37 It Ends

IT SEEMED LIKE LUCIFER tried every trick to destroy Threadfin. The ground beneath the mage’s feet liquified. Sprouting his dragon’s ethereal wings, he managed to avoid it, but then the ground developed teeth of stone, snapping at him, and at one point nearly taking one of his legs. Threadfin destroyed those teeth in a welter of dust and dirt.

The fallen rose, missing limbs or displaying disembowelled guts, their heads at odd angles or with no heads at all. They came at him from all sides, moaning and slavering. Zombies, like those he’d read about, an extreme and rare form of undead.

At first Threadfin used his magic to drop them two or three at a time, exploding them or hurling them aside, but they became too many. Scores became hundreds. In the background the din of battle didn’t abate, perhaps a few thousand imperial soldiers remaining as the enemy advanced.

Bending low, Threadfin hunched in on himself as the zombies crowded him, and began to pull at him, their claws digging into his undead flesh. He waited, until they were so crowded about him, he could see nothing. He had let his magic build all this time, waiting as it reached a point so painful he believed it would destroy him. Then, he released it.

A rippling black wave burst outwards from his body, like an unfurling flower of dark breath. The zombies were obliterated. Rising, Threadfin was gratified to note that Lucifer was no longer smiling, although the ever-widening fractures in Astra Dar’s face might have had something to do with it.

Each time Lucifer tried something new, and each time, the undead mage found an answer, but he was running out of time. His store of life force was low. He then remembered something, and turned his focus on the ground beneath his feet.

He sent his magic probing, doing his best to replicate what he’d done once before in a forest with Grudge at his side. Snaking roots erupted from the dry desert soil, the lateral roots of the mesquite tree and the deep roots of the acacia. They entwined the corpse of Astra Dar, crushing and twisting at the mage’s command, buying him time.

Threadfin also felt the life forces of everyone on that battlefield who lived. It was a temptation, one too great to ignore. Without life he could not feed his power, and Lucifer would win. The life forces of the trees would not be sufficient for what he needed. There was no longer any hope of saving Astra. He knew that she had died some time ago, her body becoming a mere portal for Lucifer.

Despite all the destruction Tartaros had wrought on the mortal realm, the Prince of Darkness setting foot on mortal ground would herald the end of everything. There would be no defeating him. No hope. No last chances.

Knowing this truth deep in his shrivelled guts, Threadfin realised he had no choice. Thousands of breathers all around him were dying, their life forces going to waste. With a wrench of guilt, he drew on the living, and whispered to them all, ‘Uh, sorry about this.’

At first, he reached out to the injured, the badly wounded and drew on them to the point of death, but he knew it wasn’t enough. The blisters on his skin began to fill with life, pink and healthy. He needed more. He began to draw on soldiers who stood battling revenants and titans, who stood before undead dragons despite the fact they had no hope of survival. He drew on them all because it was this battle against Lucifer that mattered most.

A ferocious wind buffeted the viral as he attempted to shield himself. The gale had teeth and it ripped at everything in its path, grinding stone and peeling flesh from bone. He wove a viralic shield but his power began to falter, as the wind tore at it with an unnatural savagery.

Threadfin saw the roots imprisoning the sorceress’ corpse shrivel, blacken, and die. They fell away, turning to dust within the tempest.

Then the wind dropped, and Lucifer through the dead lips of Astra, laughed. ‘I am delighted you still stand, undead one. Finally, an adversary who can stand toe to toe with me. It’s almost a shame to have to destroy you, but I cannot let you interfere any longer.’

This time, four funnels appeared, spinning black whirlwinds churning the ground. Broken bodies and debris were sucked up into the vortices as they closed in on Threadfin’s position. Immediately, the mage saw the problem; he could not shield himself from all four directions, head to toe. The shields he wove just didn’t work that way. The swirling winds would clash together with him at their centre, obliterating all defence and him along with it.

The urge to turn into his dragon form was formidable, but he could not risk losing himself to the Watcher a second time. Lucifer would then have control over him. He knew the dragon part of himself served Tartaros; it would betray him given the chance.

The cracks and fissures in Astra’s body leaked a billowing black fog. Within the light he saw a shadowy figure and knew it was the prince.

The portal was opening.

There was almost nothing left of Astra at this point. Lucifer was on the threshold, and it would not be long before he stepped through. Threadfin did the only thing he could, and attacked.

The Shathra Stone flared into life, and Threadfin’s assault was thwarted. He drew on the last of the living he could sense, knowing he had murdered hundreds of breathers whom he was supposed to defend.

Perhaps it is fitting after all that I meet this end, he thought. I too am a servant of Tartaros, for my power is its essence, but his mind was his own, and he chose not to give up. He had failed to stop Lucifer and he had failed humankind, but he would die on his feet facing the enemy with all the composure and dignity he could muster. He owed them all that much.

The shadow within the light grew larger as it began to emerge from Astra’s corpse. The fissures of light had widened to such a degree that nothing of the former sorceress but a single arm holding the staff could be seen.

Then hundreds of shraeds issued from the portal. Like a murder of crows, they flapped their wings, shrieking their cries as they darkened the sky. A vanguard for their master.

As the whirlwinds closed on him, Threadfin attempted to shield himself from their corrosive bite. He felt the pressure growing until his skin peeled from his flesh. His shield began to fail. The dark vortices drew closer together with him at their core, and then the flesh began to rip from his bones.

He stood, withstanding the ravenous gales, the dark wind of his power whipping about him in a vortex of its own, but he knew it was pointless. There had never been a real chance he could face Lucifer and survive. It had always been folly.

He managed to remain upright, despite feeling the flesh tear from his legs and torso, though his head was bent beneath the punishing gales.

Maybe full death won’t be so bad, after all, he thought. I’m coming Lorn, Aiy, and Pod, my dear old friend. It would be nice to see them all again.

Threadfin Todder then raised his head to see Lucifer, the Prince of Darkness, step into the world of mortals with a smile.

‡

Myral knew the battle was going badly. She saw the piles of dead, and the utter destruction levelled at humanity.

It was too much for one woman, one former imperial spy and priestess, to do anything to influence the course of events.

It was then she felt him.

Lycus.

He touched her mind and she perked up, scanning about for sign of him. She knew he wasn’t far off. He had followed her. Her one loyal vampire.

Then he was at her side, appearing from nowhere, his claw touching her hand. So intimate, though, it was more like a child reassuring a parent. She smiled at him, despite the mayhem and death around her. A trio of the other vampires must have spotted them, and they rushed towards Lycus. Likely he had remained invisible to avoid detection. It seemed the others had lost this ability since Lucifer had seized control of them.

Myral knew both she and Lycus would not survive. Her last remaining child placed himself between Myral and the others. He growled a challenge.

Lycus then leapt to meet them, and they clashed in midair, snarls and growls and slashing claws, wrestling until they hit the ground, two-on-one. One of them tried to get past him to reach Myral, but Lycus moved with tremendous speed to cut it off. However, the other two spotted their opening, and they were upon him in seconds.

The third one, now free, came for Myral. She raised her arms to defend herself, though she knew it was useless. It grabbed her by the throat lifting her off her feet, snarling in her face. Eyes missing, and with an elongated head, it didn’t look like one of her vampires. Still, something in its face remained familiar. Then she knew; it was a female vampire named, Lavet.

It flung her aside and Myral landed hard, rolling to a stop, before the creature was on her again, throttling her, but taking its time. It could have snapped her neck, but instead, it seemed to get a perverse pleasure out of hurting her. She knew this was Lucifer’s influence, revelling in suffering as well as death.

As she died, Myral didn’t recall her whole life as she’d heard people were supposed to. Instead, she simply remembered a little bird. She had reached down inside of herself as Seth had throttled her, and found her power waiting. She had escaped, entering the mind of that little bird.

As Myral’s life fled her body, her mind going dark, she reached for that power almost as a reflex. It was a final desperate effort, but she felt herself ... shift. A nothingness consumed her, twisting her soul, reshaping it. There was an intenseness to it as though it wasn’t just her own power at work, but something greater.

When she opened her eyes, she looked down at her face. Removing her claws, Myral rose, staring at her new body, and then back at the woman’s corpse at her feet. She had switched herself with Lavet. The vampire’s soul had entered her human body, but the body was dead and the soul now lost.

I’m so sorry, Lavet, she thought. She could see, despite the fact that Lavet had been missing eyes. She reached up and touched her new face. Whatever the sorceress had done to the vampires, Myral had managed to reverse, in this body at least.

And that gave her hope.

Seeing Lycus losing his battle, one arm hanging limp as the other two closed in for the kill, Myral leapt to his defence.

She snarled and spat and growled, gripping one of the other vampires from behind, and with a force she’d never known possible, twisted its head around with a sharp snap. The other one appeared confused, but she didn’t give it a chance to recover. Her legs giving her a powerful leap, she collided with it. It landed in the dirt, and she began to pummel it with blow after blow, before she sank her teeth into its leathery neck. There was no finesse when vampires killed. It was brutal efficiency.

She spat out lumps of undead flesh and rose. She had near decapitated the creature, and it lay unmoving. Lycus stood staring at her, and she smiled at him. No doubt, it was a hideous sight to see a vampire smile, but Lycus offered her a nod. Of them all, he was the only one she’d managed a true connection with. She heard him now in her mind, and though she felt confusion from him, she also felt acceptance. He didn’t understand, but he trusted her.

She turned and surveyed the rest of the battle. The angelic ranks were decimated, falling back. The humans were overrun, with those still alive trying to flee, and the imperial mage Threadfin Todder was lost within a storm.

Reaching inside of herself, she found her power still with her, and something else. She could feel the other vampires, though it was hazy as though concealed from her. She strained, reaching out her mind to each one of them. At first, they resisted, but slowly, they began to respond.

They retreated from the battle, gathering to her. Their forms also reverted to the way they were supposed to look, the sorceress’ hold on them broken. Maybe the sorceress was too distracted by her own battle, or rather, Lucifer was. Perhaps, he didn’t need them anymore, and that idea chilled her.

No, it doesn’t matter, she thought. They’re mine again, and this time I’m not letting them go. She now knew who she was, who she’d always been deep down. A vampire queen, but not one ruled by the Darkness. No, she would forge her own path in this world.

Myral ordered her vampires to attack, this time fighting on the right side. They obeyed without question or hesitation and Myral joined their number, revelling in the prospect of battle.

They surged across the battlefield, a snarling tide washing up against the shraeds who wheeled in surprise and disarray. The angels, under the command of Adal, wasted no time in rallying, marching forward with spears and swords of light. The shraeds, caught in between, had nowhere to flee.

Myral delighted in her new form, feeling a primal urge to hunt and kill. It fulfilled her as she grabbed a shraed ignoring its talons and ethereal wings. She ripped into it with her teeth, and tasted its bitter black blood, a taste of dark death. Tossing the remains aside, she whirled and spotted the sorceress again.

With a silent command, she sent half her horde towards the sorceress, and the prince of Darkness who was stepping out of her. The sorceress looked dead, and Lucifer was trying to cross over. She knew he had to be stopped.

Then Myral resumed her attack, grabbing another shraed. She shrieked in delight.

Finally, she had found herself, and it was wonderful.

‡

How is it I’m still alive, Asher Tone wondered. He should have been killed twice over, but there he was creeping through bodies, unnoticed. Covered in blood and ooze and dust. Getting closer and closer. Adal, you sneaky bastard, he thought. I know it’s you, making sure I do what I came to do. Keeping me alive. Well, I never asked for a guardian angel, but you’d better have a plan for getting me out of this mess. He felt a little less hopeful about the latter bit.

He was close, and he saw the sorceress clearly, standing there like some frozen statue, light mixed with a foul ether leaking from her body, shraeds streaming out of her ... and something else. Another figure was clambering out of the portal, in slow motion as though it moved through a different time, and he realised in shock that this had to be the prince of Darkness.

Lucifer.

The dark prince stood clear of the portal, and the world groaned. Fissures erupted, as earthquakes struck, throwing people and creatures alike to the ground. Asher hugged the ground, praying to the angels, to Adal, it would end soon. The sky above turned dark as night replacing day in an instant, and somehow, Asher knew it would be an eternal night.

Ghostly figures appeared, some rushing in slow motion, others stood still and staring. Many were human, others Nephilim, and some were creatures he couldn’t identify. The fabric of reality between life and death had thinned, and the dead watched on, helpless.

Then, from out of nowhere, creatures fell upon the Prince of Darkness. Elongated, double-joined limbs, they had talons and moved in a predatory fashion. He realised they were vampires.

They slashed and tore at the figure of Lucifer. Dozens of the undead virals shrieked as they were consumed by a dark power, but they proved relentless, and the Atlantian realised they were buying time.

The portal was beginning to shut, the light lessening, and a screech erupted from the prince. A wash of black flame consumed the vampires, their corpses falling like dead flies, littering the ground at the foot of the portal, though he spotted a few dozen escape.

Something was pulling Lucifer back inside, but he had gripped hold of the portal’s edges, or what had once been Astra Dar’s body. Something or someone was trying to prevent his escape, and Asher suspected it was coming from the other side. He didn’t understand it, but for the first time, he began to hope.

Threadfin Todder, little remaining of him that was recognisable, had been bent almost double, weathering Lucifer’s onslaught. Now he straightened, more skeleton than undead mage, though part of his face and some of his torso remained. In one hand a dark glowing sphere formed and he sent vicious concussive blows into the portal, hammering the dark prince, whose piercing cries grew louder. The viral mage kept up the attacks, though it was clear he would not last long; he stumbled and tottered as he fought, moments from collapsing.

Lucifer fought back—the portal had not fully shut, and the creature roared its rage as it struggled to force it open, while withstanding Threadfin’s assault. Some force within Astra Dar’s body, perhaps one of the soul fragments, was trying to prevent his release. It was the best guess Asher had.

A pulse of energy, ripped from the portal, heaving corpses and debris before it, slammed into Threadfin Todder. The mage stumbled and fell, but managed to clamber back to his feet, resuming his attacks. There was little left of the mage, one arm now missing.

Asher glanced down at his belt, and saw smoke emitting from it along with a reddish glow. The ameliorate appeared to be heating up, so he ripped off part of his sleeve. With fumbling fingers, he opened the pouch and drew out the device. It was indeed hot, and he used his ripped sleeve to protect his hands. It had never done this before.

The otherworldly portal of light was almost shut, but two hands remained outside, gripping its edges. The viral mage advanced, flinging attack after attack. Asher winced at each blow, fearing the mage might miss and hit him by mistake, but he held his ground.

The ameliorate device glowed brighter and Asher did not know how or why, because it had refused to cooperate before. Not knowing exactly what he was about to do, but trusting in his instincts, in his being there in that moment, he focused his spectralic magic and touched the stone at its heart. Atlantians could not use magic without a device to harness it, and so never considered themselves mages, but he realised that was exactly what he was. A spectral mage.

In that moment, Asher felt he was something more than a mere prince. The power he felt entering the ameliorate was far greater than anything he had expended before.

‡

The pain had lessened. Threadfin Todder didn’t know how he remained upright. Maybe it was sheer will, or perhaps it was the viralic magic coursing through him, which refused to let him fall.

He could not destroy Lucifer, but he could prevent him from crossing. Something, a power Threadfin didn’t understand, was pulling on the Prince of Darkness, but it wasn’t powerful enough, and so Threadfin hit Lucifer with all he had to try and send him back. In turn, Lucifer tried to destroy him, but then, he’d been a trying a while now. This viral mage was quite proud, if anyone was asking. No one was, of course.

It should have come as a shock, when two figures appeared on either side of the half-shut portal. Manic and Mania smiled at him; well, Manic’s smile was more of a scowl. Then the forms of both transformed. They became more shraed-like, bilious and ethereal with vast wings. They had talons instead of hands, and both stabbed Lucifer, withdrawing their weapons along with a gushing dark substance. Lucifer shrieked in his death throes, and the duo stabbed again, and again, and again.

‡

Creed loomed over the imperatrix. For such a diminutive woman, she cast a large shadow. Behind her, the revenants, nightmares, and other strange creatures, had entered through the breaches in the palace walls. Battles continued, but bit by bit, the defenders were forced back. Only for the Torments, it would likely have been over long ago.

The book was open, casting a lurid glow on the old woman’s face. ‘Finally, we return to where we were,’ she said, her voice raspy and unnatural. ‘You tried to escape me, but there is no escaping justice.’

‘Why?’ demanded Sarscha, before descending into a fit of coughing. She wanted to delay Creed, to delay the inevitable. She'd always believed she would die with sword in hand, but she’d never envisaged it like this. Then she thought of the soul shard. It wasn’t in her hand, but it might not be far away. Slowly, she began to stretch her fingers outward, hoping to find it. ‘Why, why do you hate me?’

Creed cocked her head, as though thinking. ‘Hate? No, this isn’t about hate. I neither hate nor love you, Sarscha Todralan. You are an obstacle to my rule. You see, the imperium is mine now. You are simply in my way.’

Then she knelt beside Sarscha and began chanting, raising her dagger. The blade gleamed dully in the light of flames. ‘Also, I need your soul for the Book.’

Something happened then, which neither of them expected.

A dark dragon fell crashing into the ground nearby, its form instantly reverting to the size of a human. The impact showered Creed and Sarscha in soil and dust. A bewildered looking viral mage staggered to her feet. Tezcat Licolo looked the worse for wear, but she also looked furious. Another dragon fell, and then another. Something was changing.

Then, the Book of Chains caught alight. Dropping the dagger, which clattered to the cobblestones beside Sarscha, Creed staggered back, staring at the flaming tome in her hands. She shrieked as her robes caught fire and she tossed the book aside, but it was too late. Whatever fuelled those flames, it wasn’t natural.

Sarscha managed to get to her knees, groaning with the effort, and Tezcat rushed to her side, helping her back to her feet. Whatever happened to the virals had been reversed.

And more than that.

Nodding to Tezcat with a glance for the discarded dagger, the viral retrieved it. Sarscha gripped the weapon and limped towards the former paladin.

The woman was attempting to disrobe, tearing at her undergarments to escape the flames, shrieking as her skin burned. Sarscha wasn’t about to let the flames have this one. This enemy she claimed for herself.

With as much force as she could muster with her good arm, she stabbed the dagger into Creed’s bared breast.

The old woman stared back at her, perplexed, blood beginning to dribble from the corner of her mouth. Her eyes glazed, and she collapsed.

Looking about her, Sarscha realised the battle had ended. The revenants had fallen apart, the nightmares disintegrating.

There was only one explanation. She glanced at Tezcat who just gave her the widest grin ever, and despite her pain and loss, Sarscha couldn’t help smiling back.

Threadfin had done it.

‡

The two shraed-like figures on either side of the portal, vanished in a billowing black fog as night turned to day, and the world quieted. Threadfin Todder had collapsed and was unmoving.

When the portal had shut, one of Lucifer’s hands still clutched its edge, and four fingers were severed. The sorceress, Astra Dar, had fallen of course, with little remaining of her corpse. Oddly, her staff remained upright. The ameliorate in Asher’s hands blazed with light, and the Shathra Stone atop the staff, blazed in turn.

My device never worked before, he realised, because it needed to be near the Shathra Stone. He’d never created it with that purpose in mind, and he now wondered how much of its creation had been his?

The Shathra Stone then exploded as did the ameliorate, and Asher was thrown backwards by the blast.