Almost as soon as the train pulled into the next station, the group was off and headed for the nearest tunnel to the surface. Mel stopped halfway up, glancing back down the tunnel.
“Mel?” Bonnie called.
Mel hesitated. Then, “if this really is as bad as you say it is, then I have to warn the rest of ‘em.”
“Are you sure?”
Mel nodded, more sure of themselves. “Yeah. Yeah, I’m sure.” They grinned. “I’ll be fine. Don’t wait for me.”
They started back down the tunnel, and the others continued to the surface.
For a moment they thought they’d emerged into another cavern, it was so dark out. Neith checked her watch and saw that it was already late at night, but not even the stars or moon could be seen.
“Is that a star mesh?” Bonnie called, peering up at the sky.
Artemisia squinted. Sure enough, there seemed to be a filmy gray material drifting in the sky.
There was a distant explosion, one that made them all stumble from the sheer force of it. As awful as the quake in the Lake of Fire had been, this one was much, much stronger, and it left a bitter aftertaste in Artemisia’s mouth.
“Dark magic,” Neith said, confirming their worst fears.
Artemisia climbed the storm drain of the nearest building, almost slipping on its tiled roof. She found herself staring at what could best be described as a warzone seething in the middle of the city, a mass of red and brown and fire and smoke that pulsed like an irregular heart. As the cold night air blew through the city, she caught traces of the scent of brimstone and gunpowder. She returned to the group and began dishing out orders.
“Bonnie, gather the Bandits. I’ll rally the Youngbloods, assuming they’re not already at the battle. Neith, can you scout ahead for me?”
Neith nodded. There was no jest in her expression. She kissed Artemisia on the cheek and turned into a bat, vanishing into the darkness. Bonnie took off in a sprint and was soon lost in the maze of streets.
Artemisia raced towards the walls. Her sword and bow clattered against her back as she ran, the amulet bouncing against her collarbone.
After about ten minutes and far too many Earth-shaking explosions later, Artemisia stopped before her tower. The lights were out, leaving it to loom ominously over the city. Neith swooped into an open window and emerged out the front door moments later.
“The Youngbloods aren’t here,” she said as she shapeshifted back into her human form.
Artemisia swore, then looked up at the walls. The glinting brass of the cannons was nowhere to be seen.
“They’re at the front, then,” she said. She turned back to Neith. “Meet me in the Floral District. That’s the closest we can probably get to the conflict. If you find the Bandits, tell them to meet me there as well.”
Neith nodded, stepped back into a dark alley, and vanished. Artemisia continued towards the Floral District.
Flax was…eerie tonight. This wasn’t usually the case - usually at least one part of the city was awake regardless of the time - but at the moment it certainly was. Normally the city was either bright, loud or both, with not a single district in the dark (unless the Tinkers blew the generators again, that is). But now it was silent and empty, almost abandoned. Now that she was in slightly less of a rush, Artemisia could see burn marks on the ground, debris and craters and cracked facades. Whatever was going on in the middle of the city, it’d been here too, albeit on a smaller scale-
“Artemisia!”
Artemisia stopped dead in her tracks. She looked up to see a Windwalker girl perched on one of the roofs, her jewel-blue wings charred and bleeding. Artemisia knew her; her name was Echo, and she was the daughter of one of the Windwalkers’ leaders. Normally she liked perching on the turrets or the barracks’ roof and practicing the flute while she watched the Youngbloods go about their days. She was usually a happy young woman, but now her face was etched with concern.
“Echo?” Artemisia called.
Echo pulled her goggles around her neck and jumped from the roof, spreading her wings. A gust of wind swept around her, slowing her in a way that her damaged wings couldn’t. The girl stumbled as her ankle gave out from under her, and Artemisia rushed over to catch her.
“What happened?” Artemisia asked.
Echo panted, her wings drooping as she clung to Artemisia’s shirt. “The former High Mystic’s back.”
Artemisia wished she could say she was surprised. “I figured.”
“He’s back because of you.”
That was news to her.
Echo continued. “When he learned that you and Bonnie were gone, he saw an opportunity. You’re the Mystics’ closest allies and the Bandits and Youngbloods won’t rally unless it’s at your command, so he thought it a prime time to strike. He has allies, so many allies-”
“Who?”
“The Shinobi Clan, the Dreamspinners, the Pirates-”
“Wait, the Pirates and the Shinobi Clan are on the same side?”
“Yes, he paid off the Clan and offered the Pirates looser restrictions. The Huntsmen and the House of Penrose sided with us just to spite him.”
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“If they’re working together, then it truly is the end of Flax,” Artemisia said, but her attempt at humor was lost in the seriousness of the situation. “Take me to the fighting.”
Echo nodded. She wrapped her arms around Artemisia and leapt into the air, her battered wings pounding with the same rhythm as Artemisia’s thumping heart.
Echo glided through the skies, the wind whispering around her and Artemisia. Artemisia clung to her for dear life as they flew, eventually landing at the very edge of the seething fight.
It was worse than Artemisia had feared. The fight was concentrated around Penrose Castle, which was pinned down by the many, many factions that chose to side with the Mystics’ former leader. The ones who didn’t, essentially all the ones remaining in the city, were clustered within the castle, hurling spells and weapons both technological and magical. An enormous tree sprouted out of the castle’s central courtyard, its slowly-withering leaves shimmering with magic as it struggled to shield the castle. The land around it looked almost molten, likely the work of the Tinkers; Artemisia could see them in their bizarre machines, storming through the ranks of the Pirates and swooping over the heads of the Shinobi Clan, dropping bombs and insults with every pass. There was little sign of the House or Mystics besides the occasional flash of silver armor and colorful robes.
The worst part, however, was the dark, writhing creatures that looked almost but not quite human, which tore through the ranks of Artemisia’s allies like they were made of paper.
Echo swooped down to the castle and dropped Artemisia onto one of the turrets before disappearing into the smoke-filled sky. The crowd gathered there, consisting of a single Knight and Huntress and three Youngbloods, immediately turned on her with weapons drawn.
“Hold!” Artemisia said.
The Youngbloods immediately withdrew, and the others did the same upon seeing it.
“Bonnie’s bringing the Bandits,” Artemisia said. “We might have support from Flint as well, but that depends.”
“Where’s Concordia?” one of the Youngbloods asked.
“Why do you think I said we might have Flint on our side?”
“…ah.”
The faint sound of footsteps scraping on stone caught Artemisia’s attention, and she whirled around with her sword in hand, the blade stopping just short of slitting the throat of the Shinobi assassin crouched on the edge of the parapet.
“Hold!” the Knight cried. “They’re with us.”
Artemisia eyed the assassin, who squinted at her suspiciously. Then they straightened up and jumped off the parapet, vanishing from sight. Somewhere far below, Artemisia heard someone scream. Despite her confusion, she pushed the encounter out of her mind for the moment and instead turned to the group.
“What’s the plan of attack?” she asked.
“There is no plan of attack,” the Knight replied.
There was a distant rumble, and a flash of purple light flared brightly enough to make the group shield their eyes.
“Dark magic is strongest in the dark,” Artemisia said. “That’s probably why the sky’s blotted out. If we can break the star mesh and hold out until morning, this battle is as good as won.”
“Good luck getting up there,” the Huntress said with a snort, pointing up at the sky. “Even if you could, there’s not enough magic in anything short of a Head Mystic to tear it down.”
One of the Youngbloods let out a shout and fired a crossbow bolt directly overhead. A vaguely human creature with bat wings and mottled, leathery skin plummeted from the sky with a shriek, crashing into the courtyard below.
“Where’s Saga, then?” Artemisia asked, deciding to change course.
“Gone,” the Youngblood with a crossbow said. “The first thing the sorcerer did was turn her to stone. No one here knows how to undo it.”
“…so, in other words, we’re screwed,” the Huntress said.
“I wouldn’t be so sure about that.”
Artemisia spun around, finding herself face-to-face with Neith. She was perched on the parapet; her eyes glinted under her dark veil.
“What makes you say that?” the Knight asked.
“Because the Bandits and the Flinters are coming.”
Instead of the ragged cheer you might be expecting, there was just a relieved sigh and an ease of tension from the others. Artemisia, her hope renewed, turned back to the group.
“Gather the other Youngbloods. Man the compromised sections of the castle,” she told the Youngbloods present. Then she turned to the Knight and Huntress. “Stay here. Make sure nothing gets over this side of the wall. Neith, how far away is the support?”
“The Bandits are just on the edge of the city. The Flinters are coming up through the tunnels as we speak.”
“So it’ll take at least an hour for them to get here. Keep the invaders occupied until then; hopefully that’ll be enough.”
The others scattered to do as she said. Artemisia jumped down from the tower, catching herself on a gargoyle head carved into the top of the castle walls. She dropped down the rest of the way onto the swirling battlefield.
Artemisia jammed her sword at the first wraith to attack her. She flung it at one of its brethren, knocking them both down like bowling pins. A burst of dark magic sent her flying too, and she crashed into the castle wall hard enough to send cracks through the solid rock.
Artemisia looked up to see someone approaching - a man in purple robes with a circlet of finger bones upon his brow. His eyes and hands burned with dark magic.
Artemisia stood, then doubled over and fell to one knee, clutching her side as searing pain shot through her chest. She could’ve sworn she felt a rib move.
She didn’t have time to dwell on the pain, though. The man hurled a bolt of crackling magic at her and Artemisia rolled to the side, dodging it by so narrow a margin that she felt her teeth itch and her hair stand on end. Her chest ached, but she forced herself to her feet despite it. She braced herself and raised her sword, a silent challenge for a fight.
The fight was a blur of shimmering magic and flashing silver. Artemisia had no magic of her own that she knew of, but she knew her way with a sword; her opponent seemed to have the opposite problem, content with teleporting away from her attacks and hurling magic at her. She recognized immediately what he was doing: wearing down on her stamina until she made a mistake and he could move in for the kill.
She wouldn’t give him the chance.
A skeletal soldier charged towards Artemisia, and she was struck with an idea. Skeleton soldiers were easy to make and easy to control, but had the fatal flaws of being both fragile and unbelievably stupid. She let it approach, and just as it raised its sword to stab her, she stepped out of the way.
The skeleton collided with the surprised sorcerer, and Artemisia flinched despite herself. The sorcerer looked down at the sword in his gut, disbelief the last emotion he felt before collapsing in a heap. The skeleton, meanwhile, exploded into a pile of bones, the shimmer of dark magic that brought it to life in the first place fading to nothing.
Artemisia stood, then coughed again. Her chest was screaming in pain that was impossible to ignore, even as she took her first steps back towards the combat.
She stabbed another wraith. A loud roar pierced the silence as a heavily armored griffin charged into the fray, its riders dismounting to join the fight while their mount devoured creatures of darkness left and right.
Artemisia’s vision grew hazy. She held her hand to her chest; her rib was definitely broken, but she couldn’t stop now. She couldn’t stop ever. If she did, she knew she wouldn’t get up again.
And to think today started with me bartering with a glorified tour guide, Artemisia thought, her attempt at humor lost on herself.
An ear-piercing shriek rose nearby, and Artemisia looked up just as a goblin descended from above, a club brandished over its head and its jaw dripping saliva tainted green with poison. Every nerve in her body screamed for her to move, but it was as if her strength had abandoned her. She closed her eyes and waited for her demise. At least it’ll be a good death.
The crack of breaking bone. A warm tingling filled the pit of her stomach. And Artemisia’s last thought before she died was a very undignified shoot, I think I forgot to pay Mel.