Blightraven dances between the two Councilmembers, Sir Malew swinging blades of liquid steel as the other, Mislo, pulls a bow the size of Frank to draw. Each time she releases the weight, the arrow notched onto the weapon flies with such momentum that a foot of rock is removed from the ground when Blightraven manages to dodge.
But the Bado isn't alone. Not for long, at least.
A final phantasmal conjuration from Abraham appears before Sir Malew, a figure adorned in plate armor and a tower shield. This one is much larger than all the others, and from here, I can sense its corporeality. It seems to me so much more... natural.
And Sir Malew notices it as the phantom blocks his attack on Blightraven, the obstruction allowing the Bado to gain some distance as it is obliterated. Malew swings his arms wide, the liquid metal reforming into arms sheathed in steel.
The Nahullo steps forward, momentarily ignoring Blightraven as he bares his teeth at Abraham from under his helmet.
"I see. We are so deeply ingrained into that wretched mind of yours that we are your weapons, your shields, your future. I promise you, Ahbram, a High Table Vow, that I will make that fear real. Very, very real."
Still retreating with Johnny's unconscious body, I can see Abraham shake, his whole body trembling under the threat of the Councilman. And to make matters worse, an arrow streams toward us, the air buckling under its speed.
I sidestep by instinct, but in truth, my action matters little as before I finish my step, the arrow proceeds directly through Abraham's outstretched arm. And to say that his arm is injured is an understatement. A howl of agony resounds through the air as Abraham and Virgil, carrying the albino, crash to the ground from the impact. Abraham rolls on the hard stone as I suck in a breath of air through my teeth.
I see two fingers a dozen feet from Abraham, and the rest of his arm is gone, transmuted into a mist of blood from the arrow's impact. A small portion of his upper arm remains as Virgil hastily recovers and tourniquets the wound with a tendril of shade buffeted by the warm sun. Blake then catches up to the two and helps pull Abraham to his feet. Blake and Virgil tow the amputee forward as they look back with apparent apprehension for the archer, Mislo.
But thankfully for them, she's now focused on another target. Sacate. The native roars angrily as his arm, composed only of steel, deflects an arrow in the air, the impact contorting his arm. That's not all. I also notice that Sacate's chains have transitioned to green from light blue. Slight hints of yellow now permeate his fetters.
When the color returns to white, the tinge that those without Sigils have is when Sacate will plead for death. The serum Johnny got from Birdie was a last resort, something the man only told us about for the absolute worst-case situations.
For one minute, the person imbibing the fluid of Pleading Death forcefully takes in so much Ether from the air around that they are, Ether-wise, equal to a being of an entire Sigil higher. As a result, the limit of one's saturation is forcibly enhanced and so is their body's toughness for the duration. Yet the moment that minute ends, the aftereffects will kill the user without exception. And it will do so in the most terrible way.
A death worse than the typical hell of Ether oversaturation. In a single second, the person will go from fighting like a beast on drugs to a puddle of blood, the soul burning to accommodate the additional Ether. Birdie only gave it to Johnny as an absolute last resort: something to be used when death is certain, a token of respect for the gunslinger.
That's the only fate that exists for Sacate. Why? We were going to escape together? Why did you drink that? We weren't pushed to our limits yet!?
As I pull Johnny and try to understand Sacate, I hear the gunslinger mumble under his breath. Noticing that he's awake, I yell for him to recover. He's an Angel now, right? He can help, right?! Surely he can save Sacate! He can rewind him!
"Get up, Johnny! Help him! He's your best friend, right?!"
But as I continue to drag him, Johnny doesn't move. I just see his right eye opened to its limit in the native's direction. His pupil just follows the movement ahead as I hear another impact. The black dot in his socket trembles heavily while I yell at him.
Looking up, I see an arrow the size of a javelin sticking out from Sacate's chest. The sight makes me pause in my running and dragging of Johnny. Sacate stumbles a few steps before the light in his chains shifts, a green to a yellow now with flakes of orange.
Sacate tries to move again to dodge the next arrow, but it is for naught. Another arrow pierces his stomach, and blood and viscera dye the sandy stone red. He might be enhanced by Pleading Death, but these are multiple Angels he's fighting, each with at least half a century of experience. It's just... too fast.
My heart catches in my throat as I see Mislo pulling back another arrow, this one seeking Sacate's skull.
No! Not another!
My eyes flicker to Blightraven, hoping the Bado will somehow save Sacate, and he does. And so, the instant before the steel goes through Sacate's brain, the strongest of Starkbluffs uses an injured wing to knock it off course. Instead of ending Sacate's life, the arrow disappears into the hardened stone with a rumble.
A mournful and agonizing shout from the body in my arms pulls me out of staring.
"Move, Wyatt! Sacate has decided to die so that we may live."
Johnny is awake! I don't hear his words as I plead with him to save his friend. Why won't he just help!? The Plagued and the army of Nahullo are coming right for us! Why won't he help him!?
"Save him, Johnny! He's going to die!"
The Gunfighter merely pushes off me and stumbles to stand upright. His head shakes as he limps away from the fighting, his back to Sacate.
"I can't. If I do, we will be caught. Just run. That's the only way we live. We were not expecting four Councilmembers. Three was the limit of the plan. At this point, we can only hope that Blightraven can hold his own long enough."
What? What does he mean by four? I look around for a fourth, but counting the dead one, I only see three.
Yet as I search, another crash comes from the direction of Sacate and Blightraven as I see a ten-foot tall man with a war maul clad in steel fall from the sky. But steel is not all that he's clad in. Magenta chains fill his outline precisely as another form emerges from him in a phantasmal-like manner. The head bursts from the other man's shoulder as the phantom pulls himself from the other body bit by bit until freeing himself onto the ground.
This other form bears bright violet wrappings. His very presence burns a hole into my pupils with his noble attire and the Ether that scorches from his form haphazardly. Unlike the other Angels of the Nahullo, this one bears a gold-etched gambeson as he pulls his sleeves forward to his wrists. He is unarmored, yet I find him the most dangerous as his eye locks right onto the now-unconscious Abraham.
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Five!?
Malew and Mislo take a moment to pause as they bow to the Nahullo in the luxurious gambeson, his long pale hair flowing in the air.
"Vice!"
"Vice!"
The Viceroy, or one of the two Vice of the Council Of The High Table, ignores the followers that prostrate for him. Instead, he silently stares at Abraham, the man who must be his son if he's the Viceroy of the Council. The Viceray is a woman, I believe, so it has to be him. He must have come because of Abraham, not because of Blightraven. How could Abraham not have said something!? How could he have let such a massive secret stay hidden when we were going to fight the Nahullo!?
My heart sinks even further as I see Sacate stand tall once more, the duo of javelins still within his body. Johnny pulls me forward with a feral scream arriving from Sacate that's quickly cut short.
"Go! Now! The Viceroy is here!"
Squeezing my eyes, I twist and follow Johnny as I run for my life. Shame and self-hate flow endlessly. Using what little Ether I can spare, I push forward a Breakneck through my body, both of my figments of Madness still condensing my Ether.
Power shunts my body forward as my muscles brim with strength, but it's not enough. A man who brought me back from the dead has now given his life for me to live. And without any prior notice, for it was just out of the blue.
A white feather flies past Johnny and me, who are running side by side, as a voice comes from it, the voice of Blightraven.
"I appreciate your attempts to save me, but it seems was not meant to be. I underestimated the Tree's schemes. What a folly. The Viceroy has come to complete the accord brokered with Weiss. Run, Johnny Caldwell. Run, Wyatt Graves. In exchange for my life, protect my people. Little Chaser has the potential too, Johnny. Treat him well. He will be an asset. Now, I have a death to embrace and pales to kill. If am to decide, more of them will die than us today."
My teeth tighten even more as I realize that the man we came to rescue will also die, that this whole thing is just going to end up getting people killed.
I run away, but not without one last thing. Ether swirls within the emptiness of my mind as Insight comes to life. I want to experience Sacate's final moments. I want to remember them forever.
And as my mind enters the Woodsman's, a cloud of Angelic steel feathers obstructs us from the view of the Councilmen—a gift from Blightraven, his fabled Power twisting to defend us instead of him.
***************************
Sacate Ijiraq, The Woodsman
My jaw cracks as I step forward, the pressure so tense in my body that it crumbles. My right lung and liver are gone, the impact going right through Bark and Enliven. The organs were turned to mist, and now I carry on with this Pleading Death.
So much Ether swirls within my body that for a moment, I wonder if I could take on these four Councilmembers, these four Angels, at once. But I know it's not possible. I am not that gifted, not even with a drug made with the waters of the Cardinal, the river long lost to even the hands of the dead.
Beside me, Blightraven, the man we came to save, puts a hand on my shoulder. He stabilizes me as we both stare ahead at the four Councilmen, three of them bowing to their Viceroy.
"One last ride, Woodsman? I've heard of your exploits in the Wilds. I'm glad not to have to die alone. I hope you feel the same."
Unable to speak with the javelin in my chest, I grunt at him, blood spurting from my wounds and mouth. Ether moves in such massive channels for Enliven that I can keep all my other organs working despite the lack of oxygen of not breathing.
Even more, it flows through my body as I feel it approach a meltdown. But with this recognition, I focus on two final things: Woodard and Glimpse.
Tightening my jaw, I twist the spouts of Ether in my body and contort them with my will to form Woodard, the skill of my own device that enhances my body. I push it further than usual as I take a risk, using gaseous Ether alongside twisted streams to bolster it. But, of course, it's not much of a chance if you are to die anyway.
After I feel my body turn dense like wood and as powerful as a sturdy oak then going beyond that, I move on to Glimpse.
Short glimpses of the impossibilities of the future, nature itself giving me hints, come to the forefront of my mind. The volume of Ether fueling the skill is so much more than expected that the Ether condenses into gaseous form and goes one step further, turning into a flowing flame of plasma through my body. This makes Glimpse work better than ever before.
I know what Blightraven is to say before he even opens his mouth.
"Well, I do agree, my short-lived friend. Let's give these albinos a run for their money. I've been hanging on by a thread for a few days, shards of hope trembling, but it's about time I let loose."
I tense my muscles as Blightraven, or Howard Strafe as most of the Territories know him, extends his beautiful wings more eagle-like than anything else. But the snow-white steel wings have been dyed red with blood, their owner's blood. With a flap, Blightraven enters the air, shouting at the Nahullo.
"Well?! Come and get me, you pale bastards! This is what you wanted, right!? My life!? My home!? My people!?"
And as Blightraven dyes the air with a dark swarm of his signature skill, he bursts with a cloud of pale feathers that sends him flying forward. The Bado heads straight for the Viceroy in the middle, his claws reaching for the man's throat.
I move to join him, my legs pushing me forward as the Councilmen finally move into action, their obligatory bow to their leader over and done with. But before Blightraven gets close, a phantasmal Urayuli appears from nothing, an oversized fur-covered humanoid, slaps the Bado like a bug.
Blightraven rolls for dozens of feet, breaking stones along the way, before he catches himself with his talons and flies right back. Seeing how the Viceroy, a Nahullo known to many as the Noble Phantasm, conjured such a mighty phantom similar to Abraham's, only much more potent, I decide to focus on the archer.
Mislo, the Pointed Spear. One of the only three female Councilmembers among the Nahullo High Table. If I don't at least slow her down, even with the wall of feathers Blightraven just conjured with his Power, she will kill those escaping. Unfortunately, her range is equal to, if not greater than, Johnny's, meaning they need to get at least a few thousand feet away even to have a chance to survive.
So, I rush toward her with all the strength remaining in my body as she nocks another arrow. Even as this pointed death stares at me, I feel proud about today. I made an Angel take me seriously. And not just that, my oldest friend did what I always believed him capable of.
I'm just sad I won't be able to see our dream come true. The one we had so many years ago... He must remember, right? We haven't spoken of it, but he wouldn't be doing all this if he forgot. I just need to buy him some time. Every second I buy is another second they have to run, another second that Blightraven has to fight.
As Mislo aims her arrow, Glimpse relays to me segments of the future, the earth telling me how to dodge. And I do so, twisting my body and head, letting me move alongside the screaming projectile. Only I have forgotten there are more threats than just Mislo. A war maul smashes into my back as I realize Pleading Death is affecting my mind.
My vision goes black as I slam into the ground, my spine breaking from the impact as I lose feeling in my lower half. I should've seen that coming. At least Pleading Death and all the Ether in my body blocks out pain because of all the enhancements to Woodard. If I had enough time, I could regenerate, but I doubt I will be spared that long.
I try to crawl forward, but I'm rolled over onto my stomach as I come face to face with the Skull Crusher, another member of the High Table with the born name of Niyte. Even as he raises his maul into the air, I still can't believe that five Councilmen, including the Viceroy, came to slay a single Angel. Overkill for any but the Unyielding Wall. But as the war maul comes down to meet my skull, I remember something—an idiotic child's rage against the inevitable. My dying mind flashes to his reckless use of Ether that both destroyed his arm and the chest of Hura while the former was a simple 3rd Sigil. Perhaps... if he can bridge the gap and shift the flow of that battle with his meager strength, I can do the same.
Wyatt Graves. Thank you for this inspiration.
The falling leaves give life to the growing saplings, a life for a life, a death for a death, and one's future for another's future. The world will go on without me even as the liquid removes my soul within me. My past is to be buried, my future to be lived by another.
The fallen leaves, oh, how beautiful they are as they lay with their colors. I just wish... I just wish I could see mother one last time. She always knew what to say, always knew what to do, and she could always find beauty even amidst sorrow. If I hadn't drunk Pleading Death, there would be a chance I could have met her down below. But that is not my fate.
My fate is to be the falling leaves, the guard for the seeds so they may begin their miracle, the sustenance for the saplings so they may further their weaves, and the motivation for the already-grown trees so that they may reach the pinnacle.
And as I combust into a furious Explosion, the Ether in my body radiating outward in a beautiful bouquet of petals, I see one final future, Glimpse going far beyond the hour limit of before as time slows.
A smiling Johnny Caldwell is drenched in blood as he lies upon the grass staring at the sun overhead.
My... he looks so peaceful. I don't think I've ever seen him that content, not since... not since Amelia. I wonder. What made him smile so? I would like to smile too, friend. It has been a long, long time since we laughed together, since we drank together, and since we spoke of more than just death and survival.
Maybe one day we will again.
Goodbye, my friend, he who pulled me out of the darkness in those woods so long ago. May you make our dream a reality.
I had no better friend than you, Johnny Caldwell, and I could never have asked for one. I only hope you feel the same.