He scowled, trying to fill the gaping hole in his memory. He dimly remembered slaughtering demons by the dozens on the Ashen Plains. Tarni had faded away into memory ever since the last time he had seen her in the Abyss, to his sorrow. He had been completely under Heartsbane’s influence when he felled the dreelahrnu, only to receive a grievous wound. Fortunately, his friends had helped him off the field, and Idrimel had healed his wounds.
And after that? He remembered rejoining the battle. The horde had eventually broken through the lines, destroying the city gates. Hazy recollections returned, of battling drolnac in the Funnel and later in the square inside the gates.
Butchered corpses and body parts were strewn around the square. Soldiers were running around in a panic. Shouts and the ring of steel sounded from within the city and without.
Waresh felt truly clearheaded with the axe in hand for the first time in a long while.
But what happened to Heartsbane—how did it become broken?
Puzzled, he tried to recall the last missing piece. The red haze had parted for a moment, and standing before him was a woman of ethereal beauty—porcelain skin, flowing ebony hair, and rust-colored eyes glowing fiercely like stoked embers. Nera stood before him in her true form.
“You are no longer yourself, my friend, nor have you been for quite some time,” she said gently, pity in her eyes. “Despite our prior disagreement, you’ve been a staunch fighter for our cause. I would see you have your will restored, and with it your dignity.” Even as she spoke, he could feel her probing his mind, much less subtly or skillfully than Endira ever had, but the result was the same. She witnessed his inner self crying out to be free of the strangling grip of Heartsbane.
“Release your grasp on his mind.” Her voice was as hard as Abyssal iron.
The sentient axe resisted her command, crushing his mind more tightly until his vision dimmed and he nearly fell to his knees.
Nera laid her hand upon Heartsbane. “I unmake you, cursed weapon. Be no more.”
The axe shuddered in his hand as if recoiling from her power. It turned blazing hot for a moment then subsided. He felt as if a piece of himself was torn away as its grip on his mind was broken.
Nera’s fingers touched his temples, cool against his feverish state. “Waresh, you are free. But you must want to be. Break the fetters that hold you trapped in your own mind, in your own hatred and self-loathing. Your will is your own now—go and do what you will as a free man for the first time in long years.”
And Nera had disappeared as suddenly as she had first appeared.
He supposed he had wandered in confusion after that as Heartsbane’s magic ebbed, his mind clinging desperately to what remained of the axe’s power, not much different from a civet addict in withdrawal.
Waresh shook off the thoughts and tried to focus on the hellish scene around him. During his reverie, his feet had carried him farther into the city, as if already knowing where his path would lead. He recognized the sign of the Laughing Lunatic Zombie off to his left, the door blockaded and windows boarded against the chaos.
Nexus was burning, a good portion of the city on fire. Shadowy forms that seemed all claws and teeth streaked through the smoke and darkness, slaughtering any citizens unfortunate or simply foolish enough to not have taken shelter.
Waresh continued onward, deeper into the city. These bastards must’ve found another way in—teleported or came over the walls or something.
The smoke roiled, and a dark shape resolved itself a few paces away, lunging out of the shattered door of a home. Wails of anguish from inside the home were drowned out by the shrill cries of pain from what Waresh realized was a small child dangling from the maw of a laksaar. Shocked into action by the sight, he planted Heartsbane in the center of its reptilian head. The demon dropped like a millstone, its legs splayed out at awkward angles. Gripping the beast’s jaws, he gave a grunt and forced them apart to free the trapped child, who he saw was a young gnome. The child’s leg was savaged, with deep gashes in the thigh and calf.
Waresh looked around, unsure of what to do or where he could find aid for the child. The mother and father crept tentatively out of the home. Seeing there was no more immediate danger, they rushed over and huddled over their child, the mother wailing.
“He’ll be needing bandaging up,” Waresh said, unsure of what else could be done. “Should be fine, I reckon, long as he doesn’t lose more blood. Ye’d best get back inside, try to block the doorway.”
The father nodded and blurted out words of thanks.
Waresh nodded and turned away, watching out of the corner of his eye as they carried their child back inside. He cursed in frustration. No matter how many he slew, there were thousands more, perhaps tens of thousands.
“We need to find a way to end this,” he told himself. “By closing those thrice-damned portals. Swinging me axe against the horde all day won’t win the battle. Where can I be of most aid?”
His thoughts turned to Nera again. She had repaid his earlier betrayal with compassion, freeing him from Heartsbane’s clutches.
She called me her friend. The last true friends I had… I let them die—even killed them meself. I reckon it’s time I tried to start paying back some debts.
He looked toward the fortress, obscured in the distance by smoke, instinctively knowing that was where his path must end. His feet had already started him in the right direction, and that was where he would go despite his numerous wounds, which he was feeling more and more as Heartsbane’s magic faded.
***
Flurbinger Flent watched through the grate at the end of an access tunnel as Nexus burned down around him. The stale air was acrid with smoke and irritated his lungs. This truly was the end now that the Abyssal portals had opened—there was no way of closing them with the Machine inoperative.
“It’s been an honor working beside you, old friend,” Dontarius said solemnly, clapping Flurbinger on the shoulder.
“The same,” he grunted in reply.
Snarls and howls reached their ears, echoing through the tunnels. Fiends had made their way inside his sanctuary. Surprisingly, Flurbinger felt no fear. He didn’t even consider unlocking the gate and fleeing outside. He wouldn’t abandon his companions or his beloved Machine. He decided to fall where he’d lived—under the streets of Nexus. He’d be damned if he’d die on the blasted surface. He knew without asking that Dontarius felt the same.
The old dwarf drew the hammer he carried on his belt, and Flurbinger held up a large wrench. This will be the end, then. Now that the Machine has stopped and Nexus is overrun, my time is done. I’ll stand beside my friend and die with honor.
The terrifying howls of the fiends grew louder as they raced closer. The metal grate dug into Flurbinger’s back. His arm trembled as he hefted the wrench. Dontarius’s face was pale, but he was a sturdy presence beside him, steadying Flurbinger’s resolve.
Large hulking shadows came around the curve of the tunnel, blotting out the torchlight save for their glowing red eyes. Five huge hounds stalked toward them. One of them raised its maw and let loose a deafening howl, which chilled his bones. A small tongue of flame spat from another’s mouth. A sulfurous stink mixed with the charnel reek of decaying meat on the hellhounds’ breath as they closed in.
Flurbinger gave a belligerent cry of his own, as did Dontarius, and they stepped forward, ready to go down swinging. One of the hellhounds suddenly yelped and whirled. The others snarled, belching flames, and turned to face a new threat attacking them from the rear.
Half a dozen strangers with staves and bare fists appeared in the tunnel and lit into the hellhounds.
One of the strangers launched into a flying kick, slamming a hound’s skull against the wall of the tunnel. Bone crunched, and the creature dropped. The monk—for that’s what they were, he realized—smoothly swept past the others, turning to place himself protectively between the hounds and Flurbinger and Dontarius.
But there was little need. The other f
ive monks made quick work of the remaining hounds. A couple had sustained minor burns on their arms and singed clothes.
The monk before them spun around smoothly and dipped into a bow. Flurbinger realized it was a woman, slight of build, with close-cropped dark hair framing a pixielike face with good-humored brown eyes.
“Greetings. Are you Master Flurbinger Flent?” she asked.
“Aye, that’s me,” Flurbinger replied after getting over his shock. He had to clear his throat, which had gone dry at the prospect of certain death.
“I would respectfully request that you accompany us back to your quarters. We shall protect you and your crew until the Lady of Twilight summons you.”
Flurbinger and Dontarius exchanged a confused look. “Who’s this Lady of Twilight?” he asked. “And who are you lot?”
“My name is Afna, from the Order of the Illuminated Path.” She beckoned them to accompany her as the other monks spread out ahead and behind, keeping watch as they walked. “You will meet the Lady soon, I presume. She knows you and asked that you be protected.”
“What in the Abyss is going on?” Dontarius whispered.
Flurbinger could only shrug in confusion. “I don’t know, but I reckon going from being torn apart and ending up in the gullet of those beasts, to being protected by some monks until a mysterious lady summons us, is an improvement in my book. I shan’t complain—not yet, anyway.”
“Aye, you’ve got a good point, like always,” the dwarf agreed. He looked at his hammer, shrugged, and stuck it back through his belt. “Didn’t even get to put it to work on those mongrels,” he muttered.
Chapter 32
The bailey of the Nexus fortress was strangely deserted, although a fierce battle had raged there not long before. Charred remains lay scattered about, of both fiends and Magehunters. A blackened tree still smoldered from flames, and scorch marks marred the cobblestone path and even some of the walls. In one place, the ground had heaved upward, scattering cobblestones, while in another spot, the ground had been sundered, forming a deep fissure. One section of the inner wall had collapsed, tumbling into the chasm. Cracks spread along the walls and up the front of the fortress itself, a testament to the mighty battle that had raged between the Engineer’s and the Architect’s forces.
Nera turned to Brother Cerador. “I must do this alone, with Endira’s aid. Will you secure the bailey and see that we are not disturbed, Brother?”
“Of course, Lady Neratiri.” He bowed.
“Thank you. It’s been an honor fighting beside you. I hope we shall meet again.” If they won, she doubted she’d see the monk again, for they seemed uninterested in any recognition or victory celebration.
“The honor is mine and my brethren’s.” He smiled. “As to meeting again, I think that unlikely. The Weave will direct us elsewhere once our work here is complete.”
“Well then, farewell, Brother Cerador.”
“And you as well, Lady.”
She turned to Endira. “Are you ready?”
“I suppose as ready as I’m ever going to be, considering I’m about to join a battle of immortals.”
“That’s the spirit.” Nera clapped her friend on the back, and they walked through the yawning gates of the keep. She couldn’t help but think back to a similar situation, except Malek had stood beside her then, and the world had been one already long dead, not perched on the precipice. Nonetheless, they had bravely faced their fate. She tried to summon strength from the memory to boost her resolve.
“I’d like you to stay out of the fight until I need you, Endira. I’ll try to deal with the brothers—Father and Uncle, as it were.”
Endira’s face was pale, but she nodded agreement.
The keep was silent, and Nera wasn’t sure whether that was a good sign or not. The fact that the two were no longer battling indicated one had been defeated, so she would only have to face one of them, but on the other hand, it was unlikely she’d be able to take the survivor unawares.
The two made their way silently toward the throne room at the end of the great hall. The keep was pitched into darkness—the blue flames of the magelights had been extinguished—however, Nera could see well enough, especially with her enhanced senses. The corpse of the blue-skinned chamberlain lay crumpled against the wall in a pool of blood, torn apart by wicked gashes. His pink eyes were frozen wide in horror. She couldn’t find it within herself to pity the creature, for he’d been responsible for her miserable year of labor in the foundry.
Nera could feel both brothers’ presences well before they even reached the throne room. She guessed if she’d concentrated, she probably could have sensed them from outside the fortress, even.
The Engineer stood before the hulking throne, still as a statue, staring at it in silence. The throne was a macabre thing, asymmetric and assembled from the bones of some great beast.
Two monstrous constructs, formed from Abyssal iron, stood motionless, one to either side of the throne room. They seemed to be all angles and sharp edges, minimally sculpted—just enough to be lethal. Massive cleaverlike arms hung at their sides, the copper of dried blood staining them.
Off to the Engineer’s right, the Pale Lord lay writhing, spread-eagled on the ground. Metal bands circled his wrists and ankles, pinning him to the flagstones. The Engineer’s Abyssal iron staff stood upright, impaled through the Pale Lord’s chest. The staff was pulsing with fell power, seeming like a void to Nera’s sight, leeching the magical energy from the Pale Lord. A silvery rope of magical power tenuously tethered the Pale Lord to the throne.
Before she could ponder the implications, the Engineer spoke.
“So, my daughter is no longer the naive, pathetic creature she once was,” the Engineer said, his back still turned, deep voice filling the throne room as if it were a cozy study. “Nor is she a confused plane-cursed but a demigod! You’ve inherited power, but have you the wisdom and knowledge to wield it? I felt your presence the moment you arrived in Nexus, Neratiri.” He spun to face her.
“No need to try to sneak up on you, then,” she said brusquely.
“In the future, you’d do well to cloak your puissance. Why have you come? Is it to take revenge on me? Is that what motivates you?” His lanternlike eyes narrowed as he studied her.
“I’m not opposed to giving you a good beating for what you did, but no, that’s not the real reason I’m here. I seek to end this mad war you’ve started!”
“And whence did this sudden nobility spring?” he asked with a sneer. “Where’s the greedy, self-centered petty thief who picks pockets and whores herself out for a few coppers to get by?”
Nera fought the urge to punch the bastard right in the nose. If he wanted to hurl insults, she was more than game. “You’ve got me wrong, dear Father. The only whoring going on is by two brothers who’d do anything, including offering up their own arses, to gain advantage over the other.”
The Engineer’s face twisted in anger. “You’ve certainly learned no respect in your miserable existence living in the gutter.”
“I hardly think one who uses and betrays his own offspring to further his own power-mad goals qualifies as one worthy of respect.”
“Enough!” he roared. “I have no time to bandy words with a petulant child. Are you here to take your place at my side or to hinder me?”
Nera glanced over at the Architect, whose amber eyes were focused on the exchange. He was wounded and defeated but still a threat. She knew the silver tether of magic for what it was—control of Nexus. Her father appeared to not be able to see or use it, else he would surely have seized control already.
“Yes, you need not worry about my brother—his reign is at an end,” the Engineer said as if guessing her thoughts. “I have yet to decide what to do with him, however.”
“He can rot in the Abyss for all I care,” she said.
“That would be fitting, but no guarantee he won’t claw his way from the pit, much as I did.”
Nera didn’t reply, instead
focusing on the silver rope of magic between the Pale Lord and the throne. She reached out and severed the tether with a thought. The silvery cord snapped back into the throne like a child’s yo-yo. The Pale Lord cried out, his eyes going to the throne in sudden panic. He grasped the staff protruding from his chest, straining to pull it free. After a few moments of struggling, he fell back, spent, as if the throne had been the source of his remaining strength. His head lolled to the side, and his eyes dimmed.
Nera reached out to the throne with her mind, trying to coax the silver tether free. Tremendous power flowed through the throne, that which would bind her to Nexus, making it seem as if it was her own body, granting awareness of everything and everyone in it.
The tether evaded her grasp, like a serpent trying to slither away. She exerted her will, tugging at the throne, and after a moment, it relented. The tether was hers. She tentatively grasped the reins of the city’s power, as if it were a particularly ill-tempered steed. An incredible awareness swept over her, threatening to overwhelm her mind with the sensory input.
Tens of thousands of lives sparkled in the darkness, like stars in the sky, each one a being, a citizen of Nexus. She could feel the powerful fear and sorrow radiating from the majority of them. Along with the citizens were the corrupt blotches of the fiends, hostile, driven to destroy, to tear her city apart—her own body, it felt like.
Nera had to fight to block out the torrent of knowledge for the time being. Slowly, she was able to bring the rush of power under control.
The Engineer watched her struggle with great interest, evidently sensing what had occurred.
“Daughter, you have grown into your power.” His words were steady though she could sense surprise in them, as well as grudging respect. His eyes locked on her metal hand as if noticing it for the first time. “And you have put your skills to good use, I see. Perhaps I was hasty in disparaging you—you’ve done well for yourself. Now the two of us can rule Nexus together, as we were always meant to.” A slow smile spread across his face.
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