Vallerian knew what he had to do.

“I’m sorry.” He whispered under his breath, then he let the daggers in his sleeves slip out. The long, thin, Theremya daggers. He couldn’t afford to hold back any longer.

A man stepped into Vallerian’s space, thrusting a short spear into his face. Vallerian twisted his head sideways, dodging the man’s thrust. Stepping in, Vallerian swept his dagger clean across the man’s jugular, blood pouring out. No time to waste.

With a shove, the dying man fell back into two others. Those two gasped at their ally’s brutal murder. Vallerian didn’t slow. Throwing his two daggers, they flew true into each of the gasping men. One got hit in the chest, the other straight through the eye.

The three men collapsed. But as they did so, Vallerian swept up two spears off the ground. The first he threw, hurtling across the room into the back of a man sneaking up on Valleresa.

The other spear he quickly swept around him, blocking two blows aimed at him from either side. The first man he blocked stumbled back. The other pressed forward.

Vallerian met the man’s advance, thrusting the spear into his gut, then ripping it free. The freshly disembowelled man collapsed to the ground.

Spinning, Vallerian met an attempted blow from the other man. Their wooden spears striking hard. Vallerian slid his spear down his attacker’s shaft, striking the man’s hand hard. The man gasped in pain and dropped his spear. Deadly mistake. Vallerian followed up with a thrust straight through his throat.

Vallerian kept on like that, dancing his bloody dance. Two more men dead with a spear broken in the second’s chest. Then he had daggers again. Three more dead. His dagger was replaced with a rock. Then two rocks. Then none. He was a seamster of death, blades his needles, blood his thread. As he weaved and pierced the fabric of his enemies, he created a masterwork tapestry of slaughter.

But it wasn’t enough. There were always more. For every man Vallerian killed, two more took his place. And as he grew tired, he grew sloppy. No cuts, not yet anyways but already he felt bruises forming all across his body. Marks of late parries, of lazy blocks. His body was aching and slowing. Too slow.

Out the corner of his eye, Vallerian watched for his allies. Rekiak was slumping now, trying his best to hold back several men from his woman, huddled in a ball behind him. Kriss had made his way over to Celeste, thankfully, and was doing his best to keep men away from her unconscious body. But even that boy would tire soon enough.

Where was Valleresa? Vallerian looked back to where he had last seen Valleresa, standing above Arabella. Damn, he thought, Arabella. The girl was dying, they didn’t have time to just kill. They had to get out of here. Had to get her out of here. Looking around though, they didn’t have much of a chance.

If Kriss carried Celeste, then maybe Vallerian could carve a way out. Drag Valleresa along as well If he could. Vallerian knew what that meant though. They’d have to abandon Arabella. Rekiak and the woman as well if they couldn’t get themselves moving. Vallerian danced his eyes between the three. It was what had to be done. It was necessary.

First, get to his sister. He had to get Valleresa out of here. Vallerian began to move through the chaos. Ducking beneath blows, slicing throats, throwing rocks. Whatever he had to do to move through this battle. A trail of bodies formed behind him. Necessary, he reminded himself. Ethinia would understand. She had to understand, he was trying to save Her prophetess. For his mission, of course. How had trying to gain Celeste’s favour turned into a fight for his and his sister’s life? The whole reason he was even here was to keep his mother-in-law from killing him. Turned out he had just traded one knife at his throat for another.

A spear nearly caught Vallerian in the gut. Smacking the weapon away, Vallerian leapt forward and gouged the man’s eyes out with his fingers. The cultist howled in pain, but otherwise stumbled away. That had been close though, too close. Vallerian’s mind was wandering, not good. If he let himself get distracted, they could all end up dead. Vallerian returned his gaze to Valleresa just in time to watch a man slice down her face with a dagger.

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“NO!” He howled. Blood dripped down his sister’s face, but she still stood fighting. She wouldn’t last much longer. Had to get there. Had to.

Vallerian charged, rushing towards the man who would dare hurt his twin. He would murder that bastard. He would make him feel true suffering. He would.

A sharp pain sprung in Vallerian’s right leg. Looking down, he could hardly register the crossbow bolt jutting straight through his thigh. A… bolt? He had thought they were out.

“What the...” Vallerian fell to one knee, the pain wracking through his body. That... that hurt. Was that blood dripping down his leg? His blood? Vallerian felt panic begin to well up in him. No, he didn't bleed. He didn't get hit. Vallerian's eyes darted around the room. So many cultists. So many men. Valleresa? He looked. She was struggling.

A spear thrust through his shoulder, only missing his heart because of a lucky shift in weight. Vallerian screamed. Blood streamed down his arm. He looked up. Looked up and saw fire. A chamber. A sitting chamber. A man in noble clothing.

“F… Father? What are you…” Vallerian grabbed the sides of his head. “No. You're not there.” He growled. “He's not here.” Vallerian shook his head and the fire disappeared. The chamber disappeared. He had to stay focused. Valleresa. Where was Valleresa? He tried to look around, but his vision was growing blurry from pain. So many hooded figures, many rushing past him. Fight me, he thought, not them. Me.

A boot pressed against his back. Then the spear was ripped free, the force of it knocking him over. With a thud he hit the rocky ground. Bits of rubble biting into his face. Pain shot through his body, clawing away at his every thought. Half formed ideas shot to his mind, only to be flushed away with a new wave of pain. Valleresa needs... Pain. Celeste, I have to... agony.

“NO.” Vallerian screamed. Trying to pull himself along the ground. But it was too much. Tears fell down his face. His sister was just over there. She would die. It was his fault. Dead. His fault. Necessary. Death was necessary.

“Vallerian!” a voice called out. It sounded like a distant echo. It sounded like his bastard father. Screaming at him. Beating him. His back still ached from that. Was that his back that ached? So much pain.

A boot struck Vallerian in the gut, flipping him over to his back. He was helpless. Like a child. Like that room. Blood dripped out the corner of his mouth, and he looked up dumbly at a cloudy sky. Then a man filled his vision. “Father?” Vallerian gasped. No, a Fershya man, not his father. For some reason, he had never thought it would a Fershya that would kill him. He had always just assumed his mother-in-law would do the job eventually. Never had the possibility of a Fershya being the one to end his life crossed his mind.

The robed Fershya placed his boot on Vallerian’s chest, held up his spear, and looked down with a smile.

“A sacrifice, for our great master.” The man hissed, raising his spear high.

The man stopped. His eyes rolled back, then he slumped over. Vallerian lazily rolled his head to the side. What the… an axe? There was a woodcutter’s axe lodged in the man’s skull. Using every last bit of strength left in his body, Vallerian tried to look around. Tried to make sense of what was happening.

Everywhere he looked strode giant red men. Huge towering behemoths rushing into the already cramped room. Were they… were they attacking the robed figures? No, not attacking, slaughtering. They weren’t alone though, Vallerian realized. Women, Fereni, Khazimi, Fershya, and Jöln alike charged in with knives and makeshift spears of their own. All wore silver pins upon their cloaks. Vallerian tried to smile but doing so would take too much effort. Damned Tabitha, loved a third act twist, didn’t she?

Then Gardinal charged in, tearing through men. The priest was a nightmare incarnate, burned skin and broken bones held together with a thick web of light. Vallerian watched as he fought his way towards Celeste. The man was far better in a battle than Vallerian would have given him credit for. Though perhaps it was the sight of him, blood dripping from his charred flesh, teeth bared and somewhat visible through a burnt out cheek, that caused his enemies to freeze up more than his actual skill. The man looked like a monster from a child’s tale, and he acted the part as well.

“Vallerian!” he felt somebody shaking him. He glanced up. Valleresa? She had a cut across her face. If he ever found the man who did that… “Vallerian, by the gods Vallerian answer me.” She screamed at him.

“I’m… I’m fine.” He lied, the pain wracking through him. “Perhaps a bit thirsty? Get me some wine Reesa.” He grunted as he tried to force a grin.

“Stupid man.” She muttered, trying to press something against his wounds. He rolled his eyes, and just about nearly kept them closed. Damn, he thought, if he knew how much getting stabbed hurt, he never would have partaken.