‘The Last Resort’

The Errant had been quiet, but they never gave up - which meant they were preparing, hopefully for something less inane. My suspicions proved correct.

Displacing an established Ascendant from their duty was always a difficult task. Mass approaches fared poorly, countered by widespread destruction and any experienced warrior knew to prepare the battlefield for such an eventuality. A concentrated approach simply made for an easy target, a problematic fact for the Errant who were ever the victims of rocks. Thus, they shifted between quantity and quality, probing. In rare cases, a quantity of quality appeared. Now was such a time.

The five mirrored warriors appeared out of nowhere, as the Errant were wont to do. Their forms were covered in a shroud of darkening suppression, identities hidden for reasons unknown. Regardless, appearances could be changed and style served as the true mark of identification. Yet recognition eluded me as the formation employed unusual strategies. This tactic of attrition was fundamentally impractical. An opponent would escape, at best. Of course, I had never fled an engagement - perhaps a theoretical merit? If that reflected their reasoning, they had miscalculated. They were the only ones being worn out.

Branches of red lightning streaked towards me, splitting, multiplying and missing. The coloring seemed an odd affectation, purely cosmetic. It was a sophisticated attack, many had been, and possibly still were fond of it, owing to its tremendous efficiency. The veins connected at the source and a single hit drew in all the branches through it, maximizing both spread and concentration. The crimson lines congested around me at varying speeds in an attempt to deny possible avenues of escape.

I allowed the cage to nearly snap shut, and then sped away, just out of reach, taunting them. The maneuver forced the five flawed copies to rapidly readjust their exertions to my wildly varying vectors, drawing their net further and further out. Then a burst of acceleration followed, sending me behind on the opposite side of them. A rapid closure of distance completed the scare and prompted them to abandon and restart their offence, wasting resources in their haste as strikes died out midflight before the energy could be recalled.

Admittedly, they coordinated well and demonstrated awareness of their opponent, the attack was pure and no suicidal attempts at physical combat were made. Three worked closely together. They combined, directed and enforced their forking stratagem, while the fourth fought independently, constantly adapting. It provided distractions, defenses and supposed threats of its own. It performed interdicting maneuvers, sprung preemptive barriers and returned fire with scattered, homing pellets. I judged the creature of middling skill, unsuited for the role. My criticism was born from experience, only the best could excel in that position and it had been mine in organized combat.

This battle was a farce. Any remnants of recklessness had faded away by now, yet boredom took their place. Only the last of the five provided some entertainment, the suppressor. Its talent far exceeded the others, unbalancing the already misapplied formation.

It wisely avoided extending its control as a blanket to force a lopsided contest. Instead the Errant played games of shadow and smoke, engaging in fleeting tugs of war for little stretches of space, sometimes with purpose, just as often without. Always it threatened to cast a sudden cover in attempts to blind me or perhaps dissipate my stolen strength. Seemingly meaningless and disparate objectives formed subtle signs of convergence, nearly provoking my counter. But my opponent was no fool and refrained from prolonged contests. After all, were I able to latch on, then there would be no letting go. Ever.

So we danced. Sensory darkness and false lightning chased my flight while small Errant victories turned into defeats whenever the mood struck me. The spar amused me somewhat, until it did not.

Plumes of heat and shining trails of friction betrayed the final approach, aimed at the children’s home world. A circular perimeter of unidentified objects bolted towards the many-layered walls of mountain which cradled the deeply entrenched seedling. Their proximity hindered my interference, thus Altica’s compulsions inadvertently facilitated whatever this was.

The suppressor timed the unveiling of its full power perfectly with my distraction, unleashing a crashing wave to drown out my senses. The balance shifted, resisting both overwhelming tide and compulsion at once was impossible, despite my augmented state. Outmaneuvered, I could only hope that the few fresh ascendants among the children could rise to the occasion. They would be tested in the times to come.

My pathways flared, fueling my embrace of the enemy veil and a lingering trigger activated. All my will, skill and knowledge raged against the suppressor, yet left me steadily losing ground…? More and more of my power poured into the competition, but the Errant kept winning, slowly. In time only my sanctuary would remain. The other four became bystanders, unwilling or unable to press through our titanic struggle. Drawing on my link could force a stalemate, but why bother?

Unlike the reflection which guarded the thoroughfare, I had the ability to produce attacks truly approaching the speed of light. It was a tedious process and, ironically, slow but well worth the trouble nonetheless. Our skirmish ended abruptly when an imbued meteorite appeared from nowhere, the Errant were not the only ones capable of subterfuge. My projectile crashed through my adversary, pinpointed by our grappling. It obliterated the Errant and then shattered into four pieces. Each sharply assumed a new trajectory and connected nigh instantly with a target before anyone had a chance to react. Thus the classic formation was swept away. Nothing remained but swiftly fading dust.

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The Errant were ever the victims of rocks.

Wild-mother

She reformed herself by drawing the many into one, less five. Losing one had been expected, Ghost-mother could only preserve so much while channeling through another, lacking contrast. The spar made her next task slightly easier, but even a testing of the champion showed no true avenue to victory. Her feelings deflated once more, nothing had truly changed.

Ghost-mother thanked her. Their shared being had evoked sympathy, no doubt. She meant well, but it was meaningless and transient. Like all else that she embodied, Ghost-mothers’ empathy hid itself piece by piece until it never was. Wild-mother was the same, a slave to her nature. A ripple passed through her, so very faint and distant - Mother breaking through, again. The act roused her. She never ceased to wonder at how there were always new heights to reach. The shameless disregard for obstacles filled her with inspiration.

She abandoned formlessness and emulated the desperately struggling animals. Mother so enjoyed spying on them, although never enough to be satisfied. The symbolism endowed her actions with greater meaning, and thus greater power. All she ever felt formed a seed, coalescing in the palm of her hand while senses died. Once complete, a hand snaked, breached through her chest and deposited it in her heart.

So she waited, unfeeling but for a single spark of nurturing anticipation.

Mother willed it so.

Rhoq’eau

“LORD!”

The shout interrupted my single-minded recital of the hymn of valor. The messenger had likely been trying to gain my attention for some time now, unable to overpower my chant. I rose from talon and heel, and then turned to raise a browplume towards the yellowfeather. It was rare to see one so vibrant in a menial role. To interrupt training was to disrupt sacred duty, thus her words carried weight and brooked no more delays. Tradition demanded such, although she could stay a little longer, were it up to me. It was not.

“Pardon me your grace, but the cou… elder requests your presence.” The messenger winced, her mistake forgiven. The wounds were still fresh upon us all.

“Many thanks, you humble me with your service.”

The courier reached for the sky before leaving and I returned the salute. It felt hollow, much as the mountain we lived within. Father wanted something and that could never be good. The last time he formally imposed on me, it had been to declare Kra’e’s victory, her prize my talon in betrothal. Her competence left nothing to be desired, instead her attitude ruffled my feathers. Warranted or not, her arrogance was distasteful. She mocked her challengers, leveraging superiority, toying with them and twisting ancient rules towards calculated brutality. But my opinion did not matter. The third-hatched royal nested with the most promising youth, for the sake of the next generation.

There was no choice to rebel against, merely duty to fulfill. The weight of responsibility bore down on me, more than ever before. The last attack had been catastrophic. The sudden impossibility of it still shivered my mantle. The Errant came from nowhere in the middle of our victory feast. They announced themselves by slaying both of my uncles, both of their wives and my grandfather before I could even blink. Thus, the council had been reduced from six to one. Many others fell while the interlopers casually slaughtered their way out of our home, leaving unharmed.

A tear faded into a feather, we had finally seen hope, now replaced with despair. The old warnings proved true and we failed to heed them.

I hopped from perch to perch along the curving noble path while making my way, skipping past most of the talonholds towards the upper city below the peak. A crier’s song filled the air during my traversal, a legend sung of when our people still lived under the open sky. It was part of my duty to believe it, regardless of any doubt. Despite my misgivings, sharp tones rekindled the hymn and raised my resolve. My training, once resumed, would continue until exhaustion. The steepest arches loomed ahead, demanding leaps.

One rush of air followed another. Perhaps father had been broken, unlikely as it seemed, and wished to accelerate my ascent? Like all Rhoq, I was forbidden from risking the games until my training was complete, even though we nearly always won. The next step forward beckoned, ever so tempting, especially now. My final pounce landed on the council perch and two pecks on the worked stone doors echoed dimly in the halls behind them.

While waiting to be admitted, I opened my interface. My level showed 100, as always. Both longing and impatience accompanied my desire to see it change. An old habit from my younger days resurfaced and mentally ungrouped the gained numbers from the trained; physical power 210+200, physical speed 10+200, physical endurance 110+200, magical power 210+200, magical speed 10+194, magical endurance 110+558.

Only six more magical speed separated me from the games, a welcome relief after more than a decade of dedicated preparation. It did not take nearly as long for me to be ushered in. Enough time passed, barely, for my older brethren to arrive as well. Rhoq’e and Rhoq’ea abstained from conversation, adhering to strength and silence as they had been taught. Hopes of early ascension swelled. Why else had my kinguard been summoned alongside me?

Father was… smiling? As a future leader, I was expected to act with intelligence, both rational and emotional. Were it not for the never ending lessons to remedy my lack of skill at reading the flock, then the newfound sorrow in his orange eyes would have gone unnoticed.

He spoke with the deep baritone he reserved for speeches to carry throughout our greatnest - and most other forms of conversation.

“My chicks, I apologize for interrupting your sacred duty. But there is news and with it comes hope, for you and our other young. You may yet escape this wretched place.”

Hope? He had indeed broken, from reality.