XLI.

Capillary

There was booming rancor in the open council that morning. Arguments of war. Calls for Calamon's destruction. Calls for Calamity's end.

Lyros sat with his paws atop each other at the table on the stage at the end of the bright tiled amphitheater. His eyes were shut. Kasval was there, too, a human whose size paled in comparison to the hulking azar's. He had an air of nobility, a pipe in his mouth, a glass of the finest Aeonic red wine… His black garments were pressed, buttoned nicely, tied up and tightly adhered to his musculature. Even his blonde topknot was free from imperfection.

Two more sat with them in the highest seats of the congregation — a frey woman with a very stern face wearing a gown made of watercress and algae. Frey didn't have hair, but her fins spiked into a ceremonial golden yellow at the ends, resembling either hair or a crown depending who was asked. Her eyes were marked with purple shadow, which dotted outward down her cheeks.

Then there was the sel man, red skinned in a black uniform to match Lyros'. His black hair was done in the same topknot as Kasval's. His face was as stern as the woman's, though his complexion was much rougher, riddled with small acne scars and blemishes.

The chatter of the amphitheater was immense. It was the most attendance they'd seen in years, the most attendance since they'd first declared an attack on the Etherian Empire of Calamon. Now they sat here, again, with talks of war on the tongues of each of the country's men. Those who stood before the council gave complaints against such a thing, gave their reasons why such a thing would kill their businesses and riddle their families with poverty.

Some did support the war; those who had already had their lives torn apart by the darkening sky, and by the death of their fields, were stalwart that Calamon must fall. The daemons must be wiped out from Caloria for good.

Lyros was unbothered by the chatter, by the shouts. He was quiet. Tense. He looked ready for an argument. Or a battle.

But when he raised a paw, there was no argument, nor battle. Silence filled the chamber in seconds. There was no longer even the scraping of quills atop paper. There was not a single sound, not a breath, while they waited for his word.

"Today marks the tenth day of Calamity our people have weathered. Many have wondered what comes next; when will we run out of food? When will our drinking water no more be potable, or harbor fish? The prices of fish import from the Jinn and Leurikan have already become unfathomable for our peasantry. The prices of lumber — in the midst of a jungle, I may remind you — have done the same. Then we're left to wonder, as well: when will our buildings and huts and homes begin to rot and collapse? How much will Calamity affect, and when will the sun itself die, scald our skins, sunder our men, our women, our children…"

Chatter began around the room. Low chatter, whispers from every corner.

"Mine vote, and the vote of the absent Vindicus, are for war. Calamon must be snuffed out like a rampant flame, like a disease, like the farmer's rats. Aeo?"

The frey woman nodded. "Mine vote stands with theirs."

The chatter grew louder still. "Menace!" cried some from the audience, while others cried "Cowards!" and curses alike.

"Kythrim?" asked Lyros.

The sel stood. "This is a most just war. Our people are scourged already by their damnable existence, and have been since time innumerable. Human men ever cling so desperately to powers too great for mortal beings, vying as much for their own downfall as they do for godhood. They'll kill themselves and the rest of the world, should we not exterminate them first."

Cheers echoed off the rounded walls of the chamber. Many sel stood and whistled, clapped, or shouted support for the standing. Kythrim sat back down with a smug smirk on his face, and fixed the collar of his uniform.

Kasval cleared his throat uncomfortably.

"Kasval?"

Then stood the man. The boos were immediate. The jeers were harsh and fierce. Lyros raised a paw, and the floor was given to the human ambassador.

"I," he began in a very polished Aeonic accent, "I am wont for peace, for parley. My vote is against this war, though I may ever be the minority on this council. We…"

Though he continued to speak, hoping for a speech as rousing as Kythrim's, he was instantly drowned out by the rancorous crowd. Some had it in mind to throw things, but held back for fear of King Lyros. His paw did not go up, and the crowd grew louder and louder still.

It was when Kythrim stood again with a glower that the chatter died, only so much that his booming voice could be heard again.

"It is no surprise that the human ambassador from Aeon is in support of Calamon. He bleeds the same blood as any man — Calamoni blood. This man should have no place on our council, no place in our cities!"

The support for that was immense. The entirety of the crowds stood from their seats. The room was thunderous with applause and cheers. Kythrim beamed happily at that, then turned his nasty, twisted smile at Kasval.

"This man should be embarrassed to walk within our walls, to eat our good food, to enjoy our culture, then to spit on us, to demand by vote that we sit idly by while our people are dethroned from the head of the world, killed and massacred, faced with bitter, cruel extinction. Calamity is no friend of the Alisars, Alisa, the Capillary, or our GOOD. PEOPLE." He punctuated his words by striking the table with his flat palm. "But take not my word for it — Alvaki! Doth'kallai sel tokka!"

Gold-embroidered uniforms of black marched down the center aisle. Two came from behind the grand table, sheathed their long blades, and twisted Kasval's arms behind his back.

"What are you — you, you fucks!" he screamed and kicked and fought.

The other two who approached from the front drew their own longswords. The cheers from the audience swelled until they were ear-ringingly loud.

"Lyros! Lyros, stay their hands! Stop them!" he screamed again.

But the paw was not raised.

"Let us see if this one bleeds Calamoni blood!" manically screamed Kythrim.

The swords tore cold and hot into his stomach and pressed their hilts to his clothes. Blood squeezed out and pooled down their hilts and hands. Kasval lurched forward. He could no longer scream. Not even when they pulled the blades out sidelong, and severed his body into a gaping mess.

The two podium guards dropped him. Their black masks showed no emotion. They moved in sync, each silently placed their weapons back at their sides, in their sheaths, and marched back to their positions.

The cheers were magnanimous. The crowd was satiated.

Lyros stood. The voices dimmed but did not die. "Sound the bugles. Today, our men march upon Calamon."

X

Kromer he was not. It was Kogar, in the flesh. Kogar, in the Capillary. Kogar, in Alisa!

Kogar, before an unarmed, unmoving Faunia.

Without Tirolith, it’s useless! I can’t act! Even with her…

The second guard was moving his halberd for Kogar’s flesh. The man easily wrapped it under his armpit and sliced it in half with his palm. He spun the disembodied blade and launched it like a javelin through the sel’s skull, pinning him against the crackling brick wall.

Then his hands wrapped around the golden handles of the door.

He’s going to do something foul! I can’t stop him. I’m powerless. Again. Always, I’m on the defensive, and always…

There was a whistle that broke her agonizing trance. Someone was approaching in a clatter of chainlinks. Someone in red-tabarded armor like the guards, with purple skin like the sel.

Kyvir! He’s already made it here!

His longsword was in his hand. His left leg limped along behind him. He was in no state to fight, no matter whether he intended to or not.

Kogar unhanded the door and turned to face the loudly shuffling soldier.

“Kogar, was it? Kasian’s boy. Nice to finally meet you.”

He hissed, “If you’re here to surrender your capital to me, make it quick. I tire of conversations with mortal men.”

Kyvir smiled. “My name is Kyvir, noble son of a lord here, Thryvus. You probably haven't heard of me in Calamon, but... Perhaps you've heard of the Stabilis.”

Kogar’s lips shifted with bemusement. “I don’t care.” He turned for the door again.

“I’d duel you for our civilization’s survival, Kogar. A test of your honor, a test of our strengths, both.”

Kogar growled out and once agaIn withdrew from the handles. “What good is honor amidst worms? I’ll behead you, then Lyros, and then the rest of his council. Alisa will fall under Calamity, as will all of Caloria.”

Kyvir stopped walking. He was thirty paces away still, just in the beginning of the chamber, when he held his sword out like a ruler toward the two-tone man. “Is that your goal? Senseless destruction?”

“Senseless? No. The insolence of man has gone too far. Since the Etherian Age ended… Oh, why even bother? I’m just going to kill you, anyway.”

Kogar stepped forward. He launched forward with a blast of wind that knocked Faunia backward against the wall.

Everlasting—

The ability was stopped short. Their blades collided into sparks and they each spun away from each other, swapping sides.

Kyvir flicked his blade as though to clean it of loose blood, placed his offhand behind his back. It almost appeared that his limp had suddenly vanished. Perhaps the thrill of a fight’s adrenaline was more potent yet than the pain of a damaged limb.

Kogar stomped brutishly against the noble. There was no grace to his style of combat. There was not even a weapon to his hand as they circled each other, each awaiting the next move, or the next opportunity. The two-tone man growled out, "You constantly emit it? That’s the Stabilis to your being?"

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"Antithesis, you mean? Yes. My flow is stable."

"Which explains how an infant like you has attained such a vied for position. A chair upon the council. Red tabards, a daemon's horns, and the Etherian-slaying ability."

"So brash. No need to be uncouth, some humility would be a grace."

"A far lesser grace than Evra's own."

Kyvir smirked. They were growing closer by the second. His smirk faltered when he finally recognized the idle Faunia stood beyond their circle of combat. “What’s an Orphan doing here—” He was immediately pressed back, turned to defense as Kogar swung his palm like a blade. Kyvir’s own blade broke where the side of his hand hit; sharp metal flew into the air twice as the swings came, his sword became even less than a dagger.

He's still endlessly strong! Faunia gasped. She finally scrambled for her rapier.

But Kyvir darted under Kogar's next swing; he was quicker than the stiffly armored man, quicker yet to strike him twice in the chest with his the remnant of his weapon. The two-tone armor pulsated with a chromatic aura after the strikes, and Kogar's footing became unsure.

Kyvir kicked one of his legs from beneath him. Though he used his ‘bad leg,’ it hardly seemed so bad anymore at all. Down the man went. Once again, Faunia wasn’t needed. Everything was resolved, the fight was ended.

“Your armor won’t reply to you anymore, eh, Kogar?” asked Kyvir. “I discovered your little secret, too.”

The brute narrowed his eyes. He didn't speak in reply, merely sat up slightly to stare at the sel. The muscles in his neck were tense, as though even such a small amount of movement had become immensely difficult under the weight of Antithesis.

Kyvir went to brandish his sword in announcement of his victory in the duel, remembered his shattered blade, chose instead to discard the weapon and brush himself off. “Vleren, did you have business here?”

"Business...? I..." Her head was scrambled. Kyvir had taken down Kogar in just a breath, in just a moment, injured and without so much as a struggle. The man who had killed so many, caused so much pain and suffering... Bested in just twenty seconds?

Kyvir, too, turned back to Kogar. "I suppose we should decide his fate, then."

Faunia turned in alarm. “Decide? With this perfect chance to kill him—”

“Death is not the best recourse for a sinner, Faunia. Fetch the guards, we'll have him arrested. We have cells for Etherians, we'll pluck the two from his armor—”

No! That's not good enough!

Faunia leapt forward with her drawn rapier.

"This ends here, once and for—"

A gasp broke the air, Kyvir's breath drew short. Faunia felt time scream to a halt, her body became locked in her lunge. The room grew cold and hot, expansive and claustrophobic all at once. Kyvir's words were a speechless, chilled gasp. She looked — a heavy, unwieldy crimson blade had ripped through his ribs and chest. His chainmail was stained in dark blood. A dark-skinned figure was stood behind him.

"Percy, no!" Faunia pleaded. But it was far, far too late. Everlasting had begun.

Kogar laughed sickeningly. He was already standing, his armor was glowing with unruly energy. He was already back to his full capabilties.

In his giant gauntlet was Percy's throat, held up from the floor, away from his clattering crimson sword.

Kyvir's body fell limply to the cold tiles. His light had faded entirely. Antithesis was no more. His blood drooled out the same as any man’s.

"The worm who bites the other worm is less valuable still."

Their eyes both shifted red. The whole room appeared to be bathed in horrific crimson glow for a moment.

"Come back to me, Vekzul." he uttered.

Percival choked. He gasped. But no more could he draw breath through the crushing grip.

Faunia took back her combative stance. She stepped, and let swing her blade.

Crk!

The feeble sword broke in half against his armor.

The center of Kogar's chest began to burn until a red, eight-pointed star lay embedded in the center.

He grinned a sickening smile.

Whap!

Faunia went down when he swept his arm through the air like a mace. Her nose shattered and leaked blood. She stared after him as he walked up to the grand doors of the Capillary and finally grappled the knobs with mad fervor.

THOOM!

The doors burst off into the room. Into the domed chamber lined with seats all around, the dark amphitheater that made their open council.

"LYROS!" he bellowed. His boots clicked and echoed with every step into the marbled hall. "Have you fled? A king leaves his people to die?"

But the echo that came next disproved his theory of abandonment.

More boots. Two sets of steps. Then more.

"Not just Lyros… Vindicus."

There, from by the great table raised up for all to see at the furthest reach of the room…

Out stepped a gray-furred Azar. He held a huge falchion in one hand, and wore black, torn robes all around. His silvery armor glistened from underneath.

And then from the other side appeared something altogether horrifying — an amalgam of violet limbs, joined in cruel and uncertain places, arms and legs flexing and stretching through the air and all about, with horned heads all writhing and moving in the center of the mass.

Faunia, already in debilitating pain from her injury, lurched over and heaved bile onto the tiled floor.

Kogar grinned wildly.

"The true Godkiller."

X

Siege.

Cedric marched down the marbled halls of the museum. Twelve soldiers marched all around him. His robes fluttered in the wind of their steps, bounced with every synced march of the men. His men.

He shook his head, hoping it would erase the stress. It didn't. He shifted his mind to Faunia, and only found a deeper stress.

More soldiers were ahead of and behind his men. They routed the museum's tourists, but they could hardly be called that anymore; the place that had once rallied brazen-heart Calamonis and inspired greatness of citizens and faraway travelers alike had now become a refuge for homeless, poor, broken men and women. Families hid in there with dirtied children, people starved and sprawled all over the muddy floors. Many of the artifacts had their cases shattered into piles of glass, only to be stolen away for a profit. Or a weapon.

The Hunters kept the poor away. They swatted those who approached with their sheathed swords, swung carelessly at the children who played too close to them.

Cedric winced. Every one of those beggars had black welts across their skin, too. Caine. A disease that rotted the skin and boiled the blood from the inside out. Highly contagious.

Marisol read the worry on his face from a few strides ahead. She slowed her pace until they were walking in stride. "You okay?"

"This is familiar, no?" he mumbled. His eyes traced the form of the white-furred azar walking in their unit — Viltar, an old Alisan warlord taken now by the Calamonian plight. A valuable asset, if Cedric used him right. Too familiar to walk in stride with a cat, though I hardly know whether Akvum was a friend or foe.

Then he thought to be more candid. "We're not going to win. Our city is built in an indefensible place, there's no rivers, no moats, no bridges to cut as they storm across… I harbor doubts that our gates even close, let alone that we have enough men to station atop the walls with bows. Eight hundred men… it would have been a lot in Kylinstrom. Here, I wonder. What are we up against?"

The azar growled. "The Alisan armies number tens of thousands. If they're raising a force capable of taking our city, they'll have at least twenty thousand at the ready. But we're forgetting adventurers of other cults who may join the fray, and mercenaries."

"If we can afford them." Cedric muttered.

Marisol turned to a soldier marching a few paces behind her. "Vim!"

A dark skinned man rushed to her side, "Yes, ma'am?"

"How many mercenaries can we afford?"

"Err…" He scratched through his short hair. "My estimations may be slightly off, factoring in two recent… hefty donations from the Guild of Merchants and the Financiers' Foundation, the bankers; that's where I hail from. By my previous estimations, we could afford about two thousand men."

Cedric held his breath.

"If the price stays the same, I'd reckon we could fetch seven thousand."

"Seven thousand?" Cedric spun to him. The soldiers all stopped marching. "You're joking! How much money did the merchants and banks give?"

"A lot. The Financiers understood my plea well, and the Merchants can't very well exist if their home walls are torn down around them. We all need Calamon to stand."

"Almighty shit…" He scratched his beard.

Cedric began to walk again and his squad followed. His eyes landed on another group of filthy beggars, another family without a home, without food.

"Vim, was it? How much can we spare for the people?"

"Well, our war effort would do quite a lot for the people." he said, but could tell by Cedric's disapproving glare that it wasn't the correct answer. "Many of these mercenaries cannot very well exist without Calamon. I will see how many are willing to fight without pay, and offer credit to those who are not. That should cut costs by a decent margin."

"Good. Spare what we can for those in need. Please."

Marisol smiled. Vim nodded, procured a board with parchment attached, scribbled numbers and notes onto the sheet.

Then they arrived at the end of the large, glossy-floored hall of the museum. There was a large door there, the room once reserved for Kasian.

A soldier tried the door first. When it didn't open, he spun a hard kick into it, just beside the doorknob. It shattered open, giving them access to the pristine office lined with bookshelves and artifacts and maps of the lands. Kasian’s office.

The soldiers stepped in and aside. Marisol and Vim led the way around the perfectly crafted desk in the center. She pulled out the chair for him. The last of the soldiers entered and shut the door behind themselves.

Cedric hesitated. "Is all of this really… necessary?"

"Mhm!" She nodded.

"And you're sure you haven't got the wrong guy?"

"There's nobody I'd rather have in charge."

"And you're—"

"Cedric." She smiled at him, a knowing, caring smile.

I don't know what I did within my amnesiac period to make her think me so capable.

He took a deep breath. He flapped his robe out behind himself, put his hands on the arms of the chair… and gently lowered himself into it.

The soldiers stamped their feet and made Hunter salutes with their hands.

Marisol and Vim clapped for him. Then Marisol smiled, rubbed his back, said, "Congratulations, Cedric. And thank you. For leading the Hunters. For protecting Calamon. I have to go take care of something. I'll be back soon."

Vim leaned down beside Cedric as Marisol left the chamber. "You never know who'll knock on your door, Cedric. Should you need anything…"

Before he could offer — there was a knock at the door, almost as soon as Marisol had left. The soldiers turned in surprise.

Cedric looked between them in confusion. Then, uncomfortably, he asked: "Open the door. Please."

A soldier reached for it and opened the office door. An aroma of lavender poured into the chamber.

Cedric sprung from his seat. His hand reached for the ley.

"Oh, just a moment!" said a sultry, seductive voice. "Let's not be too rash, Cedric."

Violet eyes. A black robe. Dark tan skin…

Miriam? Cedric's breathing hastened. Marisol's sister, but… she's dead. She should be dead!

"Would you mind, Cedric, if we had a little chat…?" asked the violet-eyed woman.

Rykaedi. His brow furrowed.

"Very well," he answered, "please: take a seat."

END VOL. 3