The room looked similar to the Sanctum they’d just been in, but there were no monsters, no ocean, and no one but him. Only a soft dripping sound coming from the other side of the room. Following it, Whitney found that the archway now dripped crimson—blood hitting the ground and going nowhere as if vanishing. The altar upon which the upyr named Vikas had been praying was now just a tall pile of bones.
“Hello?” Whitney called, his voice trembling almost as much as his knees.
His voice called back, but there was no Sora.
He chanced a few steps, and then a few more. After a minute of walking, he entered through an oppressively dark tunnel, again, not unlike the one they’d used to enter the Sanctum.
Am I going back to the Citadel?
Lichen grew, mold festered, and soon, the darkness closed in around him like death itself. He was shaking, breathing heavy, sweating.
“Hello!” He screamed the word, but it was immediately swallowed up as if he’d shouted into a thick blanket.
Hands outstretched, feeling for the walls, he pressed on, not knowing what else to do. His heart was pounding at a rapid pace, mouth dry.
“Sora,” he whispered. “Is this the exile you’ve been in?”
The wall met his fingertips, and he jumped back when he touched something soft and squishy. His back hit the wall behind him, where something popped. The sound of a thousand little feet berated him. He thought he felt chills running up his spine until he realized…
If he could see, he knew he’d have seen hundreds of translucent little spiders crawling all over the walls and now, all over him. Swatting and yelling, he felt them in his hair, on his skin, in his mouth. He gagged, spit, nearly vomited, but they kept coming. Deciding to run, he took off as fast as he could while still being careful not to slam into the walls.
Whitney brushed frantically, feeling their little pointy legs. There was some light now, and although he felt them, he saw nothing.
“Gods and yigging monsters,” he swore. “Sora!”
And then, the ground fell out beneath him, and he plummeted.
He didn’t know if he could die in this place, but he was sure he was about to find out. His arms and legs spasmed through the air as he twisted, trying in silent desperation to face the direction in which he plunged. Then, just as he managed to do it, he felt the ground, and all sense of direction escaped him.
The ground was wet… or was that blood?
The ground was cold… or was that death?
The ground… was water, and he was sinking.
He swam, but then stopped, worried he might be taking himself even deeper. Floating there, eyes open and seeing only darkness, he heard a high, shrill cry. His heart threatened to leave his chest altogether, battling with vomit for the position at the back of his throat. He had to breathe but couldn’t. He needed air…
Something slippery brushed against his hand. Whitney yanked it back, but then something bumped his leg. He kicked and pumped his arms, but it didn’t feel like he was moving at all. Then, any air stored in his lungs was forced out as that same something constricted around his midsection. He still couldn’t see, but he felt the water pulling at him as whatever held on propelled him forward.
Bubbles tickled his nose as they slipped past his lips. He was lightheaded, and he thought, screaming. Then, he experienced euphoria as oxygen entered his lungs, and his ears popped, but he was underwater again just as quickly. He was too disoriented to even consider the implications, trying with strained effort to not drown—which only made drowning all the more likely.
His eyes met two bright globes like the one Kazimir was holding, only much larger. He thought maybe his salvation had arrived, but hope fled his heart when the orbs blinked.
Crippling fear pierced Whitney’s heart at the sight of the wianu. He’d faced them before—twice—but never had he been at one’s mercy like this.
Together, Whitney and the wianu broke the surface. Whitney gasped, slapping at the tentacle that wrapped him. It was no use. Teeth like longswords protruded from bloody gums, strings of sticky saliva stretching between them. He was close—so close to experiencing precisely what they’d planned to do to Nesilia; to being devoured by the otherworldly beast which he now knew to be a cursed god turned into a god-killing weapon.
Whitney kicked it, which was akin to kicking a brick wall, and whip-fast, he was in the air again, thrust from the thing’s grasp. He heaved even as he landed on the sand, having been hurled all the way to the coast. Salty water filled his lungs, making him wheeze and cough until a bucket of water came out and drenched the sand. As soon as he could, he spun around and crab-walked from the shore, unwilling to be caught up in the wianu’s tentacles again.
“Help!” a woman’s voice said from still a great distance. “Someone help!”
“Sora!” Whitney shouted back, scrabbling to his feet, kicking and clawing sand. He couldn’t hear the voice clearly, but he hoped against hope it was her.
He ran toward the sound. His legs, however, wouldn’t keep up with his heart. He slipped a few times before finally regaining his footing. It was still dark, but soon, he could feel that the sand had given way to the undergrowth of forested area. Tall trees with trunks thick as a giant’s torso rose all around him, pine needles prickling against his face. He tripped on a knot of roots and landed in mud.
Swearing, he rose and pressed on.
Whispers bounced back and forth from every direction. Yellow eyes glinted from the bushes, reminding Whitney of the satyrs in the Webbed Woods. Red blisters that he recalled to be spider-egg sacs dotted the bark in all directions. Those same little specks undulated in the canopy above—human eyeballs hanging from silken string. Beyond that, he couldn’t even see the sky.
“Help!” the woman shrieked.
“Sora, I’m coming!”
From the bushes, spindly appendages swiped out at Whitney as he ran, cutting him deeply across the neck and chest. He swatted at them, and kept on, the forest growing denser with webbing until at last, the tree line broke.
Whitney skidded to a stop. He tried to whisper Sora’s name, but his mouth felt as if it were filled with cotton. But she was there, tied to a post—no, not tied—wrapped by silky webs, not ten meters away. She thrashed violently, but she was secure.
“Whitney!” she yelled.
“Yigging Exile, Sora!” Whitney shouted as he began toward her.
“No! Don’t come any closer!”
He tried to listen, knowing she probably had good reason to warn him, but his feet just kept going, unable to stand another second apart from her.
“Please, stop,” she pled. “Please.”
“Fear is such a funny thing, isn’t it?” the voice came, sweet as venom-laced honey.
Whitney knew who it belonged to by now, and knew that everything she said would be a lie.
“It’s over, Nesilia,” he said. “You’ve lost.”
Whitney moved closer.
“Stop! Whitney, stop!” Sora shouted through tears.
“What is it?” he said.
“Don’t you see her?” Sora asked.
“Who? Nesilia?” Whitney looked around. “There’s only you and me here.”
“Bliss!” Sora shouted.
Whitney spun a tight circle. He reached for his daggers but found that here, he didn’t have them. “Where?”
“Right in front of you,” Sora said. “She’s right in front of you.”
“Sora, none of this is real. She’s not really there.” Whitney kept moving toward Sora but kept his hands raised and ready for a fight just in case.
A moment later, he was upon her, tearing at the webbing. It was sticky, and as he removed it, it clung to him just as it had in Bliss’ lair when he was wrapped up like a finger treat.
“We’ll get you out of there,” he said as he furiously worked at unwrapping.
Glancing up at her, he saw the overwhelming sadness in her eyes.
“It’s no use, Whit,” she wept. “It’s no use. I�
�m—she’s… She’s me now. I’m her. I…”
“Shhhhh. Shhh. Shhh. Shhh. It’s going to be okay. We have a plan.”
“Ohhh, I do love plans,” Nesilia purred. “Was revealing this unholy Sanctum to me one of them? My creations will help me retake the world that should be mine!”
“Shut up!" Whitney shouted.
Sora fell free and landed, boneless in Whitney’s arms.
“I’m too weak,” she said. “I can’t go on.”
“You’ve got to try,” Whitney said, lowering her to her own feet. He held her there long enough for her to find her legs, staring straight into her eyes and never breaking contact. They took a few steps, cautious at first, but then she began to gain confidence.
“Can you?” Whitney said.
“I-I think so,” she said, then stumbled. “Whitney, there’s so much I want to—"
“Whitney caught her and brought her up again. “Tell me after we’re out of here. C’mon, we’ll take it slow.”
“Slow isn’t going to work for me,” Nesilia said.
The world around them shook, and the rocks above them fell, landing with deadly force.
“We’ve got to move,” Whitney said. “Let’s go!”
He led her, one hand at her hip, the other keeping her arm tight over his shoulder. Through the trees, spiders crawling up and down the trunks reached out for them. Out of the corner of his eye, Whitney saw something to their right—a large silhouette running alongside them. When he turned his head, it was gone. When he turned his head back, they nearly collided with Bliss herself.
The Spider Queen Goddess was taller than he remembered—nearly twice his height. She wore her carapace like a gown and horn-like growths like a crown. Those dazzling purple eyes drove steel through him, pinning Whitney. She was gorgeous, and she was deadly.
“You’re dead,” Whitney said, but he didn’t sound sure. “I—we killed you.”
“You cannot kill… a goddess!” she shouted and launched herself with powerful back legs.
Sora yanked Whitney down beneath the attack, and they kept moving. He could feel her, hot on their heels. The trees snapped, careening to the earth, kicking up dirt. The many egg sacs burst, and the baby spiders carpeted the forest. Bliss hissed and drove a sharp claw into the soil beside them.
Sora yelped in fright.
“It’s okay,” Whitney said. “She can’t hurt us—”
Something slammed into them… and it hurt, badly.
Whitney swore as he slid across the forest floor, feeling every bump of the root systems against his already throbbing ribs. He smashed into a tree and reached out to stop Sora from sliding too far from him.
He kept telling himself that none of this was real, but it felt real. It hurt. He hurt. Sora was crying, and he felt his own tears tickling his cheeks. But he bit back, determined to fight his way out. He reached for daggers that weren’t there as Bliss edged toward them, each of her eight legs rising and falling in hypnotic sequence. Beyond and above, her children descended on silk, twisting until they landed and skittered to stand beside their mother and queen.
“I’ve waited a long time for this,” she said. One of her legs stroked Whitney’s cheek, little prickling hairs scratching him and even drawing blood.
“You’re not real!” Whitney shouted as if saying it would make it true.
“I’m more real than you’ve ever been. I am eternal. I am—”
“Leave him alone!” Sora screamed.
The earth quaked again and more trees toppled. Fear passed over Bliss’ face for an instant, but it only took that long before a chasm in the earth opened and consumed her and her minions.
Whitney grabbed Sora and rose, pounding dirt as they ran from the ever-growing fissure. Boulders hurtled down, creating craters everywhere they landed. The quaking intensified, tossing them around like dice in a cup. Sora fell to her knees.
“I can’t go anymore…” she panted.
Whitney grabbed her around the waist, but she wouldn’t budge. “You’ve gotta run. Sora, you’ve got to—”
“I can’t…”
Whitney looked down at her, then at the world breaking apart behind them. Such a delicate poem being composed all around them—the story of their life. Together, just to be torn apart once more by insane, supernatural causes; by the affairs of angry gods and demons.
He knew this could be his last chance to say it. To make sure she knew—really knew—how he felt before there was no more time.
“I’ve always said I knew how I’d die… and this is it. Right here with you. Sure, I wished it would have been more peaceful…” They both laughed. “But Sora, you’re all that matters. You’re everything, and I love you.”
She looked up at him, and him down at her.
“I know,” she said. “So do—"
He couldn’t even wait for her to finish before he kissed her. Deeply. Passionately.
His head swirled, darkness enveloped them, and the world went black.
XXXIV
The Immortal
Goblin and grimaur bodies littered the landscape, though their numbers only seemed to swell with every passing minute. Nesilia had bated him, used a threat to draw him here. The protective enchantments of the Citadel were strong, but here in the Sanctum, it was almost a realm between, shielded by the Sanguine Lords’ ancient power. It was supposed to be impossible to find for those who hadn’t been there, even if they’d found the Citadel, it’d stay hidden.
Something had failed.
That something came in the form of the Lightmancer, Lucindur, who had felt Nesilia’s mind, and vice versa. She’d led her right to the heart of their order, but it was Kazimir's fault.
“Still only beasts of the mountains,” Teryngal mocked, slashing a grimaur in two. “We can clean them out in minutes. This is what you were worried about?”
Sigrid was behind him, firing her crossbow while Aquira battled grimaurs in the air.
The ground groaned, and sizable chunks of the mountain broke free and slid, kicking up puffs of dust and rock debris, killing so many of the goblins along with it. At this rate, the whole of the mountain would soon cave in on them.
“Have you always been such a fool, Teryngal?” Kazimir asked.
He rushed to Sigrid and had to yank her by her shoulder, to get her attention away from fighting. She snarled at him before realizing who it was.
“Sigrid, don’t let anyone touch them!” Kazimir shouted, pointing to Whitney and the Lightmancer who were now wholly absent this world, their eyes rolled back to reveal only white as Lucindur’s fingers absent-mindedly plucked her magical instrument. The dwarf stood guard on one side of them, and Sigrid joined him on the other.
Kazimir knew they’d need time.
“Yes, Master.”
Now that the feral beasts had cleared the breach, new shadows marched forth through the swirling haze. The first to emerge were Drav Cra warriors in their furs and painted skin, a horde of muscle-bound warriors with axes and spears, led by towering chieftains. They were followed by a warlock, a female with the top half of her face painted completely black, and the bottom, red down to the curvature of her neck.
Packs of dire wolves moved in after her, bearing razor-sharp fangs, long as daggers, each of them standing as tall as Kazimir’s chest. More goblins and grimaurs flooded in with them as well.
Kazimir’s Dom Nohzi brothers and sisters had repelled the first tide of creatures and sent them scampering back to gain reinforcements.
“Where did they come from?” Teryngal asked. The tremor in his voice finally matching the gravity of the situation.
“From within the earth,” Kazimir said, “which she’s learned so well over eternity.”
“What do we do?” Zlata asked.
“They’ve come to the wrong place,” spoke Skryabin. “We’ll slaughter them, and feast for a year.”
With that, the other Imperios charged to battle. Kazimir stayed behind as a mass of goblins, emboldened by the
reinforcements, rumbled toward him and the Lightmancing ceremony behind him.
Goblins were hideous creatures, with their reptilian skin, yellow eyes, and long, protruding lizard-like mouths. They wore jagged bone masks, showing no preference for any particular animal or creature. Sharp teeth, which would have drawn their own blood if their skin wasn’t strong as hardened steel, overlapped black lips. Even so, it wouldn’t stop Kazimir’s blades—a fact proven by the sound of one slicing through flesh has he rent a goblin across the neck. It dropped at his feet, and he used it as a step to vault him toward the next. Landing in a roll, Kazimir came up slashing. Blood gushed out onto his arm as it sputtered from a goblin throat.
The female warlock shouted in Drav Crava. Her voice carried across the Sanctum, the sheer power of it sending a few grimaur soaring. Then, she drew a serrated dagger and sliced her palm. The warriors hollered in glee, watching as fire wreathed its way up the warlock’s arms.
The woman stared straight at Kazimir, grinning as if challenging him to leave the Lightmancer exposed. The hate in her eyes was palpable. He’d once felt hunger like that, capable of destroying everything in its path, but the centuries had tempered Kazimir’s passions.
He heard a war cry and turned in time to see one of the reptilian pests careening toward him. Kazimir fell backward into a reverse summersault, and kicked out with one foot, catching the goblin in the chest.
Then, he pivoted and shot two daggers from his spring-loaded wrist bracers. One sliced the thing at the ear, and the other was a direct hit. The blade exploded through its eye, sending black and yellow ichor spraying out the back of its head, and it fell dead a foot away.
Across the plateau, Sigrid and Tum Tum guarded Whitney and the Lightmancer as she played her preternatural tune. Light motes floated all around them, and a line of blood leaked from one of the Lightmancer’s nostrils.
Kazimir had to hope the thief was finding success—and soon, or there might be nothing left to return to. Beside them, Aquira was doing a fine job dispatching any enemy that appeared to even think about touching Whitney. Fire streamed from its maw with an intensity beyond the wyvern’s meager size. But it cut through ranks of goblins just fine.
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