Koa screamed at the top of his lungs. “Octavia!”
“You bastard.” Draven roared. Koa didn’t even turn around before the pincer shattered through his armour, and into his back.
He was propelled forward, a mouth full of dirt his only reward for idleness. He blinked through the agony, tried to struggle to a stand, but the toxins were already flooding into his bloodstream.
Draven dived onto him, grasped Koa by the chin, and forced his face upwards. To where, if his vision wasn’t so damn blurry, he knew what he would see. Koa clamped his eye shut. He didn’t want to risk catching a sight of what must be there. What he knew to be there.
“Look.” Draven demanded of him. “Look at her!”
Koa blinked again, a weird buzzing deafening to his own ears. How much poison had Draven flooded into him? Even his lips were paralysed, to the point that talking was a colossal struggle.
“Drop dead.” He managed to spit, every muscle fibre in his body tense with murderous desire. He wanted to compress Draven’s skull until the ashes sifted through his fingers. He wanted to have one victory, one brilliant triumph over an enemy after such a long string of losses.
“Have it your way. If you won’t look yourself; I’ll make you.”
Two of Draven’s human digits widened up his eyelid. Slowly, but far faster than Koa was happy with, the vision grew clearer.
Octavia was held aloft by two of Angel’s vile tendrils. She was held to the height of trees, being crushed by unimaginable pressure.
Koa couldn’t breathe right, couldn’t do anything but stare off into the distance like a useless idiot. He was going to perish here, going to die when too much of the venom finally raced into his heart, and for what?
Elmore, dead. Donovan, dead. Octavia, dead. And, within minutes, he would join them. All while Draven, the Pet-Keeper, and even Nova, lived on.
I’m not going out like this. The words were the only thing in Koa’s mind that were crystal clear. He could not, and would not let things end like this.
Koa channelled Infinity through every nook and cranny of his body, hoping beyond hope that it would slow down the poison's advance.
Poisons. Toxins. Both were a part of nature, correct? They, to even the slimmest extent, could fit into his domain of power. How did nature tackle toxins? How did the wilderness defend itself against such insidious weapons?
All he could focus on was human medicines. Antidotes that were a man-made invention; things he couldn't possibly stand to benefit from unless an apothecary sprang up out of nowhere.
The dread, the fear, the literal poison coursing through him. What would kill him first: the stress, or the venom? Koa supposed both had an even chance of putting him out of his misery.
Koa looked up ahead, in a daze, only this time, he didn’t see Octavia’s final moments.
The toxins must have been addling his mind, for he saw himself far younger. There he was, in the teaching facilities of Hybrid, while his brother was selected to train in First Rite, all alone, and miles away from his flesh and kin.
It was a class on plant species, with a focus on their healing properties. While his teacher droned on about facts Koa had memorised years ago, Koa watched raptly as the memories meshed and slid into one another. Hundreds of lessons, Rebirths and Rebirths full of knowledge that was second nature to him now.
Octavia shrieked out in agony, and Koa snapped back into the present.
“Enjoying the show?” He heard Draven ask, but even he was rendered distant by the poison. Koa only recognised the prickling tail sliding down his back, when it began to penetrate his flesh anew.
Draven was going to finish him off for good. Ensuring Koa’s last moments were ones of insufferable torment.
The little activity left in his decaying mind screamed out. Endless hours of lessons, days and days spent looking at dusty scrolls until his eye hurt — they all accumulated into this one instance, where terror’s hold on his mind was absolute.
The adrenaline worked overtime to stitch the memories together. A thousand miraculous links formed in what little time he had, until the poison in his heart became too much. Koa’s Mark blazed as bright as it could. He drank every last drab of Infinity still roaming in the atmosphere, the load rushing through his body only made faster for it. Plants erupted out of the ground at his feet, until, in the time it took to draw a breath, an entire flower bed was assembled.
“What, did you want to see something pretty before you died?”
The flowers became a part of him, thorns pricking into his skin and surrendering their sweet nectar. His Mark did all the internal work, combining them all in one rapid transformation, chemical reactions happening faster and faster.
Yet Draven’s venom would never relent. It flew through him so easily, like every vein and artery was mapped out in perfect preparation. The veins bulged against Koa’s skin, threatening to burst as collateral damage in the internal war. Only, Koa could never be sure of who would win: the toxins, or the antidote.
He thought his vision was getting clearer; that strength was returning to his muscles. His other eye was beyond saving, but Koa saw Octavia more clearly than ever.
She was injured — no doubts about that — but still up and fighting. If she was, what excuse did Koa have? He would rather suffer a thousand years of agony, before letting Draven get anywhere close to killing him.
Something inside Koa reached a breaking point. Whether that was him or the poison, was yet to be determined.
He flipped into a stand, the iris of his left eye a blazing, sickly green. In the absence of the other, emerald light poured out of the cavity. He couldn't even tell if he was alive or not. To all Koa’s knowledge, he was a rogue spectre, out to reap revenge on the man who had damned him to the afterlife.
But if that was to be his purpose, then so be it.
The Bank within Koa reached a crescendo of power. If there was anything good to say about the Unbounded-cesspool that Territory Two had become, it was the power it offered.
No better place to train was there, than the pits of hell.
Koa completed his Vault with one shaky intake of Infinity. His Delicate Touch Mould surged with more strength than he knew himself capable of. And it was with this strength — the power of a newborn Foot-Soldier — that he empowered the twenty inch thorn protruding out of his arm.
With one swipe, the easiest connection Koa had made in his life, he severed Draven’s tail.
Blood erupted everywhere in an unstoppable stream. Koa ignored Draven’s cries of desperate horror, and spared no pity in his overworked heart for the man, as hot tears flooded out of his face.
He swiped again. This time, he would pierce the man’s heart.
Draven managed to get his pincers up just in time. The impact shattered both limbs, chitin scattering off the fickle defence in all directions.
“You’re a monster.” The scorpion man spat. But there was no rage behind the voice, no anger Koa could easily identify. It wasn’t an insult — it was an observation.
As Koa ruptured through what little left there were of the pincers, crushing every puny cell in Draven’s dying heart, he couldn’t disagree.
Koa collapsed by Draven’s corpse. For all of a minute, he half-suspected it wouldn’t be long until he joined him.
Then he remembered himself. Octavia. He couldn’t let himself die until he was absolutely certain she was okay.
He trudged forward, body still buzzing with power, feeling sick from the overcrowded party that had become his bloodstream. He picked up his halberd which had fallen to the side in the chaos of the battle. It was noticeably lighter.
Two more of Angel’s tendrils had been severed in the time it had taken Koa to dispatch Draven. Octavia was making an excellent show of dodging the spider’s wild swings. It had obviously lost its balance from the missing limbs, and perhaps some coordination after so much blood loss.
Octavia clutched her arm, her human one, which hung somewhat limp. It was broken, Koa was sure. Any longer here on her own, and there was a very good chance that wouldn’t be the worst injury she walked away with.
Koa waited one more second. Took one more breath before the perfect opportunity revealed itself.
The tale has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the violation.
Two spindly arms reached out for Octavia, and Koa didn’t hesitate. He flew out, empowered his halberd with more Infinity than was reasonable, and slashed to the side with his thorn.
Koa heard the scream before he saw the blood.
Five tendrils. That was how many of Angel’s arms soaked the earth. But Koa wasn’t finished, not by a long shot.
He skidded ahead, ignored his body urging him to rest with every impulse it could throw at him, and launched before the Unbounded’s colossal fangs. They hung open, eager to devour him.
Only to receive a mouthful of oak.
The tree blasted out of Koa, and into the fiend’s body, mutilating the interior in one swift blow. Every last drop of Infinity clutching to Koa’s Vault was sacrificed for it.
The Unbounded staggered back, crashed into a mound of earth, and wheezed there for a few gory seconds, before motion left it all together.
Then Koa let himself drop to his knees.
Black spots danced in front of his left eye, as if a void was slowly growing to join the other. Koa closed his eyelids, did his best to ignore his body’s discomfort, and for several moments, neither he, nor Octavia, said a word.
After some time, Koa staggered upright, wove a long leaf out of thin air, and covered his right eye in a makeshift eye patch. He was starting to feel up to standing again when Octavia cried out.
“Your eye!”
She vaulted into a hug. Koa pretended she wasn’t hurting his bruised body, though the provided warmth did make up for it.
“I was bound to get injured at some point.” Koa said off-handedly. “Everybody has some kind of battlescar. I just got it out of the way.”
“Your aura . . . Foot-soldier?”
Koa looked down at his palm like it was the strangest thing in the world. Weird. “I guess I am. Can you walk?”
She nodded. Only her arm was injured; Koa hoped not broken. “Can you? Your face is so pale.”
That wasn’t surprising. “I can walk.”
In the end, they resorted to carrying each other in an awkward shamble. The gravity of what Koa had just done only hit him on their way back, when the adrenaline, crazed state, and all the other conditions affecting him gradually tapered off.
“Did Draven really deserve that?” It was a stupid question, but Koa supposed it would be better to be brainless, rather than heartless.
“You put him out of his misery quickly.” How Octavia could sound so certain, after being so far off from the battle, Koa hadn’t a clue. Nevertheless, he decided to believe her. “That was merciful, after what he did.”
“Merciful.” Koa mulled the word over. He was about to ask how tearing off a major limb, before crushing Draven’s heart, could possibly fit that description, but dropped the matter.
“We have to get back to our men.” He said instead. “The Pet-Keeper will sense Angel’s mountain of Infinity vanishing sooner or later. When he does, it’ll either throw him off his own battle . . .”
“ . . . or enrage him.”
Koa inhaled sharply. “Whatever happens, rest assured.” He gripped his halberd tightly. “He dies tonight.”
----------------------------------------
There was nothing more intrusive than your very soul being exposed to someone. Except of course, when you have to give them clearance to snoop through.
The Old One grumbled to himself. Only after finally relinquishing the shadowy replica of Violet, did he stop pressing her so aggressively.
“It’s all true then.” His silhouette mumbled. “Stranger things have happened, I suppose.”
“Have they?”
No response. The Old One turned to the distance. Violet hoped he would finally disperse, but he merely stood there. Staring off stoically into the distance.
“What now then?” Violet would rather converse with just about anyone but the Old One, but what other option was there? She had to find out what was going to happen. The information of the Chaos Clan’s reality being revealed to the world . . . it could finally put an end to Nova’s campaign, but what about her?
Her life could never continue as normal, but there were different degrees of severity that could await her. What would Violet even do when Nova was finally undone? All her life had been dedicated to exposing, and in some ways, undoing his evils. At times, Violet had been so certain that his shadow would never leave her. That she would spend her entire life chasing ghosts.
If the entire world raised arms against him, however, Nova’s end was inevitable. It might not happen soon, or perhaps not even in Violet’s lifetime, but it would happen. And that was enough for her.
“Maris and Juniper. An odd couple to inform of this all.”
“Will they face any consequences for staying quiet?”
“I don’t think there’s enough people out there who have the power to punish them.” The Old One admitted. “What the people don’t know can’t harm them, anyhoo.”
That was the kind of thinking that had caused nearly all the problems in Violet’s life, but this time, it seemed the right attitude to have.
“The newspapers are already spreading rumours.” The Old One scowled. “I’d hate to confirm their theories, or agree to their interview requests.” He sighed, like pleasing someone was the greatest burden he could carry. “I suppose the situation necessitates it.”
“What about me?”
“What about you?” The apparition turned to her. “Well, I trust you’ll be let off lightly, considering your help in subduing two Right-bearers. As for what the people will think of you, I don’t know. I can’t make that choice for them.”
Violet felt like sighing too. “As long as there aren’t any legal repercussions.”
“It's up to the individual cities to decide what to do with you. I hope you have a few favours to call upon.”
Violet turned to face him, to ask how Eclipse would regard her, only to find the air vacant.
Just like that, the Old One vanished.
Violet just stood there dumbly. She looked from where the Old One had been but a moment ago, to where the final ashes of Belindo had dispersed into the littlest dust.
Most of the God-Graced had departed by now. Only Eshika and Cyrus lingered. She appreciated their concerned expressions, but insisted that all would be fine.
“Where are you two headed now?”
“Wherever there’s trouble.” Cyrus joked. “You're always needed somewhere.”
In tandem, both Cyrus and Eshika looked into the far distance. They were sensing something. Something too far away for Violet’s lesser power to detect, but she could gauge the scale of the threat easily enough. Their expressions hid nothing.
“Another blast of energy.” Cyrus mumbled. “From Territory Two.”
“It’s not the first reading we’ve had from that place. Something’s happening. God-Graced levels of power.”
They stared at one another. “Do you think . . .?”
Violet could tell they were about to move at the speed of light, so quickly rushed in front of them. “Wait, wait! Wherever you’re going, take me with you — please.”
Cyrus opened his mouth, as if to shut her down, when Eshika cut him off. “Sure. I don’t think it’s safe for you to be out in the open while people receive the news for the first time. If they aren’t given time to digest it, things could get violent.”
Once again, the fire God-Graced looked dumbfounded. Before he could enquire on what the pair of them could possibly be talking about, Eshika blasted off. She rushed up into the skies with the speed of an arrowhead, clutching Violet tightly, as if she weighed nothing at all.
----------------------------------------
Andreas stood before the Supreme Being. The fiend had only started to notice him, shambaling over in slow, deliberate steps. Steps that would awake sleeping giants, and invade even the remotest corners of this world with their thunderous lustre.
Slowly, ever so slowly, Andreas undid the bandages wrapped around his arms. The white cloth dropped to the earth, joining a bundle of the material he had already undone. They had served their purpose. Besides, not even their fickle material could hope to protect him against what came next.
Finally, he locked eyes with the Right-bearer.
Seeing him so close, perhaps five metres away, at home in his trailing wasteland of ashy white, Andreas focused hard on his breathing. It suddenly became quite impossible to keep his lungs in order, for reasons completely unrelated to his condition.
The Supreme Being was a sight to behold. Ugly, true, with his rocky form misshapen after a beating from the Old One spanning days. Fissures spread through his titanic form, as if tracing the lines of a jigsaw puzzle that comprised him. Andreas knew it was his responsibility, the final weight left on his ageing shoulders, to undo that puzzle. To crush every last piece until nothing remained but ash.
Ash that would put the mounds of the stuff surrounding them to shame.
The Unbounded was a walking set of armour, really. Andreas couldn’t believe there was anything more to the fiend. The mind that rattled in his cranium would be no more intelligent than that of a feral animal. He killed, he hunted, he spread his disease like any good vector would. But beyond that, beyond the innate, primal instincts to kill and survive, there was nothing.
Perhaps there had been before. Aeons ago, when Enos had first gifted whatever Unbounded the Old One had once been with his Divine Right. Whatever it was that lived in the depths of the Silver Cavities, and ruled king.
The Supreme Fiend was as much a victim to Rot as Andreas was. More so, even. His mind had been destroyed by Rot, leaving no sign of developed intelligence behind.
Andreas shivered. That was what scared him the most. Losing his mind — the last frontier of himself — to this vile, putrid disease. To become one with the creature he hated the most.
This death, at least, would be of his own choice.
Andreas looked down at his revealed body, the silvery flesh of twisting grey concealed only by his carpenter’s uniform. Reinforced with gold here and there, to value itself as Andreas’ most pricey possession. So many times, he had come close to selling it.
Now, with his clan in safe hands, Andreas would wear it to the tomb.
He marched towards the Supreme Fiend, quickening his gait, and it followed suit.
Memories played tricks on his eyes. He didn’t see a devastated reach of badlands, but the sprawling, dark interior of a dank cavern.
Where there should have been empty space at his side, their vacancy was filled by the ghosts of his past. The squad of weak Warlords, in way over their heads, rushed into the Cavities. There to do the dirty work that posed too much of a risk to the likes of God-Graced and Godlings.
One by one, their rushing bodies, joining Andreas in his sudden sprint, fell apart. Behind him, hauntings of their dead selves, consumed by Rot, and sprawled out at unnatural angels, littered the ground at his back.
He saw himself joining them. knew that he would.
Andreas cast all the thoughts to the back of his mind. He ignored the terrible pains of a body tortured by Rot, for damn near a full Rebirth. He shouldn’t be able to move. The energy rioting through his body, Infinity intertwining with the divine power of his patron god Arcus, was the only thing propelling his dead flesh onwards.
But he wouldn’t have long. Andreas had to make short work of the Supreme Fiend, ensure he would never hurt another living soul, and rid the world of one more of Enos’ curses.
Fists collided, metal on abused flesh, and the battle commenced.