Irrian Kzelze, Captain, former leader of his village. Died at the age of five hundred and three, impaled on an iron pike.

Laisha Gzar, Aetherspeaker. Joined the Seelie Army to escape a boring life as a public announcer. Died at the age of three hundred eighty-four, impaled on an iron pike.

Asharr Nayve, sapper. Prankster turned arsonist, then offered the chance between service and imprisonment. Died at the age of six hundred thirty-two, impaled on an iron pike.

Csalna Silse...

I turned my eyes back to the present with a sigh. Most of the Fae whose pasts I'd seen so far had been people with, by their standards, mundane lives and names. Admittedly, I'd started with the Seelie, because their pasts were more likely to be palatable on average. I wondered if Coldhold had given me a literal translation of his name, or if it had been a title. I didn't know much about Fae naming conventions and how they varied between factions, because they were all cryptic or misleading when they actually chose to interact with our world.

Still... I'd expected worse. I'd, in a way, wanted worse. Had wanted them to be abhorrent, so that my subconscious could rest easy, despite the fact I didn't really want to...forget it.

If I ended up just taking things like this in stride, I'd become more like Szabo, or even-

Forget that, human, my strigoi side spat. We didn't do anything, not that they didn't deserve it.

I clicked my tongue, but it just kept talking.

You think every parent whose child is kidnapped or replaced with a changeling thinks about the Fae's backstories? I bet every corpse under this world's skin you won't find a single Fair Fuck who didn't go along with that.

We don't know that yet. And-

Yes, yes, keep searching. And don't you start talking about how, by my logic, you're just as bad as all our kin. I wish you believed that! I wish you acted like them! It paced around in the back of our mind. Imagine how we would be seen, if we had done everything the Black God made us do out of our own volition! How feared we'd be! How-

How much Mia would hate us.

More pacing. A gnashing of fangs, thoughtful, with an undertone of sadness. I don't want that. And wipe that stupid smirk off your face, human!

Pussy.

We are what we eat. It shrugged. Anyway...keep looking through their pasts. Maybe you'll convince yourself of whatever you want. Maybe you'll even improve the sight! Get on my level, that is, it preened. You know, it would be oh so much easier to just let me take over. Go to sleep and forget all about those pesky moral conflicts.

How weak was I to consider its offer, even for a moment? Even if it didn't get worse over time, it would-

I wouldn't harm anyone you truly care about, human, it smiled blandly. Our zmeu would be safe-isn't that enough for you? The bear would have to go, of course. You won't truly be at peace until he dies, not if someone or something else kills him. The ghost, too-the weakling plotted with him, and you still hate that. You can't stand the other zmeu's boisterousness, for it clashes with your own demeanour, and are conflicted by the fact the iela never chose you. Better to tie up those loose ends too, eh? You don't resent the mage enough for him to die, so...hmph. And then, of course, there's the priest.

Go to hell.

You first~

***

Cnicht, Snowdonia, Wales, January 13th 2031

Emrys Pritchard stood nearly seven hundred metres above the ground, hands clasped behind his back, as he watched the sun set. The lich's eyes, the cold blue flames that burned in his sockets with no fuel and no smoke, could see every blade on grass between him and the horizon, and every soul, great and small, that walked or crawled under and on them.

The beasts were the only living beings around the mountain at the moment. People had frequented before he had chosen the mountain as the bedrock of his lair, though they had avoided Cnicht more and more often since then.

As they should. Mere mortals had no place disturbing the mediations of a great thinker like h-

'Message! Message for the master! Message!'

Of course, before being a lich, Emrys was in his mid-twenties, which meant he leapt to check out any notification, whatever form it took. His zombie crow was just more charming than his smartphone.

Alright, it also creeped the hell out of most passersby, especially when he made it eat itself from the inside out, then regenerate, but that was the point! Undead were meant to frighten and appall, disturb and shock. It...it was all those stupid sexy vampires-

Movies. It was all those stupid sexy vampire movies. He was through with being distracted by her-them! Yesss....his mind was like his observatory under a cloudless, moonless night, cold and unflappable.

'Bring it, servant,' he commanded, waving a hand and silently cursing himself for not yet buying one of those robes with long, loose sleeves. They were comfy-that was, befitting of an unliving abomination against nature like him. Until then, he'd have to do with his t-shirt.

His crow landed on his outstretched hand, leaving him feeling rather stupid. He hadn't commanded it to do that, nor wanted it to. He had only been a necromancer a few years before the death he had not accepted, thus returning from the grave. The greater power was nice, but he was still at the stage where his undead sometimes acted as if they still had free will, which often led to embarrassing situations.

Still...not always. Would he miss the unexpected, comical mishaps once his mastery grew? Such thoughts tormented him on sleepless nights(which was all of them, but he was not about to let facts interrupt his train of thought).

'It is not a physical message, master,' the crow croaked, tilting its head. 'I shall, however, recite it, if it pleases you.'

For a soulless, stupid bird corpse, it was way too much of a smartarse for its own good. He'd torn it up a few times, frustrated with its attitude, to no effect. All undead raised by necromancers regenerated from anything as long as their masters existed, and liches...liches were nigh-impossible to get rid of. As his parents could attest. They'd cited the need for him to make his own way into the world, but he was sure they'd just hated the corpse smell, the insensitive pricks.

'The message,' the crow's voice, a wheezing rattle only made possible through magic, seemed to waver, as if it had suddenly become capable of feeling fear. Emrys frowned in surprise. He definitely wouldn't be missing this facet of independence once he got rid of it. Undead shouldn't frighten each other, they should stand together, presenting an united front against an existence just as cold and uncaring as their unbeating hearts. 'Is this: we are here.'

'Wh-' was all Emrys managed to get out before the crow burst apart on his wrist, replaced by a grey leather boot. The lich's head snapped up seven times faster than sound, but all he saw was the Fae smile down at him, before stomping down on his face, smashing him through the ground and into the mountain.

Emrys stood up from a dusty crater the size of a bus, unharmed save for his pride. The nakedness didn't help. Surprise stripping was never good, in his experience, whoever did it.

The lich didn't have any idea what the Fae wanted. But, judging by the drab getup-a suit of armour plates that overlapped each other like the petals of a particularly ugly flower-and the cocksure smirk, the pointy-eared fuck was probably a straggler from the Fright Before Christmas.

Ugh. At least he was just fast, not strong. From what mana Emrys could sense, this Fae couldn't do much more with magic than he could physically, which begged the question: exactly what was he hoping to accomplish, besides find out how much iron he could be stuffed with before he burst? In short order, he'd call on his other servants, and then, thee intruder...

Intruders. Of course. Jackals always hunted in packs, and so did jackasses, apparently. What about jackdaws?

Snickering to himself, Emrys spun his neck all the way around, flames flaring up at each Unseelie in turn. 'Thanks for surrounding me. Now, it's impossible to miss.' Then, both his eyes and his voice grew colder. 'You're lucky we're alone on the mountain tonight. Otherwi-'

Emrys growled, teeth clenched. Whatever Fae had struck him in the jaw, pulverising the rock of his porch-lair's entrance-for metres around, had moved to him and back to their spot far faster than he could see. But that was child's play for them. They could all outpace lightning, so why weren't they doing anything...?

Ah, of course, Emrys realised, standing up straighter, slim chest puffing. They were afraid of him, but who could blame them? Who hadn't heard of the Lich of Cnicht?

Or his servants, for that matter?

The granite dome of Emrys' lair had two dozen doors. Each hour, one opened, an enchanted vessel floating outside to catch sunlight or moonlight for spells. Now, all twenty-four slid aside, allowing dozens of bulky bodies to enter at speeds that not only belied their bloated frames, but surpassed those of the Fae themselves.

Stolen content warning: this content belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences.

Trolls were notoriously hard to kill, and not just because it was easier to level countries than bruise one. Magic and the strangest effects science could produce slid off them like water off a duck's back, and they could regenerate from anything that did damage them.

Except, of course, the power of the sun that turned them to stone.

It had been a pain in the arse to shape so much sunlight into weapons and sneak up on the bastards while they slept, but it had been worth it. It would have been just for the challenge, not just the respect of so many Welsh. Trolls were like stupidly strong gorillas who thought they were racoons. These, at least, hadn't been sapient, or else it would have been harder to catch them off-guard. But smart trolls lurked on the internet, or under bridges, not in the dumpsters behind pubs.

Emrys smirked as he floated up high in the air, grey hair free from its usual ponytail, rising over twenty metres above his ten-story lair. His death magic would be useless against the Fae, and they'd just regenerate if he blasted them apart. Either approach would result in a lifeless wasteland and a flattened mountain.

Before the Fae could direct their powers at the environment, the undead trolls were upon them, pushing them down and shattering skulls and limbs every time they tried to move, with broad grins under their bulbous noses and beady eyes shining with the cold fire of their master. Muttering a spell, Emrys transmuted a tiny amount of air into an iron knife.

Now...to get some answers from them, he thought, scratching his soul patch. He still hadn't gotten over the fact their punk-ass invasion had preempted the wave of bullshit that had seen him evicted(evacuated, they had said) from his own home, and while he was trying to get it on again! That werewolf had been so cute too...

Emrys touched down, twirling the knife as he approached one of the Fae. The arsehole who'd kicked him, he thought, though it was kind of hard to tell with a troll sitting on his back and repeatedly flattening his skull.

'Why are you here?' he rasped, knife just under the Fae's chin. 'Is this another attack?'

He'd seen some bollocks in the paper (no, he wasn't an old man, he bought it for the jokes and the crossword puzzles) about some arsehole from ARC who'd apparently killed off the Fae army because he believed they were in league with Satan or whatever. He hadn't paid much attention, but the prick had sounded like a Bible-thumping asshat. Fuck...was this revenge? Were they striking back? Emrys personally believed they were about even with the Fae, but he doubted people would listen to him, the fools.

They never did, but he'd make them see, oh yes he would. He'd show them all!

Before the Fae could answer, the troll having just paused its onslaught, a tall, lithe shape dropped between him and Emrys, causing the lich to draw back.

Unprompted, the troll smashed a ham-sized fist into the figure's left side before Emrys could get a good look at them, sending them flying. Scant moments later, the lick looked up at the moon, face falling at the satellite's newest crater. Damn thing looked both wide and deep enough to swallow Britain.

Fucking unreliable zombies-!

The figure returned to their prior position even faster than they had been sent flying, and looking perfectly fine. Perfectly fucking fine, actually, if Emrys was one to say.

The Fae was neck and shoulders taller than him, muscles like a panther's under gunmetal-grey skin, and completely, gloriously naked. Her body was only covered by a few patches of shadow, which writhed and throbbed in Emrys' arcane sight.

The lich choked on nothing, his body still used to human motions. 'W-Who-' gulping, he gestured at the restrained Fae. 'Why?'

The shadow-clad Fae giggled, then pushed him to the ground faster than he could perceive.

'Let me show you why,' she breathed.

***

Emrys stood up on legs that were still healing, pelvis regenerating for the umpteenth time. Dawn was approaching, and it seemed the Fae had grown bored, for she certainly hadn't grown tired.

'So...' he began hesitantly, then injected some confidence he wasn't sure he felt in his voice. 'Was it as good for you as it was for me?' Receiving no response, he walked closer as she drew her shadows around herself. 'I suppose they've heard about the Lich of Cnicht even in Faerie.'

She half-turned to him, bemused, half-lidded eyes slightly widening. 'Ah...we are swapping names now! I am Cloudshade of the Everdark, and completely uninterested in yours.' At his gaping expression, she added, 'Oh, you can call me Shade, if you wish.'

'Completely uninterested in...' Emrys echoed. 'Then why-!?'

'I was bored.' Shade shrugged. 'Still am, but it is not yet time...hmm. Maybe I should have gone with one of your slaves. Roughly as smart, but so much bigger~'

'You damn bitch!' he screeched, mana flaring up around him. 'You jump me in my own home, then get your rocks off, and don't give a fuck? Then why are you here? Is...is it that foray into Faerie? Are you going after New Camelot?'

'Oh, them,' Shade waved him off. 'Their time will come, too, but that is not my place, nor will it be, unless.' She giggled again. 'Oh, but I'm rambling. As I said, I was just passing time until the proper moment. Now, can your brutes let my people go?'

'Proper moment for what?' Emrys asked, curious despite himself, as he made his trolls free the Fae. He had to admit, making them watch had been pretty hot.

'For going to David Silva, of course.' Shade looked at him like he was slow, and Emrys wracked his memory, until he remembered that section of the paper.

'Silva...who, that religious fanatic who tried to commit genocide in Faerie? Do you wanna kill him yourself, or what?'

'I would rather avoid that,' Shade said, amused, and Emrys noticed her thighs were still covered in his cold blood and bone dust as she strode. 'Silva will help us remove the blight in our realm, or help us find a new home. He will pay in blood too, of course, but...hmm. Perhaps, not so much. He was just a tool, after all.'

'Yeah, he sounds pretty dickish from what I've read,' Emrys aggreed, though he was uneasy at the fact she'd dismissed a killer bigger than any in human history-by orders of magnitude!-as "just a tool". 'Still,' he scowled. 'Next time, at least tell me why, alright? And the home raid was, what, an attempt to grab by attention?'

'You could say that.' Shade stretched, and her shadows lengthened, quickly scooping up the patches of gore that covered her. 'Not that you will get the chance.'

And then, she and the rest of the Fae were gone. Emrys tried to sense them, but felt a heavy hand land on his shoulder, cracking it in half. He tried to turn, but was forced onto his knees.

'And what,' Arianrhod growled, gesturing at the still-visible moon with a hand just as white and pockmarked as it. 'Did your tool do to my moon above my land?'

'I-You-' What the fuck was the Welsh moon goddess doing here...? Was it the crater? But that had been unintentional! She had to know! She- 'Wait,' he managed. 'How long had you been watching?'

'Long enough to know I'd have time after she was done with you,' Arianrhod replied. 'Unlike some people, I'm not utterly tasteless.'

***

English Channel, 14th of January, 2031

'What now, Everdark?' One of her misfits asked-it was getting harder and harder to remember faces, let alone names, for all that they were more important; still, she told herself, it wasn't her fault they all insisted to be so insignificant-asked as they walked on the tides, far from the sight of any human vessel.

'We must act before the Black God strikes again.' He had marked her and several of her kind, through methods yet unknown, but highly unlikely devised by him alone. Shade knew acting while empowered by him, however distantly and indirectly, could simply be a move in whatever game Chernobog was playing, but such was existence. If one feared the meddling of gods, one could never act. 'He would break the strigoi out of spite, and we must at least learn why, if not prevent it. His godsight would be useful, if harnessed to a proper cause.' And breaking him and his mate, for he seemed bizarrely attached to her, would not hurt. She could have fun with both, though Shade wagered the zmeu would crack first.

But Silva, weak and slow in body and mind as he was, may have still held the key to their salvation. Fairie could not be swallowed by Chernobog's parting gift, or the Fae would bear the shame forever. And, even if Silva could not stop that, he could help them find a new abode.

Of course, Shade and her entourage were unknown to the worthies who allegedly led their kin, except in the vaguest sense. This was not an official, recognised mission. She...was going out of her way, to preserve her home, rather than topple the rotting edifice that was civilisation.

The little bastard better be worth her time.

'Oh, David...' she whispered to the rising sun. 'Why be ARC's dog, when you can be my wolf?'