and remaining still in the air. Not levitating, but standing on it as if it were solid. Abaddon's fire red hair had come free of his braid, billowing on winds that no other could feel.
A wind of pure mana and spira dancing alongside one another. There was a violence in it. It was violence. Destruction incarnate, and it did as one might expect. It destroyed everything beyond the walls of the academy. There was no sound, no flash of light, only dust. A cloud of it pulled from thousands of the grotesque creatures. Rendering them down to a particulate so fine, dust became mist, and mist became nothing.
The ground around the academy was a flat slate of gray sand. Like a sheet of glass for hundreds of meters. Without speaking a single word or making a movement of any kind, he had done all of this. Magic beyond anything any of them had ever seen. Magic, they said, was science mortals did not possess the ability to understand – but this went beyond that. Something else and more ancient. Like the will of the world itself rejecting these things and declaring them unreal. And thus, they weren't. Unmade in the raw force of whatever Professor Abaddon had done.
No flashes. No big booms and radiant torrents of elemental mana. Only... Nothing. The storm itself, stricken by some great fear so as to remain still lest he notice it. Like...
“A god...” Alex breathed. So many students and professors alike had lowered themselves to their knees. Regardless of his true identity, the pressure he exuded was enough to make them fall before him unconsciously.
“A god?” Kael cackled, cupping his hands together and yelling up at his 'colleague', and also the closest thing he had to a king. “You hear that, Abaddon!? She thinks you're a god!”
No gods. Abaddon rumbled. Not with one voice, but with hundreds. Thousands. Speaking directly into their mind. His eyes remained closed throughout it all, as if in deep slumber. I must return.
And he was gone. Just like that. Overwhelming silence broken only by the rain that returned as soon as he'd left. A thin sliver of moonlight reaching down toward the place he'd stood only moments before.
“If he's not a god...” Micah's wide eyes matched the blankness over his brain. He knew the element Abaddon had used very well. Not darkness, as the level of raw destruction one might expect, but some phenomena of space itself. Grabbing at the smallest parts of matter and rearranging it to the point its entire state had changed, from solid to liquid – to gas. Micah was absolutely confident this was impossible to any mortal, that kind of magic was... No, not legendary, there were no legends about making something into nothing. “Then what is he?”
“Dunno. Don't care.” Kael shrugged. “He built this academy, we kinda just wandered in and he let us stay. In a way, he might be responsible for the end of the great war – but he and others like him are certainly responsible for the creation of Amistad.”
“Count yourself lucky that he helped.” Lernin interrupted, voluminous robes billowing around him. “We must make preparations. They will come again, and there will be no second chance for us. Or a third, whatever the case. Abaddon has sacrificed much to give us this opportunity.”
Nobody could break him from his sleep, and now they were alone. Not so long as he slumbered, especially after such wild magic. This unique 'spell' – something they always attributed to the 'power core of the academy' as far as the public was concerned – took energy. An incredible amount of it. With it, he might be asleep for five... Ten years... Which wasn't good. Amistad needed their guardians without them they were helpless.