“WHERE ARE YOU!?”
The dark fog still lay thick and heavy, curling in the half-light like living smoke over the Nerve Tower’s wreckage. Carliah Argent stood as a pillar of wrath in its center, an armored sentinel barely concealed by the hazy darkness. Her blade shone with a sharp, unyielding gleam, cutting through each thin mist strand as she waited, her stance poised, energy thrumming in a wide radius. Somewhere in the darkness, Ethan’s hybrids circled like phantoms, invisible but present, eyes sharp and ready.
“COME OUT AND FIGHT!”
The three of them held their breaths, moving with silent, practiced precision. Their target’s focus was absolute, but Fauna, Klax, and Tara had trained for this. The fog granted them cover, a thin layer of safety that let them melt into the artificial night. Fauna hung back, her focus on weaving delicate threads of illusion magic that hummed with faint glimmers, catching the edge of the dim light like whispered promises. They encircled Carliah, catching the edge of her vision as ghostly mirages, half-there and then gone, teasing her senses.
Carliah snarled, her grip on her broadsword tightening. “You think these tricks will save you?” she called into the fog, her voice seething with disdain. “Cowards—creatures skulking in the mist like animals, terrified of a fair fight! Come out and at least die with honor!”
The insult fell flat. Tara’s lip curled, but her response was a silent, predatory grin as she slipped closer to Carliah. With barely a sound, she darted in from the left, her daggers flashing, and cut a line along the seam of Carliah’s ankle plating before disappearing back into the shadows. Her blade left a shallow gash, not deep enough to wound but enough to weaken the armor, a cut that, over time, would add up:
CARLIAH ARGENT
HP: 2055/3000
But it still amounted to nothing more than a diversion.
Carliah snarled and swung her weapon in a brutal arc, slashing through empty air where Tara had been. But Tara was already gone, flitting back into the fog with feline grace, leaving only the faintest trace of her presence.
“Again, Klax!” Fauna’s voice whispered through the fog.
From the right, Klax barreled forward, his hulking frame moving with speed, his fists poised for impact. He let loose a powerful strike aimed at her armored back, the force of his blow sending a shockwave through Carliah’s frame, forcing her forward with the impact.
“You think you’re clever?” Carliah spat, twisting to face him, her broadsword swinging out in a deadly arc. But by the time her weapon sliced through the air, Klax had already moved back, his dark form lost in the mists once more.
The rage in Carliah’s eyes flared like wildfire. She could feel her patience thinning, a gnawing frustration rising in her chest as her prey eluded her again and again. Guerrilla warfare was for weaklings. Weaklings and thieves. All these filthy creatures were doing was proving that they were not fit to rule this world. Her world.
She scanned the fog, eyes narrow as if she could see through the layers of illusions and shadows. Fauna’s magic pulsed, amplifying the silence, making their movements feel like mere whispers.
“Keep wearing her down,” Tara muttered to herself, circling from the far side as she slid into position for her next strike. Her grip tightened on her daggers as she crept forward, her steps as silent as a shadow. “Like Ethan said. Stick to the plan. Stick…”
Carliah’s gaze swept over the fog, her mouth twisting in an angry snarl. “Enough of these tricks!”
The Greycloak Commander’s body crackled with a dark, pulsing energy, her fury manifesting in raw power that radiated from her armor. She planted her vibrating blade into the ground, eyes closing for a moment as her voice filled the fog with a deadly calm.
“Enough games.”
The fog began to ripple, disturbed by a low hum that swelled around her, building into a deafening roar as she concentrated. Her aura expanded in a circular wave, pushing outward, piercing through the thick haze. The fog that had shielded Ethan’s companions for so long began to dissipate, evaporating into trails of silvery mist.
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The hybrids froze as the wave passed over them, their cover rapidly shrinking as Carliah’s aura blazed brighter, creating an unbroken barrier of light that shattered Fauna’s illusions. The battlefield was laid bare, every shadow chased away, leaving only harsh, blinding clarity.
“Damn it,” Klax muttered, blinking against the sudden brightness.
“Witness the sad truth of your existence,” Carliah growled, her voice thick with disdain. “Hybrids are always the same—slinking around, hiding in the dark.Now, look upon your betters as you die. Ever pathetic. Ever fools.”
With her enemies now fully visible, Carliah turned her gaze on Fauna. The Hopla mage’s face paled as Carliah raised her weapon high, the tip gleaming as she prepared to strike. Klax moved to intercept, but Carliah swung her weapon in a brutal, sweeping arc that caught him across the chest. He grunted, stumbling back as the force of the blow knocked the wind out of him.
The Greycloak’s skills could not even be appraised. But they cut deep. Deeper than anything else in the dungeons of Argwyll.
Fauna was next. Carliah moved with unrestrained fury, bringing her broadsword down with a savage strike that clipped Fauna’s arm, sending a bolt of pain through her. The Hopla mage bit her lip, stifling a scream as she stumbled back, her hand clutching the wound.
“You… you monster!” Fauna spat, her voice trembling as she glared up at Carliah.
Carliah sneered. “The sweet irony. Hah! Do you think mere words will save you?” She pointed her blade at the girl. “I’ve faced beings far more powerful than any of you—a few rebellious misfits mean nothing to me.”
Tara darted forward, her daggers raised in a desperate attempt to protect Fauna. She aimed for Carliah’s exposed side, her blades flashing in the harsh light. But Carliah was ready. She pivoted, using her weapon as a barrier, deflecting Tara’s strikes before shoving her backward with a powerful kick that sent her skidding across the stone floor.
“Pathetic,” Carliah hissed, stalking forward. “You think you can overcome me with cheap tactics? You hybrids were never more than vermin—barely a step above animals. You think you deserve mercy?”
Tara groaned, pushing herself to her knees. Her face was twisted with pain, but her eyes blazed with defiance. “We’re stronger than you think,” she snarled, spitting blood onto the floor. “You can’t win just because you say you’re better than us.”
Carliah scoffed, raising her weapon again, the point glinting menacingly as she closed the distance between them. “You’ll learn soon enough. Each of you will fall, one by one, just like the rest of your miserable kind.”
Klax staggered to his feet, his fists clenched as he prepared to make a final stand. Fauna stood beside him, her face pale but resolute, her staff trembling in her hands. Tara, though battered and bruised, managed to rise, her grip on her daggers steady despite her injuries.
“Look at you,” Carliah sneered, circling them. “Barely standing, broken and weak. It’s almost pitiable.”
Her halberd gleamed as she lifted it high, preparing to deliver the final blow. “Time to put an end to this farce.”
But then, from the far edge of the battlefield, a figure appeared, emerging through the dim light like a specter from the past.
“Artorious,” Carliah called, her tone shifting from cruel mockery to satisfaction. She lowered her weapon slightly, eyeing the bloodstained Onixia blade in his hand. “Finally done, are we?”
The hybrids turned, their faces a mixture of horror and disbelief as they took in the sight of the Lightborn approaching. Fauna let out a strangled gasp, and Tara’s face went pale, her fingers tightening on her blades.
Klax closed his eyes, his jaw set in grim acceptance. “So… that’s it, then,” he muttered, his voice heavy with resignation.
Artorious slumped to the ground, his form phasing out of existence. To everyone around, it was clear he was fading away to nothing.
The life of the last Lightborn was finally ending the way it was supposed to. As Kaedmon intended.
Carliah chuckled, her lips curling into a cruel smile. “Congratulations, my dear Lightborn. It seems you’ve finally done what you came here to do. Though, as usual, it took you long enough.”
She barely paid any attention to his downtrodden face. She didn’t watch as his once shining eyes dulled to a shade of dead, numb grey. She simply raised her weapon, pointing it toward the hybrids as if to declare her victory.
“Now comes the fun part,” she sneered down at Fauna as she placed a firm boot upon the Hopla’s heaving chest. “I’m going to peel the flesh from your bones little by little, until you reveal the location of your precious little hideout. Then, if I’m feeling merciful, I’ll give you and your mongrel kind the quick death you nary deserve.”
A silence stretched over the city, the weight of it settling like a stone in each of the fallen hybrids’ chests.
It looked like even the Dreamstriders looking on from above were having a moment’s silence for the loss of the Archon. The very foundations of the City of Illusions was bathed in a silence more eerie than any of its inhabitants had ever felt.
In the dirt-caked faces of the hybrids, Carliah Argent held aloft her blade.
“Well, Arty?” she asked her good servant. “I suppose you don’t have the strength to finish these cretins off. No matter. In your last moments on this earth, you may watch asa truly honorable Greycloak prosecutes her sacred duty.”
As the Grey Commander raised her blade, she didn’t see the small curve of the Lightborn’s grim smile behind her.
“No,” he said – in a voice that was distinctly not his own. “The honor should be mine.”