“We are trapped.” Valencia bluntly informed those gathered around. “Rats within a cage for the beast to tear asunder.”

Sat around their precious pot of flame, the rest remained unconcerned. Ilorath dangled her lantern from slim hands, eyes sunken and tied-back hair faded as even color fled this blasted waste. The elf blinked from blank, sleepless eyes and nodded at Valencia’s statement. Johann shifted slightly, the arms crossed beneath a magnificent mustache and thick neck. The Blackguard held himself proud, defiant even in the face of the inevitable.

Ul’eth coughed and weakly raised her arm as all attention turned to the blind orc.

“An objection, I have,” She grinned weakly, slumped backward under the weight of her wounds. “I have already been torn asunder, and I find the experience very underwhelming. Would not recommend.”

Rodan groaned and buried his face even further within the dark confines of his hands. The tanned human did not seek a reminder of their predicament, that much was obvious. And yet, he remained as Valencia sat before the fire, all their tenuous company gathered in its warmth. In truth, she did not need its life-giving embers or their heat, but the comfort found in their presence was not an insignificant thing. Ul’eth groaned where she sat propped up, her body broken and rent. Her flesh, weak. Her spirit, indomitable. Yet will alone could not conquer these demons.

“We can stay and fight, withhold the inevitable, if only for a short time.” The armored woman continued. “Flame, faith and fury will drag many of these blasphemous machines to the abyss so they may share our fate. But into the abyss we will go, and with haste.”

“Your words suggest that perhaps, there is a spark of hope to be had in this hell.” Rodan piqued, an undertone of hope within his deep voice.

Valencia squashed that with a single sentence.

“We pry open a gateway through the hellplanes and move across the Between.” She informed those gathered round. “These are our options.”

Deep, raucous laughter came from the Blackguard as Johann found humor with the horror. Amidst the risen dawn, the mercenary held his head high, and pride upon his rough features.

“To die beneath the claws of the faceless steel horde or risk death against true evil?” He guffawed and raised a clenched fist. “We march unto the hells this day, for no glory will ever taste as true as demonblood upon my hands.”

“You are a fool.” Rodan spat, and refused to elaborate further.

“This is the meager selection of paths Fate has seen fit to lay before us, then.” Ul’eth sighed, dried blood upon her jade face. The orc winced as she moved, wounds cracked upon and the smell of pain heavy upon the dried air. “Damned now or damned later.”

“All roads must end.” Ilorath uttered quietly. “Our lives, we risk upon both roads, but the path below is far more dangerous.”

“It is the only one where the light gleams near the end, even if that sunshine is naught but illusion.” Valencia nodded, expression stern beneath the mask. She sat with her back to the dawn, hands folded before her.

“You dangle false hope before us.” Rodan grimaced. “And like moths to the flame, we draw near.”

“We cannot hold here forever.” Ilorath spoke through her apparent exhaustion. “Help will not come. The machine children will not suddenly lose interest in us. They will grind us to dust beneath their sheer weight. Such is written.”

The silence that fell was a sweet succor to the elf, Valencia could see. Her thin, cloaked form was worn from the contrast calls of sorcery, renewed and pushed closer to the brink with every assault. No grasp could hold the wild powers that were called from the Between forever, and when her control slipped..

“We go, then.” Johann nodded sagely. “To bathe our blades in hellfire and the blackest blood.”

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The human mage snapped at the Blackguard heartbeats later, eyes tired and mood irritable. Veneer of politeness and usual soft-spoken words stripped away, Rodan hissed at his fellow human.

“Not all long for the end like you, traitor.” He growled, face tired and furious all at once. “Do not presume to decide our fate for us.”

“And I will go to meet my ancestors with honor upon my name, mage.” The blackguard rebuffed, staunch and proud. “Can you claim the same?”

Rodan stood, disgust upon his face and strode away, furious.

And now there were four.

“Soon, you will rely upon each other to survive,” Valencia spoke, tone somber. “Ask yourself how wise it is to provoke him like that.”

“I will not attempt to prise open a rift until all here are in unanimous agreement.” Ilorath murmured. “Where we go will have no room for squabbles, and lesser still for doubt.”

“Ul’eth requires healing.” Johann mentioned, face serious now. “Unless you wish to carry her through the pits yourself.”

“We lack a flesh-knitter.” Valencia almost spat in disgust. “As such, we have only time to mend her.”

“An orc I may be, but even I cannot promise miracles,” The green-skin woman grinned crookedly, fangs bared. “Give me but a day, and I will walk on my own feet, at least.”

“Rest well, then.” Valencia nodded and stood. She grabbed the elf and hauled her up, Ilorath’s slim weight supported by the larger woman’s strength. Whatever protests she could muster were feeble at best as the elf allowed herself to be carried into the tower’s dusty confines. Valencia supported her weight through the stone doors and then up a flight of stairs. Further away from any possible breach points, when the next attack came.

“Sleep.” She commanded once she had set the slim woman down in a somewhat secure chamber. “You are of little worth to me dead on your feet.”

There was no protest now as those pale eyes closed, dead to the world. Valencia sat herself down next to Ilorath’s form, shrouded in the heavy darkness even as the sun rose outside. Light streamed through a singular window above, an oval of sunlight that spilled into the chamber's dim reaches. With a sigh, Valencia reached up and undid the clasps that kept her mask on. Faint clicks resounded above Il’rath’s painfully silent breaths as the woman pried loose the facade that lay against her skin.

The metal lie dropped, and Valencia slumped back next to her elf. She was not tired, not in the way that mortals could be -and she did not miss those times- but there was a weight upon her spirit. An evil that ate and grew within herself, one that must be destroyed. But flame and steel could not root out this thing, and so she let it sleep.

Scarred lips pulled in lungfuls of dusty air as she relished how wonderously mundane the dirt felt upon her brow. Inside the mask, she was spotless, sterile. Safe. Contained. Caged. She jerked her head at an errant ray of sunlight as the tower shifted. It felt as ambrosia upon her lips, yet she moved away. Sweet though it may be, it was not her that drew substance from it. The monster inside slept as they awaited the fiends without.

They would come. When, was a question for dead gods and false prophets.

It was peaceful within the spire’s confines. Serene even. A moment of mundane beauty and comfort in a maelstrom of death. Valencia treasured it, while she could. These moments of bliss were so little and spread so far apart in these doomed times. Quietly as was possible, she leveraged herself off the ground and gathered her mask. With a grimace, she fastened it once more upon her head, and the steel visage gazed upon the world.

“Sleep deeply, elf.” She whispered in command and strode away.

Chaos awaited her. Left without a leader, the Grafted argued amongst themselves as those fortunate enough to still live -yet unfortunate to have come unto this damned place- watched. Eyes turned unto her as she stepped from the tower’s confines. Silence simmered, strained to the point of breaking as she spoke.

“Come the morrow, myself and my fellows mean to prise open a gate to the Between and make our journey back to human lands. Those with the gall to join us will be taken.”

“You attempted to kill the Graftmaster when we were about to escape!” Came a shout from one of the angry figures. “And now you speak of fleeing yourself?”

“The graftmaster was set to run and leave all here to their demise.” Valencia replied, voice hard. “I offer a chance for all who wish to leave this wretched place before they are torn beneath a sea of steel.”

Whispers now amongst the rest as they spoke of her decision. One stepped forward, defiance upon his face.

“Then we will stay and die, rather than let our eternal souls be defiled at the claws of some demon.”

Valencia shrugged at this statement.

“You may do as you wish. But all who come will be taken. I need not honey words here. All of you know the risks that lie ahead. I expect some to fall in the face of the evil below. Some to be lost forever. But we depart at first light, should we still live tomorrow.”

With naught else left to say, she turned and left the humans behind, off in search of another mage.