“Ours is the only cluster created that involved each of the Three. Though, I speculate that the other two had exhausted themselves in their prior endeavors, which is why there is such an abundance of life here. You see, the reservoir, once it meets the first threshold, will spawn a vast forest, further compelling the flourishing life we need to protect this plane. Fret not little one, we won't be sealed away with this forever. After a long enough time, once life has cycled and our population has grown large enough, we will seal away that being, whatever it is.
You see, my father tried to save us, and in a way he did. How was he to know? It was theoretically possible to make a wormhole, but how could he know where that wormhole went without testing it?
Don't you see, Johann? The most monumental moment in science came at the cost of its unmaking. Now, we have a new science, in a way, this will be our path, this will prevent us from ever needing to flee the earth. Will you help me in this, help me make the earth a new paradise for our people?”
-Memories of the first Elder
Quena woke just outside of the ruins of Gwendon. The sight of the destroyed city sent a pang of sadness through her, mostly because it was the only part of this tiny valley that she didn't absolutely hate. The people, the culture, the civilization. Now what had it come to? A heaping mass of stone and debris.
Just then, a shifting in the two beams of force caught her eye. The center point, whatever it was, had shifted quick as a whip the moment a flash came from somewhere inside the Colosseum.
The flash expanded looking for the world like a bubble of light, a perfect sphere except the point where Bacchus stood defiant. The bubble bent around him, until finally whatever was stopping the flows of Gia gave way. For a moment, the light consumed the entirety of the Colosseum, pure and unwavering. Quena gasped as vines of blackness began to grow all around the sphere, wiggling as it went.
After a long drawn-out moment the entire sphere was black, pulsing like a heartbeat. Somewhere from within, the light found a way to penetrate the unearthly blackness, shining brilliantly through the cracks. Then, like a damn bursting, those black vines burst and dispersed into the massive sphere. The light went black, then gray, then settled into a deep forest green.
The sphere twisted, which made her stomach roil with vertigo as something so massive shouldn't be moving that way. It was as if the entire sky had shifted, the backdrop to her vision had twisted her equilibrium in a primitive and carnal way leaving her gasping once more. The twisted sphere continued to twist, picking up speed, it resembled a cyclone of unbelievable proportions. Down and down it drained into something, the source of the light? Or perhaps... No! All that power...
Kurt watched as Dorian's body spasmed from the vortex of deep green, it siphoned to him like a drain or perhaps iron to a lodestone. Kurt tried to move to him, but a wall of force kept him at bay. Ingrid, for her part, was just trying to hang on. She too was trying to move towards Dorian, but whatever force he was taking on created a radial effect like a windstorm in the Wilds. Kurt finally couldn't stand it, the wind and debris buffeted his exposed skin but he managed to put an arm around Ingrid pulling her down. He shouted, “cover your head!” then went prone as he covered his own head with both arms.
His eyes were shut for what felt like forever. Despite the turbulence around him, Kurt's recent expenditure of power had left him feeling as though he hadn't slept in weeks. The wounds he'd accumulated at that point were beginning to harry his will to remain conscious, and the pull of the great quiet drew him in even as the flows of power battered at his beaten body.
If he lost consciousness, he wasn't out for long. The abrupt stop to the mayhem was enough to rip him away from the warm embrace of sleep. He rubbed at his eyes as he reached down to help Ingrid up.
“Get off of me, you-” she gasped as she looked to where Dorian was. Kurt turned to behold the sight of his little brother, something about him seemed so pure but another part held some kind of terrible power. He was glowing, and not figuratively either. He was like a massive bonfire of light, if not for the late afternoon sun, Kurt would have been blinded by it. At the same time, that terrible dark seemed to sit at the very center of Dorian's light. Like a void of space where a soul should be, Dorian's presence carried a mixture of dichotomies. Dark and light, existence and non, hope and despair, purity and perversity, and more that Kurt simply didn't have the words for. It broke his heart to see Dorian carry such a burden, but, by the gods, he was something to behold.
Taking a deep breath, Kurt leaped and shouted, “holy shit! Holy shit, Dorian! Dorian!” Kurt found himself running, pumping his fists in the air, racing Ingrid to get to Dorian first. Dorian was looking upward, eyes shut, consternation on his face. Kurt didn't care, he tackled his big little brother to the ground just as Ingrid wrapped him up in an embrace. The result was a flailing of limbs that lasted less than a breath as each of them felt the mantle of their exhaustion settle upon them. Coming to a knee, Kurt smirked down at his brother who was still frowning.
“Dorian, what's wrong?” Ingrid asked, Kurt noticed an irregularity in her voice and smiled to himself as he realized what it was. It was care, perhaps even love. A small pang of jealousy ran through Kurt at that, he didn't know what he had with Q. Oh shit, Quena...
He nearly voiced it but was interrupted by Dorian's response.
“What's wrong? Right now, I feel like I just ate ten plates of my mother's worst cooking, and every morsel of it wants to see the light of day.”
“Woof, that has to be awful. I think I have an idea of how you feel, I felt something like it when I cleansed Dad.” Kurt commented, looking out at the ruined Colosseum.
“Kurt...” Dorian said, then hesitated.
“Yeah?” Kurt replied, recognizing something pained in Dorian's voice.
“Kurt... I, I think...” Dorian swallowed, then tried again. “I think the figure that grabbed Bacchus, Kurt, I think... I think it was Dad.” Dorian said, casting his eyes about.
“Wait, you mean,” Kurt shut his eyes and found himself trying to rub the dirt out of them. He looked back to Dorian who was running his fingers through his unkempt hair, whatever had bound it before had long since disappeared. Dorian's face changed and Kurt felt a movement around his hips and thighs. Looking down, a layer of rock had formed there. Ingrid was doing the same thing when the ground suddenly started growing distant.
Dorian was... he was something. He didn't know what, at that moment he was having a hard time managing the twisting storm that was his mind. He felt like a bird in a windstorm, every time he thought he had found succor he would be ripped away, launched back into the maelstrom. His body responded, his desires still emanated from himself, but the rest of the blank spaces of his mind were merging with the essences of Bacchus, Johann, Ohmer and... Gods, Gods please, no.
Dorian merged the pebbles and bits of stone together into an amalgam of liquid rock and sent it to each of their party, creating a harness of sorts. He then used telekinesis to pull them upwards, towards the edge of the arena, to the final resting place of something that was neither God nor demon. He wasn't worried about draining his calcium, with the amount of power he possessed, he doubted he would burn up enough of his own calcium stores to affect him, even if he had remained airborne for an entire week.
Though he hadn't meant to, he had begun to empathize with that evil creature. Such unbridled power, it was intoxicating. Dorian didn't feel good at that moment, he felt great. Great like the heroes he read about as a child, great like a mountain, great like the people of legend so long past that the tale of their stories has become more fiction than truth. That sensation rippled across his body in waves, but what Dorian's body felt couldn't be more juxtaposed to what his mind was working through.
They landed on the very edge of the Colosseum. Dorian's heart sank as he was given proof of what he already knew was true. The pile of clothes were tattered and shredded, the black robes sundered to the point of being rags, but the other clothes, the other clothes were what made him fall to his knees.
His face hurt, hell his whole body hurt, but he was made aware of his face as the wet began running down it. A very small corner of his mind was in wonder that something as simple as the sensation of wetness was enough to agitate this realization. That small corner was, however, overshadowed by the roar in his head, pushed away as secondary as grief and pain stole over his senses.
He was on his knees, hands hovering over the pile of tattered clothes, afraid to even touch the truth. With the reverence of a priest at worship, he gripped his father's clothes, and all sense of keeping himself together broke like a clay mug against stone floor. His face lowered to them, as though he could hide his shameful tears in the barrel-chested man one last time, like he had when he was just a child, like he had when he was just a babe.
Something inside the clothes shifted and yelped. Part of Dorian was grateful for the distraction. Despite the rivers flowing from his eyes, he managed to gather enough temperance to reach through the neckline of the tunic.
A sharp pain, then a sudden rush. Realization had dawned on him. Though his bond to Ohmer had disappeared, the bond to the innocent spirit beast that Ohmer had merged with hadn't. Now that Dorian was exposed to the creature without another medium, he was surprised at how naive it was. It was like a newborn, a complete blank slate. Ohmer must have overridden the poor creature, must have taken over all semblance of sentience the creature possessed, hellbent on his vengeance. There was communication, but it came across as images and emotions rather than words, much like how Ohmer had communicated to Dorian when he was just a Garru.
Greetings, Dorian felt more than heard. He echoed the sentiment, then the creature that crawled beneath his skin tried to relay something more complex. It came across as, self, becoming, not self, sleep?
Though the method of communication could be very precise, conceptually, the creature really didn't understand much. It really was like a newborn. Dorian understood why Ohmer had done what he had, but he didn't understand how he could do such a thing. This creature was innocent, Dorian wasn't a leech to steal this creature’s essence.
No, self remains self, other remains other, perhaps together? Dorian replied, unwilling to force the creature to anything against its own will.
A vibration thrummed through Dorian then, a warm exultant sensation, the creature was happy. He took that for a sign of agreement. Does other possess memories?
A pause in the vibration signaled understanding. Small, fragments. Tale from old evil. Tale of old, pride, first defeat of old evil. Righteous human know tale different. An image crossed the bond, an image of Bacchus in his former body telling the tale of three hundred tyrants with the audacity to fight against the overwhelming might before them. Then, just as quickly, the story passed across his mind from the opposing perspective. A story of a great king, and those brave enough to die fighting for something they believed in.
Why this story? Dorian asked, curious.
Hero... determined? Not understand.
Dorian hesitated, not understanding either. He decided to change the subject to practical matters. I, self, named Dorian. You, yourself, what name?
A long quiet passed when a hand came down onto his shoulder. “Dorian, is it really his...” Kurt choked out. Dorian knew he was looking away, doing all he could to hide his pain.
No name, am creature, fight bad.
Dorian was drawn between the two moments. Luckily, communicating with this new thing happened at the speed of thought. Everyone should have a name, even creatures. Do you want to take the last one's name, Ohmer?
A sour sensation crossed the bond, much like chewing burnt meat. Okay then, what do you want to be like?
Dorian realized how stupid the question was, the creature had little to no experiences to speak of, let alone memories of people or figures he wished to emulate. Regardless, the spirit beast responded as though it had been waiting to speak.
Self, be like hero. Hero from tale. Several emotions came across the bond, excitement, conviction, pride, strength.
You mean Leonidas?
A hum vibrated through the bond, but Dorian replied, Gods, but that is a mouthful. How about Leo for short?
Affirmation came across the bond in an uplifting way, drawing Dorian out of the sadness his eyes were seeing and into the hope and joy that Leo was emanating.
“Dorian, what's wrong? Hey, you hopped up numb skull, what gives?!” Kurt was shaking Dorian. Though all he wanted to do was bask in the warmth of this innocent creature, the reality that was before him came crashing back together all at once. My father, my father is gone. The hum that came from his bond spoke of unending sadness, hurt so deep that only emotions could express its magnitude.
That hurt stirred something within him, like a briar thorn bush had rooted itself in to the soil of his soul and had grown to full size in a heartbeat. Then, for no reason whatsoever, he began laughing madly.
Kurt reeled back for a moment as Dorian's body shook. He was laughing hysterically, though it sounded pained, as though he was weeping through his chuckling. The dark part of Dorian's power had replaced the omnipotent glow he had just a moment before. Now, looking at Dorian made Kurt realize all they had gone through. Perhaps the loss before them was too much for his little brother to handle.
Kurt was sincere when he said, “Dorian, it's okay. It will be okay, we can-.” Kurt cut off as Dorian's eyes opened, black as midnight. His tears ran black as well, making his face a visage of the disturbed. Kurt had his hands on Dorian's shoulders despite how closely Ingrid had gripped him. Kurt shook Dorian once, “Dorian! I need you to snap out of this, what's going on?! What do we do?”
Dorian started chuckling again, then rocking back and forth as though he were in immense pain. Between the laughter he managed to choke out, “reservoir. To the reservoir. Return the Bacchus. Below the vault of dead,” he hissed air inward. After arresting control of himself, he managed to say, “we have to go to the Monastery Temple, where they train the priests. We have to go, I can barely hang on.” One eye seemed to glow faintly behind the black and a low thrum vibrated through the air around him. Dorian's voice shifted, getting deep and gravely. “Now, Kurt, before it's too late.” Then he shrieked a sound that was more keening than scream, more animal than man.
“Ingrid, can you get that side? We need to go before the-”
A white spec in the corner of Kurt's eye was the only warning he had before Moder popped into view. He levitated downward, or rather, lowered himself with a thousand fine hairs of Shade. Before Dorian he stood, looking down at his once ally, mostly nude save for whatever he wore to cover his groin. Their purposes no longer ran together, which put Kurt on edge. That was until Moder bent a knee before Dorian, bowing his head. “I, I am wholly yours now, master.”
Dorian, shaking, glowered at Moder for a moment before a hesitant hand came up. White light surrounded the two, small wiggling inchworms began flowing out of Moder and into Dorian. The light grew brighter and brighter until Kurt was forced to look away. Exhausted, Dorian's body went limp and suddenly Kurt was very aware of three things.
First, that Dorian was fucking heavy. Second, that Kurt was unbelievably exhausted, and finally, that there was a wide-eyed near naked man gawking at them from where Moder had stood.
The man looked down at his hands in wonder, inspecting every inch of himself along the way. He smiled a heart wrenching smile as he said, “it doesn't hurt.” Then louder he said, “it doesn't hurt! I've just grown so used to the-.”
“Moder! Celebrate later, we need your help.” Ingrid said, strain in her voice. The man stopped inspecting himself and looked up to her. He nodded once as he moved to get up, then Kurt interrupted.
“I don't know how long we have before they all start waking up, but there's going to be a lot of panic happening when it does. Moder, a naked man isn't going to help things or keep us from notice.” Moder seemed to understand as he looked around. He reached for the pile of clothes when Kurt, a bit of an edge to his voice, said, “a wise man would take the robes and hand me the rest.”
An intense look came from the man, his eyes the brilliant blue hue of an undisturbed pond. He robed himself, the fit a bit snug, and handed over what was left of Kurt's father. Hurt later, Kurt thought, though it was a bitter one.
Quena felt odd as she began her slow walk to the ruined Colosseum. She felt something in her head that simply didn't fit right. She knew that the tyranny of Bacchus was likely at an end, but she felt nothing for it. Nothing had changed, she was still trapped in this wretched valley, still trapped with these simple people. It made her angry, unbelievably angry. Her balled fists should be aching, instead she simply shook with the desire to have the freedom she'd been promised.
She had been stewing on this for the better part of twenty minutes when four weather-worn figures came limping out of the front entrance to the Colosseum. If not for the one they were carrying, she wouldn't have recognized them, but she did recognize him. Recognized the power he held, even at this distance.
A sudden lust for power came over her for a moment but she swiftly put it down. She wanted freedom, freedom above all... But power is tantamount to freedom, is it not?
The thought came unbidden to her mind and she swatted it away like a fly. After her stay in the Wilds, she kept certain things on her person, bitrus fruit something she had grown fond of that she seldom went anywhere without a few seeds. She took out the seeds, planted them, and Cultivated them to full growth. She harvested the fruits, taking special care to work out the center point of each to keep the seeds. She had altered these, added some necessary minerals to its general makeup, and amplified its bio-availability. In other words, she had altered the fruit to make it practical, as well as delicious. She peeled the skin off one and wrapped the other two inside her tunic.
When she caught up to four of them she had to fight an unnatural urge to hurt them. Inside her mind, she was confused as to what would make her feel that way, but swiftly she battered it away. “Hey!” She called, “I brought food, it should help!” They slowed their haggard gate to wait for her to catch up.
“Gods, aren't you a sight for sore eyes. We need to get him to the reservoir, it's somewhere inside the Monastery Temple.” Quena tossed a fruit to Kurt who immediately began tearing the skin off. He made quick work of the chore and peeled a large wedge from the rest of it. Ingrid and some hansom man had lowered Dorian to the ground, then promptly collapsed upon the ground. They were disheveled, cloths torn and frayed, dirty, sweaty, and blood stained. They looked like they had been through seven hells and reluctantly admitted to herself that she probably didn't look any better.
It had taken Kurt more than five minutes to wake Dorian enough to get him to eat. Sadly, Kurt was pretty sure that the lucid state Dorian achieved was more thanks to the vibrant citrus notes in the air rather than Kurt's incessant goading. Even slapping the broad-shouldered man wasn't enough to stir him, but when Kurt had accidentally squeezed some the of juices out of the Bitrus fruit, Dorian's sudden and abrupt alertness nearly made Kurt laugh out loud. You can make the pudgy kid into a muscle-bound monster, but inside he was still Kurt's chunky little brother.
He veraciously consumed the fruit, falling back to the ground, he was unconscious faster than Kurt thought possible. He smirked for a moment before he remembered that he was the one that would have to carry the big lug.
“Quena, are you okay? I don't think we would have won if you hadn't attacked Bacchus when you did. Even so, it was a near enough thing.” He was scratching the back of his head before he said, “I was pretty worried.” He smiled, doing his best to hide everything else he was feeling. Worry for his brother, loss for his father, concern for his mother and sister. Gods, I thought this was all over.
A quick series of expressions flowed across her face, outrage, anger, malice, vindictive fury, sadness, but finally settled on a quiet smirk that rested between curiosity and satisfaction. “You really were?”
He nodded, then embraced her. Her body was rigid against his, so he pulled away, a question on his face that she answered before the words could come to light.
“I, I think I'm still reeling a bit from that. I was flung pretty hard, if I had passed out before the landing I wouldn't have made it.” She was quiet for a bit but was quick to return to the task at hand. “I think I can feel some large stone, give me a moment and I can help get his big ass to the priest's Monastery without killing you.” He nodded and made for the others, checking on them as he went. Moder was just happy. Not just happy, no, he was completely elated. The smile on his face was something that Kurt envied. Carefree was Kurt's standard operating perspective, but the burden of worry was keeping his mind from all else.
Stone began to flow out of the soil around Quena. She couldn't move as much as he had seen his brother move, but she could Shape with an intricacy that Kurt hadn't seen yet. Ingrid got up and started to mirror the stance Quena had assumed, and shortly thereafter stone came flowing out of the ground. It looked much like muddy water when they shaped like that. A few quick words between the two women and suddenly Kurt understood what they were making. A small wagon, axles and all, had been created just big enough to carry a few days worth of firewood, or perhaps, one over-sized Cook.
This book was originally published on Royal Road. Check it out there for the real experience.
Dorian woke just as two people, Kurt and someone he didn't recognize, were hauling him out of a makeshift stone cart. They were at the Monastery Temple, the false Monastery, the true center to their dystopian society.
“Ingrid,” Dorian wheezed, his throat feeling horse. He looked around for her, confused and feeling a sudden panic. A hand rested on his cheek, though the touch was gentle, her hand was calloused from long hours of working the quarterstaff. He calmed, breathing in her scent as her eyes filled his vision.
“It's okay, we're here.” She said softly. Ingrid? Speaking softly? Oh, seven hells, what did I do?
A frown from her concerned face was noted before Kurt's laughter filled his ears. “That's my bro, he must be fine after all.” Dorian didn't have to look to know that reckless grin was on Kurt's face.
“You didn't do anything, now come on. If you've got enough will to crack wise, you've got enough to walk.” Ingrid didn't sound all too pleased about the comment, but he felt an undertone of laughter to the words. It wasn't plain, likely only Dorian noticed it. To anyone else, he must have seemed mad, but the smile it brought to his face was enough to make him feel light as the wind itself.
“You're probably not wrong, though if someone wouldn't mind.” Dorian said, tapering off towards the end of his statement.
Kurt was there quickly, lifting Dorian's arm over his neck he said, “not the first time I've had to carry your big ass.” He groaned as Dorian's weight settled on him.
As they came to the entrance, a melodic tenor said, “I'm sorry, but this is as far as I go. If I'm right, then I should see to my children. Thank you for everything, young knight,” a patting sound came from Dorian's right, just beyond Kurt. “And to you, little Dorian.” The man came into sight, the stranger from before. It was Moder.
His hair was fine, a burnished brown so light that it took on hues of red. His eyes were crystal clear blue spheres, his hairless face seemed to glow. Dorian smiled, disbelieving what he saw. He nodded once, saying, “can't say I blame you. Goodbye, Moder. May you and your people prosper.”
The statement seemed to take Moder back a spell before he began his walk. Dorian took a moment to look back just as the light of the sun became eclipsed by the doorway. Moder was heading right back to the Colosseum. A mother returning to his children, proud determination outweighing any power Dorian could ever claim to master. He bowed his head once more, not because Moder could see him, but because respect should be shown to those who possess the conviction to continue living. For all Moder had desired death, his newfound freedom didn't remove the commitments he had made, rather than retreat, Moder rose to the call of his people.
Kurt had handed Dorian off to Ingrid, he did what he could to lighten her burden, but for all his attempts he heard her exhale sharply as she bore the brunt of his bulk. Surprised by how low he had to bend to have an arm around her, he thought, Gods, was she always so small?
He had her help him to the side of the doorway as they waited for Kurt and Quena.
Quena hadn't been facing them, instead, she was looking out over to the horizon. The sun hadn't quite set, but a few clouds were blocking most of the intensity of the sun's light. Kurt said, “I'd give a full token to know what you're thinking right now.”
“I'm thinking that after this, after he does whatever he has to do, that we'll be free. The time bubble this valley has been under is going to break for the first time in only the Gods know how long. I'm thinking that I need to take a moment and appreciate this one final lie, for the simple fact that it is final. The last time I see a false sun, the last time I live the lie that it really is the end of a day. The next night I see, the stars will be true, and the blue of the sky not some artificial construct, but the truth of the world as it really is.”
They all sat on her words, let them resonate within themselves. They had lived a lie, had been duped for all it was worth. Leo too was taking in the words, his thoughts churning though no words followed, just a low hum of warmth throughout his chest. Quena took a long breath and raised her hand in a rather rude gesture to the sky. “I'll catch up, I'll be right behind you.”
Kurt shrugged and turned towards the other two. Coming to Dorian's open arm, his face wore an expression of confusion mixed with worry as he cast his arm around Dorian's shoulder. Ingrid and Kurt helped him off the wall just in time for a surge of pain to topple him over, screaming. He writhed on the floor for a moment, agony ripping any sense of self away, he felt as though he was being ripped apart from the inside.
A counter to the pain blossomed, deafening it but not removing it. Leo was doing what he could, thank the Gods, trying to hold Dorian in one piece long enough to empty this taint into the reservoir, back to where it belonged. He took a breath of relief before he came up to his hands and knees.
“Sorry, it almost had me there. It's okay, Leo is helping.”
Ingrid was there first, but Kurt followed quickly after. “Who's Leo?” She asked, sounding a bit bewildered.
“Like Ohmer, but not. Leo got Ohmer out of the reservoir chamber, err...” Dorian thought on explaining further but didn't think it necessary.
Kurt said, “err, what? Come on man, you can't leave us in the dark like that.” His arms under each of them now, Dorian could hear the footsteps of Quena as she followed.
“It doesn't matter, but Ohmer originally called it the engine room. It's the place where the reservoir is channeled.”
They came to the first Draw Tunnel, and though Dorian could have made them a Shade casing that was large enough for all of them, Quena beat them to it. When she gripped her Shade, he felt something off about it. He noted it, but didn't dwell on it long, the pain he felt was taking up most of his mental faculties. After going through the first draw tunnel, Ingrid broke the silence to resume what Dorian had been talking about before.
“So, we're not going to the reservoir, but the end of it?” Ingrid asked.
“Something like that. The reservoir itself is massive-” Dorian slipped as they made their way down a narrow set of stairs. They would have all fallen in a heap of Quena hadn't grabbed Dorian's tunic. It ripped, finally giving way, but was still firmly attached to his belt.
“You break your neck now, and I'll be stuck here forever.” She whispered, something desperate and dangerous in her tone.
Placing a hand on the railing, he found it was easier to get down with Ingrid's help rather than Kurt's. All three of them could be a disaster, as he recently realized.
As they walked, Dorian continued what he was saying before, more so to have something to focus on that anything else. “The reservoir itself is huge, it takes up more than a third of the Valley. Bacchus thought that it was leaking or broken. Some part of Johann had hidden that away, had led Bacchus to believe that the reservoir wasn't working anymore. This had the opposite effect, of course. Bacchus figured he could continue to fill the reservoir with Gia so long as he filled it faster than Gia could leak out. In a way they were both wrong and right.”
Ingrid had raised her hand and moved the locks to the doorway in to the sacrificial chamber. The heavy door swung open, the sight of the chamber forcing memories into Dorian's mind. He keeled over and wretched bile and acid to the stone floor.
“What's wrong?!” Ingrid exclaimed, her voice echoing through the chamber.
Dorian waved her away, wiping his mouth he said, “his memories, they make me sick.” A brief wave of pain washed through him just before Leo's vibration numbed the pain to a dull throb. Putting a hand up, he touched his source, and even if doing so was blindingly painful, he managed to touch the triggers that would open the circular flooring.
The smell of rot that greeted them made him want to heave all over again, but he knew it would only be a waste of time. Now that they were close, he knew where to go. Feeling oddly better despite the stench, he pointed their way downward.
“Let me,” he said before he drew every bit of warmth out of the nearby stone and pushed it in to the pile of bones. The dead man on top went up in white heat for just a moment. He hadn't meant to, but his Primes were beyond amplified. Tenfold would be an understatement, he knew because he was able to incinerate the human remains while keeping the residual heat contained. Within a few seconds, he removed the heat, redistributing it throughout the stone he had taken it from. One didn't think of cold stone as warm by any stretch, but he knew he had pulled heat from an incredulously large area. Too cold for humans was nothing compared to how cold it could be.
“We can go down, it’s not hot anymore.” He said, though it pained him.
Kurt, Gods love him, jumped in as soon as Dorian said it was safe. For a split second, he worried for his older brother, worried he had put too much trust in him and in Quena. Not the time, Dorian.
Ingrid helped lower Dorian on to Kurt's shoulder. After putting Dorian against the stone wall, he gestured to help the other two down. Ingrid laughed once before saying, “no,” flatly. Quena only scowled.
Dorian heard Kurt mumble, “so much for chivalry,” as he gave Dorian a shoulder to lean on.
They moved swiftly down the narrow stone corridor, the air heavy with dust and silence. Before long, they came to a dead end. A solid wall of stone blocked their path.
Without hesitation, Dorian lifted a hand. The rock obeyed. It peeled away, shifting aside in fluid motions, revealing the passage beyond.
That was when he felt it. Quena’s fingers closed around her Shade, the familiar pull of energy brushing against his senses. But this time, Dorian knew. Knew exactly why his hackles had risen before. She was infected.
Kurt watched as the stone wall opened like a blooming flower. The smell of freshwater and lichen filled his nose, the sound of rushing water and the feel of humidity on his skin let him know that they had one more ride before their return trip home. Gods, home? What does home even mean now?
Quena had crafted another makeshift container for them to ride down in, it wasn't comfortable by any stretch, but with the day he'd had, he didn't want to take Dorian's speeding bullet craft. It was more fun, sure, but at that point, Kurt was ready to take the slow ride down. He had the rest of his life to have fun.
They rode their way down, passed the “dilation” fields that made his guts twist, until they began gently bobbing. The sphere they rode down in opened to reveal a wall of light that eclipsed the entire chamber. It wasn't hostile light, oddly, it didn't hurt his eyes in the least despite the pitch black inside Quena's construction.
When the waters brought them closer, Kurt gripped his Shade to make two hooks. He anchored them in place and got out, gesturing to Ingrid to hand Dorian off to him. To his surprise, Dorian managed to stand on his own, though he still took the offered hand to get out. As soon as they touched, Dorian's voice echoed through his mind.
“Help me out, pretend like you can't hear me, and give me an arm for support.”
Kurt didn't pause, just helped Dorian out and began walking towards the wall of light. The sound of scraping came from Quena's Shade rubbing against the stone, which was signal enough to the two of them that they were following behind closely.
“Okay, Ingrid is already aware. I couldn't send from a distance without being sure we couldn't be overheard.” Dorian's voice said in Kurt's head.
“What do I need to be aware of that you have to mentally discuss with your girlfriend as you make those smooching sounds” In Kurt's head, he mimicked the sound as well, which made Dorian redden slightly.
“I'll need help restraining Quena. She's tainted, Kurt. She's probably not even aware yet, but whatever small part of Bacchus is left in her will fester and consume her, the same way it had for Johann. Do you understand?”
Kurt's stomach dropped as he gave mental ascent. “You can remove it, without hurting her, right?”
A mental grunt was all the ascent he needed from his little brother. He could tell that Dorian was strained by something, all that Kraken flowing through him. He had managed to purge a small portion, but what Dorian was containing was an essence that had no place in this world, purging it himself was probably impossible.
“I can't believe it,” Dorian said with a sigh of relief. They were only a few steps away now and stalled before the wellspring of power. Dorian's hand went up, and a thin line of Shade came out of his hand. Like braided cord, it stretched out to touch the wall but seemed to fall short.
“No!” Dorian's voice said in Kurt's mind, he had little doubt that the other two had heard as well.
“What is it?” Kurt asked.
“I can't, there's some kind of barrier. Fuck! What do I-” She's moving, now!
Kurt turned just in time to eject a raw blur of bolts to intersect what Quena had launched at them. He crafted two units of his Shade together to create a bar that ran the width of his body and ran for all he was worth towards Quena. She barely budged, laughing a little as he heaved with all he had.
A light shot from Dorian, encircling all of them. Something pulsed in the bond he shared with his brother, and suddenly, Quena was slammed against the wall hard enough to send her head rebounding. Holy shit, what just happened?
Dorian was there beside him, pushing to hold her there. She thrummed, and suddenly they were heaving each other back and forth down the hall. Dorian grunted, while Kurt growled, doing all they could to keep the tainted Priorius from breaking free. It would have kept on that way if not for Ingrid's quick thinking, she had pulled up the smallest ledge behind Quena, tripping her with all the weight of the two brothers coming down on top of her. Stone ensnared her, which she would have broken like so many twigs had Dorian not started channeling some kind of hoodoo to keep her at bay.
She began shaking violently, “let me out! Let me out!” Her eyes went wide and a few tendrils of blackness filled the whites of her eyes. Her voice shifted, a shout that wasn't masculine or feminine, but undeniably terrible. “Let me out, you worms! You fecal excrement! You think this is the last of me?!” She laughed, the sound something beyond disturbing.
“You guys, I can't, I'm too weak! I need help! I need a link, hurry, both of you!” Dorian cried, then grunted in effort. His hissing inhale punctuating his need for aid, Kurt placed a hand on his brother's shoulder and began to channel is life's force in to him.
“Ingrid! Please, hurry!”
“Okay, okay!” She cried from somewhere behind them. The moment her hand touched Dorian, something shifted. Kurt couldn't move, and for the first time since they left the Colosseum, he felt fear.
Dorian had known the moment his Shade found no purchase in the reservoir's center. Knew he had to cleanse Quena before anything else, knew there was no other way.
The moment that Ingrid's power began to flow into Dorian, he gripped it tightly and sent it back, touching the Shade within her and doing the same to Kurt in turn. They were paralyzed, frozen in place, and would remain that way until Dorian broke the link with them. Now that he had a grip on his source, he felt strong enough to do what needed to be done.
Quena was snarling and swearing things that made Dorian want to take notes. He pushed the liquid light out of himself, enveloped her, and consumed the remaining taint of the creature known as Bacchus. She went limp just as the last bit of that darkness was consumed, eyes shut, she wouldn't be waking anytime soon.
Kurt couldn't speak, couldn't move, and even if Dorian was strong, he wasn't strong enough to completely match wills with his brother. If Kurt realized it, they'd all suffer for it. He willed the Shade that rested within the two to rest next to Quena. His will was giving way quickly, exhausted as he was from the arduous day.
“I'm sorry you two, but you've been duped!” Dorian laughed, not the mad laugh, but a laugh that made him feel much better.
“Kurt, it's my fault that all this happened. I know the Valley was doomed without us, but you deserve your rest.” A surge of Kurt's will came at Dorian's words, but Dorian only had to keep this up for a bit longer. “Enjoy those days in the woods, enjoy your hunt, oh Valley Champion, second to the line and first to the house. Take care of mom, tell her I'm sorry I couldn't make it back. Let her know, I intend to cook alongside dad. I'm sure he's already cooking for the Gods themselves.” He tried to keep a straight face, but he knew his efforts were in vain as the first tears began to fall. Kurt racked against Dorian's will, but Dorian hung on by a thread. Hung on, because he wasn't done apologizing yet.
"Ingrid.” His voice was steady, but his hands trembled. He met her gaze, locking her in place, knowing she would never let him go—not willingly. “Remember my promise?” A bitter smile ghosted his lips. “I have to break it, love. But not all of it.” His breath hitched. “Thank you. Thank you for all of it. The laughter, the fights, the way you made this brutal world feel less... cruel.” He swallowed hard, his fingers tightening around hers. “I have nothing left to give but this. A promise." His next words cracked like a vow. "I will find you again, Ingrid. I swear it.”
Through their link, and with the unbridled power Dorian was charged with, he reached deep within the very blueprints that made up each of these two wonderful people. In Kurt, he could feel the shape of the “lens,” as Moder had called it, and changed it. What he technically did was open Kurt to his own Shade, and perhaps more. Dorian felt tinges of regret at not being able to see how it changed his brother, but also at not getting to have a rematch against his big brother in the Colosseum.
He sighed as he moved to Ingrid. Touching the foundations of what formed her, he found the one missing bit that kept her from having all the Primes. Oddly, she had nothing there. Kurt had something there, though he couldn't access it, but Ingrid had nothing. He laughed out loud and said, “you really did take everything from your brother, didn't you?” Dorian had a theory, and was probably wagering his hope for rebirth on said theory, but Ingrid didn't have to know that. What was the next life if his Ingrid wasn't there?
He broke off the part of himself that gave him access to his Prime in fortitude, broke it off and pushed it into place. Ingrid's power surged, leaving Dorian breathless. He was hanging on by fingertips, he'd waited too long. Looking back and forth between the two, he smiled wholeheartedly. “I love you both.” His voice cracked, and for a moment, he hesitated. His hands tightened around theirs. I could stay. Just a moment longer. Just enough to hold Ingrid, to hear Kurt crack one last joke, to walk home and see his mother’s face.
But that was never meant to be. He kissed their hands lightly, grinning wide, so wide it hurt. He let them go, turned, and ran for all he was worth. To the engine, to the reservoir.
Are you ready, little Leo, to vault into the great unknown? The hum of ascent was all he needed.
Dorian dropped Kurt's hand as he turned, sprinting for all he was worth. No, you big son of a bitch, no! Kurt was on his feet and running, but the distance was too short. Dorian was moving all his massive bulk, trying to get to a top speed that might have been just as fast as Kurt. Kurt's only advantage was that he was lighter, he could get up to that speed in half the distance, and they both knew it. It was a race.
Despite putting every bit of energy he had left in to the movement, Dorian was more athletic than his large body would imply. Kurt thought for a moment that he'd catch up in time, but despite himself he found he was shouting, “stop! Dorian, please!”
Just as Kurt was nearly close enough to lunge for his brother, Dorian leaped, turning as he went. A laugh escaped his grinning mouth. The laugh wasn't the laugh of a madman, or a mad God for that matter. It was the laugh of an innocent child, running with the reckless freedom of an unburdened youth.
Dorian hit the wall of the reservoir, and before Kurt's eyes, Dorian shrank. Kurt lunged, stretching for a hand, an arm, anything, only to slam against an unseen barrier. His whole body rattled with impact, but it wasn’t the pain that took his breath away. It was the sight before him. Dorian, his brother, his responsibility, his ward, the only person in the world who had always been there, was vanishing.
His fingers clawed against the invisible wall as Dorian unraveled before him, his towering form shrinking, pulling in on itself. A young man. A boy. A chubby child with laughing eyes. Then a baby, too small to fight, too small to know. Then... nothing.
Kurt’s forehead hit the wall. His breath came out in ragged gasps. His brother was gone, and he couldn’t stop it. He couldn’t save him. His hands curled into fists. He should have been faster. Should have been stronger. Should have…
A violent tremor rippled through the ground, a pulse of energy surging from the reservoir. The black void swallowed the light, then the light surged back, a tide of power ready to consume all in its wake. But Kurt didn’t care. For the first time in his life, he didn’t care about anything at all.
He heard Ingrid saying something to Quena, but Quena gave no response. A vibration began, and it shook his very bones. The black replaced with light, repeating what had happened in the Colosseum earlier. The vines of darkness wiggled and spread but were ultimately defeated by the light. Shifting to a light green, Kurt turned to see Ingrid holding Quena, slapping her face in an attempt to wake her.
The hum hastened. Some part of Kurt was aware of the danger behind him, but the rest of him didn't care. When the light finally erupted, consuming everything, he didn't have the will to fight anymore. For the first time in his life, Kurt stood still. Not to listen. Not to plan. Not to fight. There was no fight left in him. No purpose. No reason. The world could burn. Let it. His brother was gone, and the only thing left of him was silence.
Epilogues
Dorian sat up with a jolt, his upper torso coming out of his Gia cocoon. The light in the chamber had dimmed somewhat. A woman with honey-colored hair stood there, shaking her head. Her name is Clara, Dorian thought.
She looked at him in a sad way, the somber smile of concern creeping onto her face. Feeling concerned, Dorian looked down, realizing then that he didn’t have any pants. He was going to make a quip when Clara decided to speak.
“Oh, Dorian. You’re not done yet, not by half.” She stepped forward, and just as Dorian was about to protest, she pushed her palm into the center of Dorian’s chest hard enough that he fell back into his pool of Gia. The world, once again, faded.
Quena woke inside a crater, someone's arms wrapped tightly around her. The stars above shimmering a brilliant light that she thought she'd never seen before. By all that ever was, they're real. The stars, they're real!
She yipped for joy, jumping up and shouting for all she was worth. The elation of the moment was the most cathartic experience she'd ever had, she was free! No more false sun and stars, no false moons, no mad elder forcing her to bend knee, no, she was her own woman and nothing would ever contain her or hold her in contempt ever again.
The thought of something taking her freedom from her churned something inside of her. The taint?
She searched within herself, but didn't feel it. Now that she was rid of it, its absence was a massive relief, but still, something nagged at her insides. She couldn't see much, it was night after all, but she could feel a certain moistness in the air. The sounds of nighttime creatures calling in the vast darkness of the unknown filled her with a sense of excitement and dread. What if there is something out there, something that would take this away.
“Power is tantamount to freedom.”
The thought echoed through her mind, the words she knew weren't her own, but a part of her recognized the wisdom of them. Life had been cheap in the Valley, the world likely not so different. How many times had she lived? How many times had she died, and for what?
Looking over to Ingrid's unconscious form, she recalled when she had waited for more than a day inside that boring chamber and along comes Ingrid to snatch at what Quena had already claimed. All that power...
Something in her twisted, and before she knew it, Quena had wrapped Ingrid in a tomb of stone. With a viciousness she never knew she had, she made that tomb into a grinder. Knowing full well that there was little more than pulp left of Ingrid, she opened the stone, but not before she encased it in her Gia. She siphoned every bit of that power out of the woman's remains, gasping in ecstasy as the power merged with her own. She shook in pleasure as the torrent continued, reassured by the knowledge that nobody alive could stand against her. If she was as bad as Bacchus, fine. Murder wasn't the worst thing she'd ever done, no, you don't live as many times as she had without doing much worse things than that. Even if it was a betrayal, she was enlivened by the fact that she would remain free.
Quena? Where am I?
The voice was... the voice was Ingrid's. She gasped as her eyes went wide. Shaking her head she thought, no, that's not possible.
Kurt didn't have the first clue as to what the hell was going on. Bright light followed by a landslide, which followed with a whole lot of in and out of consciousness. Then the ground was moving beneath him, his shoulders had a nasty pinch in them and... black.
Kurt finally woke, but his pounding head nearly took him back under. He bit his lip hard enough to keep himself awake, though he felt himself walking the cliff's edge, his will bent to the task of staying in the now. Prying his painful lids open revealed a world as vibrant as the deepest parts of the Wilds. The thick moss coating the trees, the vines hanging loosely and the fanning leaves of some shrub consumed his vision.
He moved to get up, noting how dim it was, but met resistance. Looking down, he found his shoulders bound tight to something that was behind him. He heard the telltale crackles of a fire nearby, though it was barely dark enough to notice the firelight. Squinting at the cording that bound him, he focused his Shade, making it appear from his chest, sharp as a knife.
The bindings snapped, and despite his weather worn body and the immediate need of sleep, he sprang up, summoning a staff of Shade. His staff would have to do, he figured, so Kurt took his position towards the three woman sitting around the firelight.
Pointing his staff, he said, “What gives you the right to tie me up?”
The three woman were each wearing a garb of a white flowing material, their faces shaped oddly. That wasn't to say that they were ugly by any means, just different.
One woman raised an eyebrow to the other, then the third spoke up. “Quemma narsetta dwemmirrow qwuay?”
Kurt frowned, not sure what the babbling mad woman was talking about. He checked his surroundings and made a dash for it.
Two strides in and the thought crossed his mind... Why? Why run? Run to what?
Kurt slowed, coming to a halt. He fell back to his knees, just as he had in the Reservoir chamber. Frozen, he was at a complete loss to himself.
What... what do I do now?
He had no answer.
The first thing he noticed as he groggily came to consciousness was the taste of sand in his mouth. Moaning softly, Dorian spat the loose soil from his mouth as he opened his eyes to a new world.
It was night and the sky was brilliant. Unending stars lit the sky in a way he'd never seen. His heart soared in wonder at the scope of it all, the brilliant luminescence lighting the night better than any fire could.
Stop gaping, you look like an idiot, Dorian chided himself.
Closing his mouth, he moved to crawl out of whatever indentation he'd landed in but managed to trip and fall forward like a newborn babe. His spatial awareness was... off. Pushing off the ground was a slight bit harder than he had remembered, it was only then that he noticed the drag. As he moved, it felt as though he was hauling something on his shoulders or perhaps dragging someone else along.
Checking himself, his worst fears had come to life. Oh no, please gods no...
By his best guess, he was sixteen again and puberty had yet to begin the process of turning his body from a gelatinous substance to a solid. He was overweight... again.
“Is this some kind of a sick fucking joke!” He swore to the beautiful night sky. To his surprise, a moment later he heard something reply, though he was sure it wasn't the Gods. It sounded too carnivorous to be a divine entity. Then again, Bacchus was as close to a God as he'd ever known, so who's to say this wasn't another?
The hairs on the back of his neck stood on edge, he turned to see green glowing eyes watching him from the shadows.
Gripping his power, he readied himself for combat, only to find nothing there. His primes weren't working for whatever reason, so he readied his Shade. He reached within himself to summon all he could, but instead of the overflowing river, a trickle managed to make its way through. A single unit of his shade formed, roughly the length of his arm. Dorian held it between himself and the beast and received a yip in response.
Oh, if only you knew what I did to the last God to laugh at me, Dorian thought as he prepared himself, once again, to fight for his right to live. He felt a sudden swelling of rage, and to his own surprise he found himself wearing his brother's reckless grin.