"Blades! Rosen!"

Aleh had no time watch as his comrades followed the unspoken command and joined the battle outside. Neither had him the time to don his sensorial deprivation bindings and take proper precautions in connecting to his Homunculus. "Raw and quick", as a certain mentor of his used to put, would have to suffice.

Another impact rang, the opposite wall made concave with each blow. A few more hits and the Child of the Lake, Heir to the Azure, would pierce deep through the steel sheets keeping the Homunculus' fragile tissue protected, and from there no amount of Ashic Arts would prevent the carnage.

Pushing through willpower alone, he touched the Homunculus Asha, a Merurgical message sent in haste forcing it into reaching back. The sensation as both merged was too intricate to describe with ease; similar to allowing an enormous spider to sink its fangs into his thoracic box, feel the venom melting through viscera and blood vessels, and parting with his liquefied self in good will. Horrid, to summarize.

The Homunculus drank with relish, and Aleh expanded. He was two then, flesh cramped between a multitude of metallic layers, given enough space to grow only his own necessities. Eyes that would never see opened, and mouths that would never taste gaped, dizzying perspectives and impossible sensations overlapping the mundane.

There was no one way to perceive the Planes Below. Some would see a phantasmagoric wasteland, others an endless nightmare of flames. It had been no surprise to Aleh when, years ago, that fateful moment he was allowed to utilize a gadget that to this moment remained a relic of unknown means, he was allowed to see, and a world of Golden Dust bloomed around him.

It was suffering to even keep his eyes open. The World of Golden Dust was a mere allusion to its conceptualization by the Faceless Sect, and to its physical endpoint too. Madness made it no justice: it was contradictory and inconsistent, amorphous almost, though where his sight lingered and the overlap came into focus, a temptation was there to unveil the way one led to the next, what laid in between...

Another impact jostled him from his near fatal daftness, the screeching rake of claws reminding him of his priorities. He shut his eyes as hard as he could, allowing his Homunculus' senses to overtake his own instead.

The Child was right there, clinging to his flank while burrowing a hole, a gargantuan shape of countless branching tendrils dissoluting in water, in a manner not unlike some maritime Phantasms he had seen described in books.

This would not stand.

The Oke had by instinct grown a surface of Ashic thorns, powerful but lacking in the physical component to make a reliable weapon against an opponent of such magnitude. As much he had expected, though that it had been ignored was an insult. Aleh smiled, feeling perspiration: the monster would rue the day it decided to underestimate his creations.

Four great Ashic hooks tore into it, drawing a deafening bestial wail as each deployed their lines of dozen barbs. Pressure was exerted into the Child to restrain its movements, thought that would be a provisional measure.

"Almalilly, beneath the panel, small organ like a liver to the left of the front bash!" he said.

"Found it!" Almalilly said, and he felt the uncomfortable stimulus as if it had been his own organ being fondled. Still, the results spoke for themselves as the "meat" connecting the Homunculus to the Oke's wheel engorged and calcified, restraining the mechanism and forcing organic spikes to emerge, driving them into the dirt.

The counteroffensive was vicious. Atop the Oke, Blades struck with a series of lunges, not one of them capable of cutting deep into the Child, but all just enough to inflict pain. The howls grew shrill, and with a sudden movement, dozens of tendrils surged out in her direction. How unfortunate for the poor bastard, then, that Blades was a seasoned Face with some experience in resisting Ashic attacks.

With great effort, under a downpour of piercing thrusts, the Child tore itself from the Oke's side, his hooks far too frail to match its strength and thus abandoned post-haste before it could inflict him any more Ashic Damage. Less than a second into the protective hold of its water veil, the Child engaged one of the Azure's Heirs most infamous tricks, and vanished.

To see nothing in the Below Planes was impossible, even the air had its Merurgy and Ashic component, however there was no denying that there was Nothing there. A phenomena he had only ever heard of but never seen, something which had once fascinated him; all he could feel now, as the intended victim of its usage, was paralyzing dread.

A premonition nibbled at the back of his mind. Afraid, he sent a known signal to both Blades and Rosen, a wave of weak burning prickles to both their feet; the latter threw himself down before the emerging palisade of Ashic thorns, the former took stance, the vivid golden currents of her being pressing tighter in waiting. He strengthened the signal until it was practically an attack, to no change.

He didn't see the wave coming, though both above must have. He felt the quake, heard its deafening crash and the disappearing scream. The palisade had been made of constructs equivalent to keratin horns or hair in Ashic Art terms -- sparing both the Homunculus and him from rebound, the least of the potential issues that moment. distressed, he set to searching for his comrades.

Both had escaped unharmed. Aleh released a breath he didn't know he was holding, and chided himself. Panicking once was an unfortunate mistake, twice brought him teetering on the edge of uselessness.

A response signal came from Rosen.

Specialized in Arts aimed at intrinsic enhancement and close range operations, neither Blades nor Rosen were capable of constructing even the most basic of Merurgical Messages, and thus they had agreed to a simple series of touch-based cues cyphered from standard field communication for Faces, capable of transcribing the gist of their needs when the situation could otherwise get in the way of speech.

"No use. Help" he said, already up, and aiming his carving knife in their foe's direction.

The third wave came, the Child's focus once again falling straight to the Oke. The impact sent him flying across the Oke, a panel of translucent light against the wall absorbing the force behind the collision to leave him with a mild pain in the crown of his head rather than staining his magnum opus with cerebrospinal fluids.

Both Faces above lost no time retaliating. Turning around, Aleh saw twin Merurgical trails, remote kinetic attacks that did nothing beyond battering the fucker outside, their colors borderline orange rather than the vivid yellow of true living creatures, a reflection of their natures as quase-parasitic weapons that fed on their surroundings.

Excellent caliber for black market goods, or even compared to the few meager works produced by the ever so esteemed witch corps of the Sect. Deadly projectile weaponry that could cripple or even kill a man armored in steel plate, from half the distance but with twice the chance of an unenchanted crossbow. Work of the Revolution, and potential face of warfare in the near future.

Less than trash against an Heir. Missile after missile took flight, dissipating without fanfare. One might be tempted to think they weren't even hitting, a perilous blunder: The sensation of metal being scrapped escaped neither him nor his organic tool.

He would have to take a more active hand in the battle.

He took a deep breath, hand touching the wall in the vague direction of the foe. It shamed him to trust on such a primitive crutch, however to ignore functional aid over academic bias would be courting death in this occasion.

Words in a language he knew by heart yet spoke nothing of were on the tip of his tongue before they reached his mind. The translation, according to the worst of his mentors, went something like this:

"Woe to lie believed. Follow in diseased circle. To thee loving bile."

Poison in the bloodstream. The beast imbibed of hatred made liquid, crystallized and knapped into a line of spearheads, not one drop off elegance in their aim; all they were was feeling and toxin, rostrums craving any tender tissue they could find.

Every witch came across the moment they would have to pick one main Art to chisel themselves into. Nothing could be everything. Aleh's had inspired disappointment and ridicule among his supposed peers. Even those supposed to be above the irony fell for it: even the image conjured by Illusion was an Illusion in itself. The mortal mind was never the main target of the discipline.

The rostrums emerged into the Upper Plane, Merurgical figures in the physical world, and devoured. Vile things, the Child yowled at their touch; disturbing to the sight and putrid to the touch, they were infection alive, horrors conjured for the explicit purpose of destroying organic matter.

But falsehoods were falsehoods. The burning infection would be real only until it was not, and his record against such foes inspired no confidence. They would need something more.

Alas, that something more stood quivering in the corner.

All those currently fighting were Faces. Accomplices, masks, and serfs to the Faceless, shields and pens but never blades. Having neither the body nor the training to wield the Sects execution armaments, all they could do was hope for the monumental fortune that would see them wounding the heir enough it reconsidered. Blades, the second toughest Face he could recall meeting, might be able to get there in circa a thousand cuts; if she survived three blows, he would know luck was on their side.

That thing once named Furfu was mockery incarnate. How far could she still fall? What form of madness had overtaken Marquise when entrusting her with such a sensitive mission he could never understand. Were they fucking? could that shrinking animal have gotten some sort of dirt on her? No, she would be gone if that was the case. What could Marquise have seen then?!

"Almalilly!" he screamed, never taking his eyes of the Nothing, for all the good it did.

"Here!" she said.

"Two things: first, storage compartment D, towards the panel, there is a fetish there, a stone in the shape of a large seed and engraved with active scriptures, a band of desiccated sinew nailed over it in a band. Give it to Blades!"

"And the second?!" she asked, already rummaging through the hidden compartment in the cabin.

Aleh pointed at that thing. "Please get this fucking coward moving out and helping, before it gets us all killed!"

This time Almalilly didn't answer, not that she needed to. He heard the moment she called for Blades, handing the fetish then closing the hatch. Then began the struggle.

"Lady Furfu! Lady Furfu!" she said, to no response.

He had no attention to spare them at the moment. Though the Obscuring effect had yet to cease, Aleh's spell had more to its function than simple harm. Molecules of Merurgy had broken lnto fragments, splinters of his own essence set to slow putrefaction before vanishing. Now, chances were an Heir was a foe of too high a class to feel its true effects, but there was a secondary one that would help them: It created a track that reeked of him.

Unauthorized tale usage: if you spot this story on Amazon, report the violation.

"Use thing." he told Blades through poking patterns. "find me and attack, all out."

"Try." was all she said.

words were exchanged between the both above, barely heard below between Almalilly's attempts to move Furfu and the slosh of water shattering bushes and fragile trees.

That last one gave him pause. He sent another signal. "Projectile large careful."

He saw both jump, but Rosen failed to calculate the angle, getting struck square in the hip and sent stumbling the side of the Oke and into the waters. Blades was quick, landing and falling back to catch him, though not fast enough.

With almost choreographed grace, the moment Rosen touched the ground, Blades set to cover him, fetish shining like a living organ on her hand as she sent projectile after projectile towards the Child, none effective. Then she stopped, leaving Aleh perplexed, sure the weapon still had at least a fez dozen more before complete exhaustion.

The Obscuring faded a moment later. Standing above then, a compact egg of Merurgy turned its upper end towards them.

"Brace yourselves!" Blades screamed loud enough to shake them silent. Too late.

In came the Skawlan Fourth.

The Child hit with the full might of a meteor. Aleh hit the anti-concussive force panel generated with enough speed to blank out. He came back to consciousness in time to see the Oke tip over and crash on its side, no spike in this world who could hold it upright.

For a few seconds, he forgot he was there at all.

Aleh remained on his back, aghast. The only thing on his mind was how impossible this situation was. His eyes opened, the siren song of delirium of the sky's Merurgical currents becoming one with the Physical Plane a distant concern. He had failed, hadn't him? No amount of preparation and resources wasted had been enough.

"Young Sir!" He heard Rosen scream, kilometers away. Oh, that's right, he had been right besides the vehicle, hadn't he? How nice to know he had escaped. "Young Sir!"

"Rosen, Get back!" That was Blades. Her voice didn't sound any different, but she couldn't have escaped that unharmed, could she?

The final yell brought him back in full. No words, just the sharp crack of a slap and then Almalilly hitting the once-ceiling. Craning his neck to the side, one disbelief erasing the other, he watch a new crisis unfold.

"What the fuck is wrong with you?!" Almalilly said, cradling a dislocated shoulder. If the blow had touched her face she wouldn't be speaking right now, but her nose was bleeding.

"Y-yes, I-I know," Furfu gibbered, shoulders hunched yet face held still, staring, a beast caged and cornered, "I n-need to fight, n-need to defeat the Tales and their Heirs and be p-proud before the L-Lady, and I-I will, I will k-kill them all when I go. But what is it a fucking Face has to do with it? Who do you think you are to shake me, a-and t-touch me, when I never gave you the fucking permission to?!"

"Look around yourself for once! Does this look like the right moment to freak out?! We need you, we might die if you don't-"

"Then die! Leave me alone! I-I'll fight when I can fight! Who do you think you are to force me out there?" Furfu said, and Aleh wondered if she was aware of how much she trembled as she spat out threats.

"A-are you serious right now? Why are you even here then?!"

Furfu didn't answer anymore. She slid down the floor to her back, hugging her knees to her chest.

And behind them, Aleh saw the fight unfold without them. With a thud gone dull through the several layers separating them, he saw Rosen's Ashic impression slam against the underside of the Oke. Blades stood to the north, just now starting a barrage of projectiles as a myriad of Merurgical tendrils headed towards her legs. The moment they made contact, she jolted, but it wasn't enough to freeze the daring Face as she gave up on long range contact, and lunged at the Child in two jumps.

Foolish wouldn't describe it. It was suicide.

And all that prop to the theatrics of this creature. Their only hope reject them, an abomination built to kill too afraid to fight.

Many times had Aleh had read of fury being described as blazing, burning, powerful and all consuming. He understood it; he couldn't claim to have never been caught in its tongues, to speak things he would have otherwise kept to himself. This time, however, its came cold, frigid like the blizzards the southern continents suffered, bringing with itself clarity and a memory.

It happened a month back, when Holly arrived and he became aware of Marquise's incomprehensible decision of sending Furfu to somehow aid in the mission. Aleh did not see himself as a petulant man, however being faced with the idea convinced him that some harsh diplomacy would be warranted this once.

Agare would hear nothing of it. Of course he wouldn't. Aleh, however, insisted, mentioning the ways the mission could be compromised if they proceeded with the idea. He had been sure they knew how their dear comrade used to behave, a hypothesis that had to be cast out as new facts came to light.

Consistent debate did earn him one nugget of cruel information, however.

"If it comes to that, there is one way to rail her in." Agare whispered, the closest to conspiratorial Aleh had ever seen the Faceless be with anyone not Marquise. "It is untested, but likely to work."

From the corner of his eyes, Aleh saw Blades fall back down on both feet, only to be toppled by a wave. The Child stalked on all four limbs to its prey. He severed the connection between himself and the Homunculus with some haste, the mundane world turning to a blur around him. He would deal with it later, right now he had more to lose with distractions and hesitation.

"My deares Furfu!" he said, smiling. She snapped in his direction, but he wouldn't let her take his stage. "I wonder, how much of today's events would I have to tell your Lady before she gives up on you?"

She froze. Though he didn't understand Faceless anatomy as well as he should, he knew they couldn't pale, and above that, he knew Furfu needed not pallor to show how mortified just that sentence had left her.

"Because see, I don't quite understand what skills the Marquise saw in you to allow you here today, however it is easy to imagine this might be part of it, don't you think so?"

"Y-you wouldn't," she said.

"Tch! And you believe that, you little shit encrusted infant?! Of everyone here, you think me likely to stay my hand against you?!"

"I-if you do-!"

"You will do what? Kill me? Think you can mangle me enough Agare wouldn't take a glance and think your mistress' dream was pulped by some whimpering chickenshit and in the same instant move to break her apart?!"

She went silent.

"And don't you think for a second the Marquise would be willing to forgive you. Not over this. You know her less than I do, and even you know the kind of person that you will force her to become again, don't you? So if you don't want this fucking nightmare to end even worse for you, I suggest that-"

His turn to freeze came. A blade of a dull brown so dark it almost became black emerged from her cowl, point blunt yet a vision of terror with its thick blade and long length. The Warcleaver, one of the most fearsome weapons to grace Ivian soil, brought by the Lion Dynasty of Yine with its conquest of the archipelago and tainted in reputation by the Aenexian Eras. Yet, not as horrible as its material.

Demonium. A metal birthed by a creational mistake and one of the few things capable of cauterizing the Starlit World's rot. A material both too soft and too dense for regular warfare yet one of the most coveted by the sect. To his mundane eyes, nothing but an ugly taupe without shine; in the world of Golden Dust, that same revolting tone of dark yellow one found in Type-3 Merurgy, the natural type of Merurgy emitted by decomposing corpses.

The same that-

"Get out of my way."

Furfu's words brough him back from his musing. Despite knowing he risked pushing her too far, he waited until she pushed him aside, the Warcleaver dragging behind her step. With a thumb, she pulled her glove up just enough to interface with his Homunculus' backdoor biologic lock. The door unlatched, and water began to pour inside.

She didn't appear to care. Throwing the doors open, she howled a madmen's battlecry as she joined the conflict.

------

Within less than a centimeter of his life, Fordu evaded the blur.

He didn't allow the Azure out of his sight for so much as a tenth of a second. It had barely completed its charge when it vaulted up a tree, using it as a platform to launch itself into a dizzying sequence of dashes. A distraction, he realized, as something cooled the sole of his boots, in itself a second distraction. He fainted surprise at the water dragging itself up his feet, and waited.

Awareness helped him little. The next blow came at a speed unusual even for an Heir of the Azure, another close call with death were it not for the helmet under his cowl. He tore himself out of the growing pond's waters as he jumped for cover.

"A helmet?" it grunted in Skawlan dialect Ivian, its voice echoing from all directions as it repositioned itself for the next round. "It was my belief your ilk didn't make use of such contraptions. Got in the way of your specialty, I heard."

He lost not time in tearing his damaged obscuring equipment out. The longer this conflict prolonged, the worst it would become: with the fall of night, the Floodlands became too dark even for his standards, and every loss in sight became a devastating disadvantage against an enemy this fast.

"Such an enlightening adversary you have been! But not one of many words, are you?" Its voice echoed from all directions. "And so passive. Is it pride that holds your hand?"

Another chill. By now, it should have understood Divinity would have little effect on him, so why-

Of course.

"Or something else-?!"

Fordu threw himself to the side, striking on the same beat as it fell from directly above. The half halberd's Demonium head clashed against the creature's carapaced arms, the anti-Divinity weapon gouging a shallow chink in its armor, just deep enough for its properties to kick in. The wound sizzled, the creature growled in agony, fleeing and creating enough distance for him to analyze his foe.

It was nothing unexpected for its kind. Gaunt limbs bearing both exoskeleton and endoskeleton, finger with thick claws the length of short swords and stiff joints, a slim naked torso bordering the anorexic, elongated neck and head ending in almost the shape of a snout, though this one bore no extraneous or vestigial body parts at its back. The slit of its eyes were engorged, easier to find and potentially damage than Holly's. It was dark, though the fine details of its color and patterns were difficult to tell.

It stood from its crouch before dropping into a quick bow, knees bent and arms pointed downwards with finger clenched, a Skawlan challenger's courtesy.

"Pashel Di Aila. The family remembers what your kind did, and we do not forgive."

He swerved, faster than what even the trained human eye would be able to follow, striking low from the flank. The first blow he avoided with a timely parry, the second he dodged by falling back, but the Azure gave no quarters. All he could do was hold on; the half-halberd lost its spear tip, the armor over his right arm was cut down to the steel plate in between its layers, his enchanted cuirass was gouged open; an arrogant move in between the storm of cuts, aiming for a quick decapitation, became his only respite.

Loathed him to admit, the Heir was skilled. However, for all their speeds differed, he was more than its equal in physical prowess. Letting a bait part his skin, he slapped the blow down with the side of his axe blade and punched, leaving the Heir to stumble back as he followed with a crushing slash to its legs, too slow as its rolled back to escape.

"No response? No acknowledgment? Is your kind not taught any mannerisms? Or has your transformation left you mute?" it said. "Rude, yet so fascinating..."

And by the time the last word had left its lips, Fordu had already vanished into the vegetation. Keep it thinking that it had the upper hand, and further opportunities to exploit would come.

The moment Foroca II had sprung her trap, Fordu had seen the writing on the walls. There had always only been so much coincidence he could swallow, and the entire situation pushed his limits tremendously. His mistake was in assuming to know where exactly laid the rub, and as a result he had been caught off guard by the Azure.

His fists clenched for an instant, but he relaxed them the next. Hubris was a flaw that had always followed his steps close, but here was not the place for self admonishment.

That the Azure had been on Holly's trail there had never been any doubt. From the half-bloods skulking in the Hollows, to those who stood on their way as they left Marquise's headquarters at Ivian Chain, they had known where she had been and surmised where she could have gone. The message delivered in Galehold had been unfortunately early, but the eventuality had been considered before. The only thing-

He jumped, the bed of roots he stood a moment before destroyed as the Heir pounced. Fordu had no time to turn, however, as two feet struck him on the back, crumbling his armor and cracking his ribs as he flew. He landed in a wide, dried basin with a roll, quickly getting his bearing before the blow of grace could come.

"How ironic, isn't it?" the Heir gloated, nowhere and everywhere at once, "That bodies both divine and apostatic would hold such parallels. You move, the earth rumbles, yet I don't hear your steps. I move, not a leaf is blown out of place, yet I stand predicted once again. Does you kind not question where these differences originate from?"

...The only thing he wondered now was if the Heir had come alone.

The Azure tended not to, but he had left too many chances for a second enemy to exploit, none which were taken. There were branching possibilities there, worrying ones. If they had come but divided their forces...

It was the worse case scenario, and the one he should work from for now. But so long as this Azure in specific was alone here, there were ways to handle the situation.

His current weapon, the halberd once held by Foroca and first victim of the battle, had been a decent weapon but also a stop-gap measure, forged with supporting executioners rather than killing the divine in mind. If he intended to win, another would need to take its place, and there was the problem.

Bringing out Hagan in an emergency situation, under the Domain of a paranoid Fire Blossom had already been a risk. No matter the measures taken, there were lingering sings of using it that could not be erased. If the news of its possession were to spread to anyone at such an important juncture, the mission might be as good as over.

And if he held, it would all the same, would it not?

To the east, the Child of the Lake landed in a crouch.

"It is a sin to be curious," the Heir said. "To toil in the filth is tantamount to subsuming it into my veins. Else, I might have dragged you all the way back to-"

"Heir of the Azure Tale!"

The creature jolted, Fordu noted with amusement. He took the silence and pushed forward.

"Detritivore of vile abyss, Child of a scum-veined Mother!"

It hissed. "You dare-"

"Today, I grant you the favor of cessation. Let not your mercy wait any longer!"

Until now, the Heir had been a teasing predator, content with playing with its prey as much as hunting. If he wanted the right moment to come, he would have to do away with that, and survive.

If the creature tried to smile or flash its teeth he didn't know, all he saw was a stiff quirk of lip and a parting of mouth. "If so you prefer, let us do away with the niceties. I will eviscerate you, blasphemous roach!"

It dropped down to the basin, and charged.