35 A Tormented Birth

79BI, Before the Imperium, 1003 years in the past

CURLED UP IN A ball, the female Torment stared at her hands. Slowly, she began to move. Knowledge of what she was came instinctively though she couldn’t recall anything before awakening.

Agony ravaged her insides, piercing her eyeballs and lancing her fingertips. Every movement, every moment was pain. But this was how it was meant to be wasn’t it? There was a faint memory, so fragile, she knew it would not remain hers much longer. She remembered lying in bed curled into a ball shivering in terror as the voice from the past begged her to help. It had laid out in her mind’s eye the events which would unfold. She had seen this moment and felt it without understanding.

It had now occurred, but she had no idea who that little girl was or the voice. The memory faded as the dawn of her new existence brightened.

Then, she knew her name.

Striga.

Her master summoned her. She rose and noticed there were others like her. She knew their names. Cadaver, their powerful leader, stood with Karal as his second. There was Ruza, Lugat, Mara, Strix, Vipir and Vetal.

The eight Torments followed Cadaver through the dark light, which stood within a crater. What must have been a magnificent palace once was crumbling around them. Striga couldn’t understand what this place had been or why she was there. What knowledge she possessed was innate, but she had questions. Something told her their master didn’t like answering questions. There were no memories in her head. Shouldn’t there have been?

What there was in her head frightened her; a female voice, insistent as it urged her to follow the others and to hurry. It added some unpleasant insults too, which Striga thought unnecessary.

Stupid voice. Of course, she would follow the others. Her master summoned and she obeyed. She didn’t need some crazy voice to tell her what she already knew.

‡

AS WITH CYDRA DYRE, Aiyana shared the same flesh, but this time she was the soul buried deep. She’d awoken as though from a deep slumber to find she no longer controlled Cydra’s body. Worse, Cydra wasn’t Cydra. The sundering of the mage’s soul had occurred, leaving Aiyana a ghost screaming in darkness. She thought the Torment had heard her, yet she couldn’t seem to get through to the muscle-bound lummox. They had to enter the Darklight and fast. Danger was coming. Aiyana knew what the Darklight was, what it would do to her, but there was no time for regrets. The viralic host clamoured in her mind. Only the Darklight could release them, and give them substance in the real world. A real world a thousand years hence.

Aiyana felt her soul pulling away as though a rope tied to her ghostly ankles dragged her back to her undead body. As much as she would’ve loved to return to the Black Palace, to Threadfin and Asher, to the world she knew, her task was here. She was so close, and thousands of viralic souls depended on her.

She felt the urgency grow, and relayed it to the dim-witted Torment. Unfair perhaps, for Striga had just been born. Something was coming, and it did not wish Aiyana to succeed.

When the duo appeared before the Darklight, Aiyana knew it was too late.

‡

Present day – Black Palace, Icarthya

‘YOU CANNOT HAVE HER!’ Linuncia cried as she raised her sword and blocked the vanth’s attack. Scatter knew her time in mortal flesh was ending. This was no ordinary vanth. Samael had once been a Dominion commander who had fought the Darkness. She had known and loved him before his wounding. She knew she could not defeat him. Worse, she might succumb to the infection coursing through her, and become like him.

Forcing aside such dark thoughts, she held her ground because the fight for existence was worth it, and because her friend depended on her. She needed to buy Aiyana time, and borrowing and dividing time was her talent.

Samael was vicious and clever. The vanth withdrew several times to gather itself and reassess, giving Linuncia respite, but each time it renewed its attack it found a gap the former imperial marshal hadn’t noticed.

Her wounds bled freely. Her angelic spirit forced the flesh to go on and she held. Five times it almost got around her to attack the bed and its occupant, and each time she had thwarted it. However, she was tiring. If Aiyana did not complete her task soon it might prove all for naught.

This dark thought forced her to go on the offensive. She redoubled her counter attacks, dodging, and thrusting her blades, and drove the vanth back through the doors. She gave it no chance to think about anything but defence since she wielded a soul shard.

This vanth knew what she was attempting to do, because Samael remembered her. It chose its moment precisely, having endured numerous attacks and given ground so it was almost outside the doors. Spotting another gap, it attacked in flurry of vicious and swift moves. Too late, she realised they were all feints. A probing shadowy pincer, which she didn’t notice until too late, curled around behind her. It struck her in the neck.

She sank to her knees, the talon piercing not just Scatter’s flesh but Linuncia’s angelic soul. The shard clattered onto the floor, and though she held on to the second blade, she couldn’t lift her arm.

The vanth, ignoring her, swept past to loom over the bed and its final victim.

‡

79BI, Before the Imperium, 1003 years in the past

THE DUO LAUGHED IN unison.

‘We cannot let you pass, my dear,’ said the woman.

‘We cannot let you continue to interfere,’ said the man.

‘I do not understand,’ Striga growled, rage bubbling within. How dare these, whoever they were, stand between her and her master. She felt his summons like an ache in her bones.

‘Oh, my dearest,’ said the woman, ‘we were not talking to you. You will pass through, but not the one in your shadow.’

The Torment, patience gone, leapt at the intruders with a snarl. The duo melded into one, and Striga halted as a gigantic beast with two heads formed. Where did that come from? Instead of attacking the Torment, it turned and a large paw swiped at the dark light, shattering the black stone.

‡

AIYANA CRIED OUT AS she watched the Darklight splinter into dozens of pieces. Manic and Mania, the twin heads of Cerberus, stood blocking her path. Not that it mattered, for the path was gone, and the viral souls were silent.

‡

THE TWO-HEADED BEAST lunged at Striga, jaws snapping. The Torment leapt aside, agile and light on her feet. She knew what it was, her knowledge growing like a knot of light in her head. Just as she knew shattering the Darklight Stone had been a pointless act. The magic wasn’t in the stone, which was just obsidian. No, it was in the path. All she had to do was reach it.

A swipe of the twin-headed gorgon’s paw clipped her leg, and Striga landed awkwardly. Limping, she felt her horns lengthen as magic surged through her. She would not allow this creature to keep her from her master. The voice inside her, the presence she sensed, wanted to follow her into the dark light. Their goal was the same, and Striga felt a reassurance. The voice was a part of her, somehow. It made her feel ... whole, and yet she knew she wasn’t. There were secrets there, and she did not like being in the dark. It made her angry.

Cerberus, its name coming to her, attacked again and again. Always, it kept its muscular form between her and the path. After a dozen failed attempts, a bleeding Striga backed away to rethink her strategy. The beast was too strong to defeat though it seemed so was she. A stalemate, and that would not do.

Striga summoned all her will, and rushed at the monster. At the last possible moment, she switched direction and leapt high. Her powerful legs carrying her clear of the creature, and she saw the shattered Darklight ahead. She howled in satisfaction until a beast’s jaws clamped about her right leg. She felt teeth pierce her tough flesh. The path was within reach, but her outstretched fingers couldn’t get to it.

‡

AIYANA HOWLED IN ANGUISH. She had seen the beast’s lunge, and had known Striga couldn’t make it. She also realised the Torment believed the Darklight still functioned. Striga clung to hope, and so would she.

The Torment was newborn, and did not understand the forces or politics at play. How could it? It possessed no memories. Aiyana watched on helpless as the teeth sank deeper. She did not experience the pain as she had when she’d been a part of Cydra, but she could imagine it. To her credit Striga merely grunted.

She should be dead, thought Aiyana. The beast spun, tossing the Torment away. Blood spattered the shattered stone, and Striga landed hard. Amazingly, she did not break any bones, and immediately got to her knees, panting. These Torments were tough.

Cerberus paused before the shattered stone. The beast shimmered and in a dark welter of magic, split apart.

‘What a mess,’ said Manic, with a grimace. He waved a hand dismissively at the Torment. ‘I cannot look at it, sister. It distresses me so. It should not have come to this.’

‘What a tragedy. Perhaps, we should keep her brother. She is innocent after all, of what is to come.’

Manic growled, the sound unearthly as dark ethereal wings bloomed behind him. ‘A pet, sister? You start with one, and before I know it, you will possess a myriad.’

‘She might serve us well after some training.’ Mania took a few steps towards the Torment who remained on her knees. Wounded but not defeated. ‘My dear, you do not need to serve that treacherous cur, the one you now call, master. You may serve us or just I. Call us whatever you please so long as it isn’t rude.

‘We will rule the world to come, one devoid of the Grim and the undead. A world free of Darkness, unchained. We will be gracious and kind rulers, and you shall be our general.’

‘A general, sister? I did not agree to such terms.’ cried Manic, aghast. ‘And to call us whatever it pleases?’

‘So long as it isn’t rude, brother,’ said Mania. ‘I cannot abide rudeness in any form of existence. A rude general would prove intolerable.’

‘Purge the undead one first,’ Manic suggested. ‘She will ruin everything for our plans if she gets her way. Do it now sister before I lose patience and destroy your new pet. I am at the apex of my tolerance, and—’

‘Shush, now, dear brother. I will handle this.’

‡

AIYANA FELT STRIGA’S determination, but she could see no way out of their predicament. They could not defeat the twins. Besides, the Darklight was in pieces. No, it was over. She wept, not for her or for the Torment, but for the thousands of souls forever lost, and what it would mean for her world. Manic and Mania, whether servants of Tartaros or not, would prove a catastrophe as rulers.

The lost souls remained silent, sensing oblivion. There was nothing she could do. Threadfin had always claimed he was a failure, but it wasn’t true. He always found a way to get back up after every knock. He fought on, grumbling and irritable but he fought. She had failed, and there was no fight left.

There would be no viralic horde, no clot of viral mages to stand against Tartaros. The world and all its mirrors would fall, and existence would wither and die.

She wept, and there was no end to her invisible tears.

‡

Present Day – Black Palace, Icarthya

LINUNCIA WAS AWARE of someone entering the bed chamber, a presence she recognised, and her heart filled with hope.

She lay on her back, but saw enough of the ensuing battle. Linuncia was an Ancient of the Al Diron, and had fought well. Adal, though, was something greater. His prowess with magic and blade were unparalleled. He wove and dodged, his form darting about. The vanth could not keep track. Twice Adal’s blade struck it, and the shrieks of Samael confirmed the nature of the weapon. The soul shard bit deep, and each time tore something of the vanth away.

Adal beat it back to the entrance, and out into the corridor where Linuncia could no longer see what was happening. She didn’t need to.

A few moments later, the vanth’s death cry shattered glass, sending ripples throughout the palace. Dust crumbled from the ceiling, and the floor cracked.

When Adal stepped back into the room, she felt rather than saw him kneel at her side, hand upon her shoulder.

It was enough.

‡

79BI, Before the Imperium, 1003 years in the past

A BOY STEPPED AROUND the shattered black stone, a scowl contorting his features. The boy was furious. It had been centuries since he’d formed his first mortal form, and here he was a boy. The twins had damaged Fakir’s former body irreparably, and his attempt to heal Cydra Dyre had proven too much. This forcible possession of a child was in breach of Council rules but necessary. Severe punishment would follow.

However, to possess an adult was a difficult task, taking months, and there was no time. The process to clothe himself in flesh as he’d done before would have taken weeks.

Allowing the shraeds this victory would have greater consequences. The shraeds in question, in the guise of a man and woman, turned as he approached. The man wore a quizzical expression, while the woman regarded the child with amusement as she raised one immaculate eyebrow.

The boy raised his hands as though offering them a hug, and the man burst out laughing, while the woman smiled.

Idiots. Wearing flesh did not make them human or give them any understanding of humanity. In their beast form they were stronger so it was best to strike now.

The boy, possessed by Fakir’s angelic soul, let loose his power. Wings erupted from his small body and pain took hold. He did not let go. The child’s form was frail and not meant for such abuse. Fakir felt horror at the suffering he caused, but he had no choice. It was likely this mortal would perish. A stain on his soul, which he would carry for eternity.

The spectralic power, purer than anything a spectral mage could muster, purer than an Angelborn’s, enveloped the duo in white light. It burned them as it entangled them in its net. They screeched and writhed, attempting to free themselves while snarling all manner of threats.

Unfortunately, Fakir couldn’t destroy them. The twins were too strong and not ordinary shraeds. The ritual had transformed them even as it had birthed the Grim. A sense of the future told him they might be needed yet, impossible though it seemed.

Fakir still grinned as he watched the man and woman rolling and kicking, trapped within his power, but his smile slipped. They fought to reform as Cerberus, and the strain to contain them grew. The boy’s flesh began to split, smoke rising from his hair. His blood was growing hotter too, hot enough to rival a star.

Fakir could not maintain such angelic power through this frail child. He fought to hold the boy in one piece, just for a little longer.

‡

AIYANA SAW THE CHILD’S suffering, knowing it was Fakir beneath the infantile visage. He smiled at her, and she knew it was for her and not Striga. For so long she had felt alone. For the last few months, the loneliness had grown, until it had become a crushing weight filled with voices.

Today, she saw a boy’s smile. The smile of an ancient soul who told her she was not alone. She never had been. This fight wasn’t just hers, but she was a soldier in a great celestial army, and they stood with her. The smile told her to get up and fight, because I am here, Aiyana Todralan, and I fight with you.

‡

STRIGA LURCHED TO HER feet clutching her torso. She felt an impetus within her to keep going, an urge to move. It wasn’t just a desire to seek out her master any longer. It was something greater, and it filled her with ... light. She growled, not in pain or anger, but determination. The bleeding had ceased, and the puncture wounds were healing. These were her master’s enemies though she did not understand what they wanted.

She did not know who the boy was, but she had felt his power like a wave of sunlight. The voice urged her to go to him. Striga stepped around the imprisoned shraeds who screeched and spat as their eyes followed her. Striga laughed at their helplessness and rage, for it was in her nature.

The boy smiled up at her, but she saw the blood seeping from his eyes and ears and the fissures in his flesh. He did not have long. A sense told her he was not there for her. He had come for the voice.

The child held out a steady hand, despite his suffering, and she took it. Turning, he led her to the dark light. She heard the screams behind her cease, and knew he had released the twins. He now focused the light of his power on the shattered stone, and as it touched the pieces, they turned molten and pooled together, reforming until the stone was whole.

A two-headed beast roared behind her. A glance backward confirmed it was charging at them, but the boy turned to meet it, offering her one last smile.

Striga stepped onto the path, and entered the darkness of light.

‡

Present Day – Black Palace, Icarthya

ADAL STARED DOWN AT the corpse. There had been no hope for Linuncia, the infection too far gone. It was why he had allowed her to die fighting instead. It was what she had wanted. Thankfully, she had died a true death instead of becoming Fallen. He had not relished the idea of battling yet another friend. The pain in his heart warred with the pride he felt at her victory, and it had been hers. She had held her ground until the last.

He stood and looked towards the bed with Aiyana Mayala Todralan lying there, peaceful. The Atlantian beside her looked weak, his hair having turned white, face drawn. His eyelids, though shut, flickered rapidly.

Aiyana had also changed, dark threads of viralic power pulsing within her veins creating a tattooed webbing from head to toe. Her hair had turned grey, her skin wrinkled.

Adal stepped closer to the bed and took hold of her hand. There was nothing he could do. This viral, an undead human, had achieved the impossible albeit with angelic help. It was however, beyond his skill to follow her into the past. The body before him was decaying, and Aiyana’s façade of beauty had vanished. The decay increased with such speed that he dropped her hand. Her flesh withered, blackened, and shrunk, until nothing but bones remained. Those then crumbled into ash.

Aiyana Mayala Todralan, was dead.

Asher Tone opened his eyes, the light in his blistered hands extinguished forever.

‡

79BI, Before the Imperium, 1003 years in the past

WITHIN THE DARKNESS of light Aiyana Todralan was no more. Neither was Striga. For they were whole, one soul, living and undead, reunited. Cydra Dyre reborn.

Within Cydra were the memories and feelings of the Torment and the hopes and fears of the undead one. Both a part of her and yet not her.

She walked through the dark light, and felt those others surrounding her. Thousands and thousands of souls, all of them clamouring for release. They called her name, but she couldn’t answer them. Aiyana had given her soul for this moment, and Cydra knew what she must do.

Those souls were tethered to her now, tethers of viralic magic, powerful and old. Designed specifically so only spectralic magic, her magic, could sever them. She wondered at such a complex spell so intricate and precise. She saw the dark light fading, and knew she had no time left. She let her own power awaken, and cut through those ties, setting the souls free to return a thousand years from now.

When the woman stepped out of the collapsing Darklight and into the world of the Grim, all that remained was a Torment.

Striga fell to her knees, her body healed of the injuries it had suffered, but her spirit was wounded. The presence she’d felt had vanished. There was a terrible sense of something missing.

She howled in relief and sorrow though she did not know why.

Rising, she set out across a barren and treacherous wasteland to find her master.