The night passed in fitful bursts, a little sleep here, a few moments of wakefulness there. For his mana sight alerted him to all arcane creations, be they monster, artifact, or man. Ten thousand, nay, twenty thousand bright manaflies gleamed in the darkness of Talocandel’s night, small flashes as they fought and died around the city, or within it. Ships plied the night waters, ambushed by brighter lights, and oblivious to the true number of undersea violence. For every light the sailors extinguished, ten more battled beneath the waves, tearing into each other til only one remained. With the victor growing perpetually stronger. One day soon, Talocandel’s docks would be at the mercy of some aquatic leviathan, a being so vast that royalty meant nothing to it.

But below the waves was simple warfare, unlike the skies above. Great lights with wings of mana circled the city, tearing into smaller lights, silent to the citizens yet screaming bloody murder Wyverns plied the air, devouring shadowflyers as a bat devoured moths. Yet shadowflyers devoured even smaller lights, somehow perpetuating a darwinian cycle amidst a battle of a thousand lights.

“Damn bugs. Why don’t you go die in a hole.” Growled Liam, rolling over into sleep once more.

Time passed, how much couldn’t be guessed. Light filled his senses, blinding him like a noonday sun, yet his room was pitch black, for his eyes were closed. The brilliance was mana, a veritable tempest of mana flooding into his room from the center of the far wall, from a window. It moved. Something stepping into his room, advancing across the room to his bedside, all the while throwing torrents of mana so thick it felt like cool splashes across his eyes.

Each lash tied him to the bed, paralyzing him. Imprisoning his arms and legs and mouth. Just as the three eyed serval once had. But he wasn’t a toddler any longer, nor was his brain the unformed mush of a newborn. No, it was a honed weapon. One more blade for the Lightning Lord he was. This world was governed by a flawed system, one he’d cracked and mastered. Medusa, Queen of death and stone had named him Hecate. A title that gave no boons, for it was only a message, a warning to her sisters and daughters.

‘Hecate, master of magic, do not oppose this goddess-in-waiting. For he is beyond all.’

Liam mentally grasped the bonds of shadow, trying not to laugh as he threw them off. This spell was for novices, not masters. Darkness was his element, just as Pandora had claimed lightning for herself, he had claimed her favorite affinity.

“Don’t you know it’s rude–”

The figure lunged, weilding shadows themselves.

Wind whistled around the blade; and Liam struck with all that he had. The same shadows that once pinned him lashed across the assailant, binding and throwing her across the room. She slammed into the door, blasting it open, tumbling into the hallway. She cried out in pain. Muffled by the shadows wrapped around her throat.

“Why are you here?” Liam asked, rising from bed.

The woman was crawling down the hallway, one shoulder dislocated, with her humerus sticking out behind her shoulderblade. Liam winced at the sight, that was probably the most severe dislocation he’d ever seen. If he could take a picture and get an xray, it might become a case study for medical texts.

“How is a shadow mage in the church!” Cried the woman.

“Special exemption. Now answer me or– aw hell.” Said Liam.

His words came a moment too late, the woman rolled behind a side table. One of those thin-legged, no drawers, pieces of furniture that only existed as decor without any real purpose. She rolled beneath it and melted into the shadows. Mana swallowed her, bouncing her away to another shadow.

Without thinking, Liam jumped into the shadow after her, ordering the mana to obey his will. [Mana Domination] kicked in, shadowstepping Liam across the monastery. Dozens of man light appeared, disorienting, confusing, too bright. Liam opened his eyes, seeing a garrison room. He staggered forward, readying a wind blade.

“Shit! RUN!” Shouted the woman.

Liam tripped over something, his arm flailed. Wind blade shot forward, ready to cleave the woman from groin to neck. A shadowshield engulfed her. Darkness countering wind. Mostly. Two spells crackled and obliterated each other, but Liam’s blade was powered by greater suffering than any had ever bourne. It fragmented, sending five shards throughout the room. One landed wetly, as if skewering a pork shoulder. Another shattered a bedframe, the third sent a second shadowy figure tumbling as it impacted her own shadowshield. While the fourth struck true. It found the first woman’s working shoulder and tore through it.

She screamed. An ugly gurgling shriek of woe.

The second woman grabbed the first’s dislocated arm and they vanished. Teleported away by magic Liam had never imagined before. There was no ripple of mana, no channeled affinity, they were just gone.

“That is… really annoying.” Muttered Liam.

A ball of light appeared in his hand, and he surveyed the damage. His jaw fell open, eyes widening at the carnage. Twenty people lay in their beds, throats cut open and smiles on their faces. As if they’d dreamt of paradise instead of waking. The scream hadn’t woken them, but a sudden clarion told that it had disturbed the monastery’s guardians. Paladins and Templars were already beginning to throw open their doors. Shouts of alarm echoed through the halls as many more casualties were discovered.

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But Liam could only stare at the bodies. At his side lay a dead felinid man, one with a young face, strong jaw, and grey ears. Not bleached platinum, but the gray of Nyota’s hair, before Petra, before she had awoken as the Lightning Daughter. Liam closed his eyes, leaning closer to sniff the man. Old memories of nights spent with Nyota entered his mind, brought back into his forebrain by the linkage of her scent. This was, without a single doubt, Nyota’s son.

–And Liam’s windblade had decapitated him.

He stared at the wound for moment, unbreathing. Then relaxed. A thin knife wound had already slain this man, bleeding him out before Liam had ever awoken.

Once more, Liam had been too late to effect anything.

Fuck this world. I need to get to Nyota, I cannot be too late for her. He thought.

Though a dark whisper entered his mind, ‘you were too late for Furana’s birth. You were too late to save Beit Sarim. Too late to save your mother. Ha, Pandora keeps her promises, you will be too late for Nyota.’

—

–Ten minutes earlier–

“Now remember Karnak, be polite. We’re disturbing him in the middle of the night, he’ll probably shout and scream at us, but this cannot wait.” Said Owen, knocking on the gilded double doors.

“It’s half past midnight! This had better be worth your skin.” Answered a voice.

Owen put on his best smile, making Karnak raise one lupine eyebrow.

“Aw, stuff it.” Grumbled Owen, pushing open the doors.

“Lord Bishop, I have come with most pressing news.”

Lord Bishop Francois Pembroke sat at his desk, working through a foot tall stack of letters. Brows knitted together as he read yet another tally of casualties.

“The whole continent is underwater in monster blood. We’re all getting the squeeze. Explain why your news is most pressing, and be quick about it!” Snapped the man, not looking up as he scribbled a few numbers on chalk slates.

Karnak and Owen approached, kneeling before the Lord Bishop, as his station and decorum demanded.

“Yessir! Lightning Lord Tufan Biliam Alhusam has arrived in Talocandel. I request your leave to depart for Greenwood in the morning.”

His piece of chalk slipped from his fingers, clattering to the slate below.

“Lightning Lord… Bi-Liam? Ah, of course! He’s here! Yes. Excellent! Wait, you wanted permission to leave? What in Taloc’s name- Elaborate!” Said Francois.

Karnak winced at the blithering, while Owen, somewhat used to eccentric masters, simply obeyed.

“Yessir. Lord Alhusam’s mission is to reach Greenwood with all haste. He did not intend to stop in Talocandel, and I do not believe he wishes to remain here overlong. Thus I seek your permission to escort him on his mission.”

Francois leaned back in his chair, massaging his temples.

“Taloc, are you taunting me? A Lightning Lord arrives only to leave?”

A wrinkle crossed Owen’s face.

“Lord Alhusam is a just man, if we seek his aid with a task I would expect aid, so long as he is able.”

“Ha! I need more than his aid, my task is beyond one man, damnitall! It’s beyond a thousand men. Ten thousand magi combined would find the task difficult! Absurd even.”

Owen and Karnak frowned, avoiding the man’s gaze. When alarm bells began to toll across the monastery.

Two women appeared beneath Francois’ table, one carrying the other. Blood dripped freely from her stump. Francois summoned a ward between them, conjuring a wall ten feet tall and wide. An impenetrable barrier of force.

“Who are you?”

“Nina, they’ve got a shadow master! We’ve got to leave.” Called the woman with both arms.

As she spoke a third figured stepped out of Lord Bishop Francois Pembroke’s shadow, or rather, out of his chair’s shadow. She carried two blades, a short obsidian dagger that somehow was forged into a wave pattern, and a longer blade of bright steel. Straight, clean, and seemingly capable of cutting through time itself.

“Lookout!” Shouted Owen.

But he was too late. Old as he was, Owen’s physical speed had long since abandoned him. He fell forward, planting his hands on the stone floor as Nina’s obsidian dagger landed in Francois’ shoulder. The ward burst, annihilated. Owen tried to encase the Lord Bishop within a wall of stone, but his mana refused to move, as if the dark dagger petrified all mystical might. Francois gestured at the woman’s face, clearly intending to blast her with a golden beam.

“Old fool, read your own book.” Muttered Nina, sounding almost bored as her straight blade swung in a downward plunge. Directly at Francois’ heart. His arms raised, trying to push her off him, but Francois was old, and been bedridden for years. Frail was more than his essence, it was his middle name.

Lycan claws caught the sword, magical blade sliced through fingers, claws, a hand, and a forearm. Yet failed to stop the thrust at Nina’s heart. Pain was no longer a disuasion for Karnak. He plunged his screaming stump home, thrusting three remaining claws into the woman’s chest.

She screamed, ripping both dagger and blade away. But the champion’s jaws closed around her dagger elbow, biting through the arm entirely and displaying why Arlet had surrendered to the king’s blade. Better to live and be whole, rather than win today and lose your honour tomorrow.

Karnak caught Francois with his intact hand and tossed the man towards Owen.

“FLEE YOU FOOLS!” He shouted, somehow managing to aim a kick at Nina.

She evaded, melting into the shadows. The other women ran into the shadows as well.

“Damn bitches.” Growled Owen, activated the stored spell in his runic bracers.

A flaming sword burst from his hand, sailing through the air to pierce the single unwounded assassin. Blade burst from her bosom, piercing her heart as the women fell into a pit of shadows and vanished.

Whatever power suppressing them lifted, Francois immediately summoned balls of light to banish the shadows. Then took a moment to purify and heal his wound. His own safety assured, the Lord Bishop moved to check Karnak’s wounds only to find the werewolf entirely intact. A strange contrast against the blood on his face and arms. Karnak wiggled his nose, spitting black phlegm onto the carpet.

“Karnak, indoors?” Groaned Owen.

“Oh, sorry about the carpet.”

Francois cocked his head, just looking at the werewolf. His mouth opened and a laugh flew between his strict teeth.

“Ha! Damn the carpet! I’m alive! You’re alive! Tis a good day!” Shouted Francois. “Ah, the bells aren’t tolling for us.” He said, walking around his desk and retrieving a gold wrapped scepter. “Let’s give those cunts the same fucking they tried to give us!”