Sacriel backpedaled as fast his legs allowed. What in the Forgotten Gods was happening? He had suspected the woman of being a Wick when her hair had darkened in the sitting room. But he had never seen a Wick do this. A foreign emotion clutched at his chest-terror. His machinations had not accounted for this. He was confident he had been confidant his men could handle a Wick bodyguard-they were well trained and equipped with metal blades after all. There was a thump and Sacriel felt metal at his back-he had run into the wall at the end of the room. Usually, the cool touch of metal comforted him, reminding him of all he had accomplished. However, it took on a darker context this time, trapping him with this monster.

The vile woman left the two guards in front of her charred, flesh completely blackened and bubbling like it was water mixed with lye. He needed to collect himself and quickly. Sacriel licked his dry lips, but the moisture evaporated. He tried to yell for his guards but the words died in throat, burned away by the inferno that was Lyra. Luckily, his guards lived up to what he payed them and were trained to fight Wicks.

Vivy, the most sadistic of his guards, pulled a sling from her back pocket. She grabbed a nearby disc and whipped it back on the sling, launching it at Lyra. It struck her on the exposed shoulder, searing itself onto her arm. Wicks may be unharmed by their own Heat, but that did not stop heated materials from burning them. It was well known, in his circles at least, that a Wick’s own temperature was only slightly above normal.

Lyra gritted her teeth and stopped her methodical trek towards Sacriel. The tempest in the room seemed to lessen. Still far hotter than what Sacriel had ever seen from a Wick, but slightly more tolerable. At the very least, he didn’t feel as if his own skin would start sloughing off like weedsap right there and then. Sacriel sighed ever so slightly in relief. He remembered the difficulties he had in reigning Vivy in before. Unbelievably, the woman was a much more restrained creature than when she first entered his guard. This small respite made all his efforts worth it.

Unfortunately, Lyra’s full attention snapped from Sacriel to Vivy. She sprinted towards the guardswoman. His poor guardswoman kept up a flurry of coins, but Lyra dodged each narrowly. The other guards joined in the barrage, but to no avail. It was inhuman to behold-like watching a man walk through the rain without getting wet. Lyra swayed erratically as she ran towards Vivy, almost as if she were a flame herself. The other guards realized her target and dropped their slings, reaching for their swords. They were too slow to react, for who could compete with the speed at which a flame burns. Lyra was on Vivy in the blink of an eye. She assaulted Vivy with a malice that seemed unlike everything else Sacriel has seen from the woman, even including her initial outburst. While the heat in the room was slowly dissipating, the monster’s eyes burned on-a cold blue, not unlike his own.

Vivy was good, but no mortal could hope to match this. Lyra fought with a brutal efficiency, one Sacriel would have respected if it were not ruining all his plans. She fought using open hands dancing around her unfortunate victim’s attempts at resistance. With each missed swing or jab from Vivy, Lyra would hit her with an open palm. Vivy swung her dagger, still dripping with Fain’s blood, at Lyra’s head. The assistant shifted under the blow with ease and grabbed Vivy’s hand. She held tight, clearly squeezing with intention, as a hissing noise pervaded the room. The noise was quickly drowned out by Vivy’s howl of pain. The woman dropped the dagger, and any pretense of bravery, as she pulled her hand away-or at least tried. Lyra’s vice grip held firm. Vivy looked like a trapped animal, kicking and shoving wildly, looking all around for help. Her fellow three guardsmen averted their eyes, and continued trying to push open the vault door open, screaming for help. Sacriel would fault the men, but he himself made no move or sound to help. He merely watched with terrified fascination. Was this what awaited him? Or was that hopeful thinking?

Lyra released Vivy and the guardswomen flew back and landed on the ground, nursing her now-charcoal wrist like a child. Lyra’s face was devoid of both the kindness she showed Fain and the apathy she had shown Sacriel. She was a beast on the hunt. And just like a wild Chit, she leaped on her prey, pushing Vivy completely flat against the ground. The heat in the room was still dissipating, but not nearly fast enough-they were all doomed. Lyra was straddling the younger woman, whose screams for help were muffled by Lyra’s hand against her mouth. Vivy-brave Vivy- tried to the end to push Lyra off, but Lyra pinned her struggling limbs. Vivy’s resistance grew weaker and weaker until they faded completely. Finally, after a futile, weak swipe at Lyra’s chest, the resistance stopped completely. Lyra lifted her hand, revealing burns that almost looked like an exaggerated smile marking Vivy’s lifeless face. Lyra stood emotionlessly, like a butcher who had just finished slicing a slab of meat, ready for the next. She made a step towards Sacriel, and then saw Fain, lying on the ground, still bleeding.

Humanity bled back into her eyes, which reverted to a dimmer orange color. She ran to the boy quickly, stopping a few feet short of him. A hissing noise filled the room once more, as steam rose from Lyra’s face.

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“Oh Fain.” She murmured gently. Then she leaned down next to the body, appraising his wound. Sacriel decided this was a good as time as any and began to shuffle towards his guards. Lyra turned to him sharply. “Don’t! There’s a long…conversation we need to have.” Sacriel retreated back to his corner. There was no way to fight back here, hopefully her anger would quell to the point where he could talk his way out this.

Then he watched and actually gasped in surprise in surprise as Lyra pressed her palm into Fain’s wound. The boy awoke with a jolt, instantly scream. He saw Lyra and immediately ceased his yelping. The child reached for Lyra’s arm, trying to find a way to stand, but the woman swiftly moved away, leaving Fain grasping at air.

“Stay there Fain this will be over soon.” The heat had dulled to a scorching summer day, uncomfortable, but still tolerable. This is what Sacriel had expected to deal with, but it was too late now. His men’s morale was shattered, and even he, himself, didn’t dare make any moves. The matronly woman resumed her trek towards him, a decision already made.

She looked the part of an angel of death, garbed in simple white cloth, fiery hair whipping wildly, death in her eyes. Sacriel hadn’t noticed before, but the woman was beautiful, in a rough, common sort of way. Beautiful, and terrifying. A decade passed on her journey to Sacriel. He contemplated what his legacy would be. It would not be kind, he knew that. The other lords would conspire; paint him as a gluttonous, greedy man, who hungered for power.

They all missed the point. They grew complacent in the Inner Circle. No one, but him, seemed to recognize the flaw in just one man holding the secret of Evergrowth. Molanter had been lucky so far. The secret had remained in the custody of weak-hearted men, who didn’t think to use it to rule. That could change at the drop of a disc. Sacriel needed to be the one to bear it. Who else could keep the Circles in order, while staving off the threats of the other cities?

Alas, his dream of uniting the city under competent leadership would burn away right in the heart of his power. His death had arrived, standing just a few hairs away, opalescent hand reaching for his face. He felt the heat, even diminished as it was. He closed his eyes, waiting for the end that he had etched for himself.

“Lyra! Stop!” the boy’s shrill voice rang out. The guards turned to him, having long given up on their endeavor to escape. He had risen to his feet, still holding his wounded shoulder. “You don’t have to do this. You’re not a killer! Don’t do this.” His voice trembled at the end, almost pleading.

Sacriel almost scoffed. The boy hadn’t come to his senses enough to witness the carnage around him, clearly. The fool seemed just as bewildered as everyone else. Did he really not know the monster he had waiting on his whims?

Lyra looked back, a wistful look in her eyes. Another hissing noise pierced the room, as steam rose from her face. “Someone else told me that once, dear. Unfortunately, I am.” She continued her action.

“Stop! You-You taught me better than this.”

Those words seemed to effect the woman even more than the prior ones. She withdrew her reaching hand. She walked back to Fain’s side, making sure to keep a healthy distance. The heat was now merely a warm summer day, but no one dared to try anything.

Fain steadied him and scanned the room, a nauseated look crossing his face before he quickly hid it. Then, as the smell hit him, he turned, ran to a corner, and retched pathetically. Another eternal moment passed as Fain’s retches echoed. He turned to Lyra, a momentary wary expression crossing his face. The woman looked away, shame etched on her face. Fain cleared his face of the emotion and addressed Sacriel.

“Uncle.” He emphasized the word, hoping to emphasize their familial ties-a transparent appeal. “You gave me a way out before this. I’ll give you one. Let us free, no retribution will be sought. You won’t help me, message received.”

Sacriel was baffled. Not only was the boy going to let him out of this, he would seek no recompense. For someone who looked so much like Senna, Fain was clearly his father’s son. Or maybe, he was like Senna near the end-confused, lost, and optimistic. Regardless, the comparison drew Sacriel’s ire out. He swallowed it down-not the time- and sat silent.

He stewed for a moment, ego throbbing at being bested so effortlessly, but eventually he pushed his pride aside. Live to see another day and might be able to save this city, yet.

“Guards! Get the vault open. My nephew has clearly worn out his welcome.” He croaked out, throat still dry.

The guards redoubled their efforts, pushing against the door with all their might, to no avail. Finally, Lyra approached, her prior demeanor almost completely re-donned. The guards started to edge away as soon as they noticed her approach.

She sighed. “Here, I believe I can help with this.” She rested her hand against the hinge of the door, until it glowed softly. “Push now.” The guards did and, miraculously, the door slowly opened, groaning with effort. Lyra gestured for Fain to move in front of her and began following. As Sacriel and the guards began to follow, she turned back. The guards and Sacriel himself jumped backwards defensively. “Stay here for some time. Think on what you learned here today. We know the way out.” Then she silently followed Fain up the ladder, until they were both out of sight. Sacriel was a little annoyed that the servant woman dared to give him orders in his own keep, but this was largely overshadowed by his relief. They had fought death herself and survived. He could save the city yet. Fain was more a threat than ever, with that demon watching over his shoulder. Luckily, the wheels in Sacriel’s mind had already begun turning. He would get the secret to Evergrowth and unite this city. He just had to deal with that damned monster first.