Lone Trumpet in the Sand

Much like Mythal, Serilda was in her office practically buried beneath reports. The world didn’t stop turning just because Ozorith was a prick, nor because his number one Omen turned out to be entirely different from what they had expected. It had taken some time for the two Rune Knight leaders to truly come down from the anger they’d harbored at the Prime of Wrath after he’d ordered an assassination on Vandrad and Cedric, but cooler heads had interceded, which surprisingly enough was the one who had attempted to kill them in the first place. Or at least, the one who had been instructed to do so. Ryori had sought the two Ark users out more out of her own curiosity than anything else and had decided to use her own judgment, sparing the men and offering to help make them stronger.

The Voidwalker still wasn’t entirely sure how to feel about the other woman, but there was little she could do but accept the situation for what it was. Given what Cedric and Vandrad had told them of the fight after Ryori left the island, it was highly unlikely any of them stood a chance against her if she chose to fight with everything she had. If nothing else, she didn’t seem to have a reason to lie to them, and her dislike of Ozorith was genuine enough. The lot of them had a number of questions more to ask her, but her focus on hunting Shepard and sparing what free time she had to familiarize the others with the Weave left little room for further interviews. For now, the others seemed to trust her well enough, so Serilda had elected to take a step back until there was a more appropriate time to seek more information.

On the plus side, it was more than just doom and gloom. The couple had decided enough was enough, and had finally started putting actual work on their wedding plans, which had been pushed off by a couple years at this point. She and Mythal hadn’t been in much of a hurry, but it was long past time to make good on their engagement, and there was no point in waiting for the world to get better. So they had set a date, booked a venue, sent out the invitations, and more. Despite everything, it was a welcome change of pace to be organizing it, a silver lining amidst the hubbub, and her excitement for it had been reinvigorated after so long of it being on the backburner.

Her attention was pulled away from the folder in front of her at the sound of Lux’s voice calling out to her from the  hallway. Serilda frowned and looked up at the threshold. When had the Seal returned? But it did seem that Mythal was approaching at a fairly hurried pace. She was already closing the report and standing to her feet when her fiance entered the room, trailed by a very human looking Lux.

“What’s the matter?” Serilda accepted the paper Mythal held out, glancing it over as he explained its contents. A scout in Desierto had passed through a town that the two Rune Knight leaders had liberated several years ago, which apparently had picked up slaving again. That news was certainly concerning, though perhaps not enough to explain why the Director had made all haste to get to her. That was, until he explained that they may have spotted Wayland in the area.

The Voidwalker’s eyes went wide in surprise. “Wayland? They’re sure?” Already she was scouring the document, eager for any update on their wayward contact from before she and Mythal had been chosen to take over the Knights in the wake of the prior Field Marshal’s death. Following the guidance of his finger, she read the area where there was mention of someone by the name of Vrandi Maccoi, whom Myhthal said was a sibling to the psychopath they had fought, the one that Kessicia had been enslaved to. It seemed Vrandi was trying to follow in his brother’s footsteps, and Mythal was worried that Wayland was in trouble.

Serilda scowled. It was a troubling situation, considering everything Wayland knew, especially considering that he had gone into hiding because of the information he had gotten his hands on. “Then let’s go get him. At the very least, we can offer him more protection now than we could have back when he disappeared.” The two of them had grown much since then, not just in their magics but in their influence. Even if Wayland felt he couldn’t return to Era or to the Council, they could at least give him safe haven in New Rhaegar if necessary.

She handed the report back to Mythal and pressed the intercom on her desk. “Val, something’s come up. Mythal and I are going to go look into a lead from a report that requires urgent attention. Please notify General Hodgins of our departure. She’s in charge until we return.”

“Yes, ma’am. I’ll see to it right away.”

“Thank you.”

Quickly, she locked up her office and secured the more confidential file. When that was done, Serilda turned back to Mythal and gave him a nod. “Ready when you are. Will you be joining us, Lux?” Her gaze flicked to the Seal. It had been a while since he’d shown his face, but there was no telling if he was planning to stick around or if he’d just been passing through.

Lux expressed his disinterest in liberating slaves, opting instead to stay behind and make sure Mythal’s office was properly secured. The fact that both Rune Knights merely accepted the arrangement without argument was a testament to how far their relationship with the Seal had come, that they trusted him enough to handle something like that. She nodded her appreciation even as Mythal thanked him. Then, when her fiance was ready to go, the pair opened up a portal and stepped into Desierto.

While the town was familiar from their last visit so many years ago, it didn’t take more than a second of looking around to realize that something was very wrong. Even as Mythal remarked about why the place was so empty, a tingle of worry began to work its way up Serilda’s neck. Something was wrong, much more wrong than some low class demon hunting for slaves. Did someone beat them here to get to Wayland, she wondered? It was possible… but something in the back of her mind knew it wasn’t right, even if she had no conceivable logic as to why. This was a set up, pure and simple. The question was: by whom? Had the council finally finished dancing around with the two of them and decided to make a move?

As Mythal moved toward one of the buildings to knock, Serilda kept her attention toward the rest of the town, eyeing it with a suspicious frown. She couldn’t sense anyone. Her Void abilities soaked through every building, but she found nothing that matched the shape of any humanoid figures, or anything at all that was living and breathing. The whole town was completely deserted.

And yet a door snapped shut across the way, causing both of their attentions to turn toward the source of the noise. Her senses continued to tell her that no one was there, even as she focused her Void Sense on the building in question, but Serilda held no confidence in that stance. While it was very difficult to hide a physical presence from her magic, it wasn’t impossible. Her gaze flicked to meet Mythal’s in silent agreement before they both began to cautiously make their way in that direction, taking opposing positions from one another to cover as many angles of approach as possible.

As they encroached on either side of the door, Serilda flexed her magic and the recently upgraded Moonlight appeared in her hand. The two shared another look, with Mythal deferring the initiative to her. Focusing on the door, she wrapped the Void around it and pushed violently, causing the barrier to fly entirely off its hinges into the rest of the home, even while the two of them leapt inside, branding their weapons… only to continue to find nothing.

She wouldn’t even have time to wrestle with her confusion before the Void twisted some ways behind her, alerting her to the arrival of a new presence even as an all-too-familiar voice began to speak. Both Knights rushed back outside to find Branwen – Shepard – standing boldly in the middle of the square. He greeted them at a parade rest, his garb casual but militarian in appearance. And yet there was no smile on his face, no shred of the humanity he’d been faking every time they’d met with him prior to this. The mask was off, and at this point she could only conclude that the gloves were as well.

Unfortunately, this was now an extremely precarious situation. Serilda was confident enough in her and Mythal’s abilities to believe that the two of them weren’t going to be pushovers, but several players, including both Ozorith and Ruzatz, had made it clear in no uncertain terms that Shepard was not to be taken lightly. She was willing if not eager to face him, but she was not naive enough to think they could handle him without backup. The question was how to go about getting it. If she openly attempted to reach out to anyone, Shepard was likely to stop her before she got very far.

Indirectly it was, then.

As Shepard took the time to summarize the series of events that had led them all to this point, Serilda tapped into the Void and made the subtlest of movements with it. Even if Shepard recognized that she had briefly used her magic, he would find no obvious result from her spellwork. At most, he would likely assume she had cast some type of buffering spell upon herself. Otherwise, she continued to sit back and listen, letting Mythal make the first interjection as the Trumpet inquired to know how they had managed to root out his identity.

Well, he didn’t know about Ryori, then. Or at least, he wasn’t crediting her with the discovery. Mythal denied the man an answer, instead taking a moment to finally confront the man that he’d seen as family for nearly the entirety of his life, demanding to know if Branwen had ever been real or if it had always been Shepard from the start. His words seemed to spark an understanding in the Trumpet, who remarked his curiosity about how little they had truly uncovered, before finally informing Mythal that Branwen had always been a cover, a lie to hide and amuse himself while he worked to aid Faera’s conquest.

Serilda’s gaze remained steady and unreadable as a pregnant silence fell between them. She could only assume that he was expecting some kind of reaction out of one or both of them, with her presumably being offended on Aster’s behalf about being used by him. Yet as the seconds ticked by without further talk, the Voidwalker merely raised an eyebrow as though she had been expecting him to say more.

“Well, I guess he’s done monologuing,” she said, more to Mythal than to the Trumpet. Shifting into full noblewoman mode, Serilda scrutinized their opponent with dignified indifference. “It was all a lie, was it? I’m not so sure about that, Shepard. There’s certainly an argument to be made about dedication to one’s cover, but you hardly needed to do everything you did to craft a believable character. After all, plenty of men live comfortable lives as bachelors, so I can’t help but wonder who you’re really trying to convince, here. If you ask me, all this time spent outside of the direct corruption of Kingdom Darkness may have been having more of an effect on you than you bargained for; a subconscious re-connection with the virtue of which you and Faera used to embody.”

It was Serilda’s turn to offer a small smile, the look no warmer than Shepard’s own, and just as smug. Then, her indifference returned and she continued. “Well, you have our attention. Very clever of you to pick this particular little corner of Desierto. There’s almost a poetry to it, considering this was the location of one of Mythal’s and my first jobs together, and arguably the birthplace of our affection for one another.” The Field Marshal glanced around almost fondly, even giving Mythal a soft smile before returning her gaze to the Trumpet with a sigh. “At this point I care very little for whatever you have to say about yourself and your actions. It changes nothing. If you want to reveal yourself and bring the fight to us without us wasting time and energy trying to track you down, far be it from me to look a gift horse in the mouth. I’m all too happy to put you in the ground once and for all. All I want to know is this: After all this time slinking in the shadows and hiding your tracks like a coward, why step forward now?”

At this point, whether or not the theories Serilda had made about Shepard were true was neither here nor there. All the Voidwalker was doing was biding her time and laying some clues. Despite this, the Trumpet conceded that there was possibly some fact in Serilda’s logic, if not entirely to the depths that the noblewoman had conjectured. Unlike his brethren, he didn’t share an outright hatred for humanity, and so admitted that there had been some perks to settling into the life of a mortal, including the lovemaking he had done with his wife, and “others”

Serilda’s gaze narrowed dangerously, but otherwise she said nothing to that point, knowing that he was simply trying to get under her skin. Instead, she continued with her own thoughts, remarking on his choice of location. It seemed he had chosen this place because of its significance to her and Mythal, though he expressed disappointment in having to sully it with their confrontation. He admitted his surprise once more that they had been able to suss out who he really was, despite all his efforts to keep himself hidden, even claiming that he had been here in Deserito ever since his attempted assassination of Gren and Vriko.

Well that made a few things more complicated and confusing… but those would be matters to sort out once all of this was over, assuming they survived. Again he pressed for an answer as to how they figured him out, and again Mythal told him to eat dirt, insisting instead that Shepard tell them why he had chosen now to face them. The answer, it seemed, was because previously he’d had a means of tracking them that had since been lost. Without that advantage, and with them now knowing who he was, he saw little reason in drawing things out, claiming that he’d always intended on facing them openly anyway.

Mythal wasted no time calling him out on his supposed sense of honor when it came to Gren, which Shepard claimed to regret, if only because he knew he was being tracked and couldn’t confront Gren more directly without drawing the attention of others. Whether or not he knew it was Ryori tracking him was left unsaid, but his gamble, as he called it, had paid off.

The Director insisted more clarification on how Shepard had been able to spy on them. It was then that Shepard pulled off the patch that covered his other eye, revealing an orb made of an unnerving purple light. Serilda’s hackles rose, though she forced herself to stare him down evenly as he explained that his so called ‘Supremacy Eye’ was able to tap into the bit of magic that Mythal had stolen from Faera. With it, Shepard had been able to view the world through Mythal’s eyes in live time. Serilda let out a disgusted scoff as he insinuated the very private moments he’d observed between the two of them. A few years ago she may have been rendered furious over such a notion, and likely would have turned red as a beet. However, given the place that Victoria and Lux held in their lives, and the fact that the Seals had done much the same style of observation for a while, she’d long since learned to cope with having her sexual privacy violated. She certainly didn’t like it, but neither would she lose her cool over it.

Besides, she was far too busy turning the timeline over in her mind. If it was Mythal’s possession of Faera’s magic that allowed Shepard to spy upon them, then that means he would have lost that ability after the ritual. He would be aware of their connections to the Seals, of course, and possibly Vandrad’s connection to the Ark… but that last point would depend on whether or not Faera had recognized the magic Vandrad had been using during that fight, and been able to communicate it to Shepard. From what Serilda understood from Ruzatz and Agatha, it wasn’t a simple matter for Faera to speak with her minions outside of Kingdom Darkness. But outside of that…

Serilda gave a thoughtful hum. “I think you’ve missed more than you realize,” she informed him coolly. Extending her other hand, the Voidwalker materialized Malice into her grip, a near perfect photonegative of Moonlight. When Algerone had upgraded both swords, he’d described the refurbished Malice as a weapon whose energy would instill even a god with fear and unease. She wasn’t sure how much truth such a statement carried, but she was eager to find out.

Shifting her own stance, Serilda squared off against the Trumpet. Then, with a boost of speed from her magic, she burst forward to engage him directly, swinging both of her swords one after the other to meet his own. While she still expected him to be significantly more powerful than her, her hope was to keep him occupied enough that Mythal could find an opening to strike.

Meanwhile, in another place on Earthland entirely, Ryori gently closed the phone that Mercury had given her, tucking it away. From the moment she had awoken that day, the Omen had known that something was off. Ryori had not startled her way out of her slumber, but had greeted the world with sharp alertness. She could feel the pull of the Weave as it called to her, coaxed a feeling of… steadiness within her. Patience. For what, she had no idea, but as long as she listened the Weave would reveal itself in time.

And it had come in the form of receiving a phone call from Serilda. At first she had thought it a misdial, but a moment to simply listen and pay attention was all it took to realize she was overhearing a conversation between Serilda, Mythal, and Shepard. The Trumpet had sought them out, hoping to corner them alone, and putting them both in a position where it would be difficult, if not impossible, to call for help. Even Ryori would have been hard pressed to sense Shepard’s energy immediately from so far away. As it was, she wouldn’t be able to pinpoint their exact location until he started using more of his power, but Serilda had done enough to give the Omen a head start on where to look for them.

She would get to the couple as quickly as she could, but they would have to hold their own for a bit first, something Ryori was confident they could do. Particularly with the gifts the two had received from the Forgemaster. First, she needed to make a detour. Closing her eyes, she reached out through the Weave, and when she found what she was looking for the Omen disappeared.

Well, their new weapons had certainly gotten his attention. He didn’t look very pleased, that much was obvious by the way he studied Malice and then Moonlight, only to then shift his gaze to the whip that Mythal carried as though Branwen were only just noticing that all the weapons were much higher quality than what they’d previously wielded. The Trumpet complimented them, with a quick remark about how the two of them were likely to give Ruman and Izrael a run for their money. With no further comments necessary, Serilda rushed the angel and began the attack. She had no way of knowing if Ryori had answered her call or if the Omen was on her way or not. With any luck they could expect backup soon, but in the meantime they would have to assume they were on their own.

He rebuffed her attacks with seemingly little effort, requiring only one sword to deflect both of hers. Serilda’s brows narrowed in irritation, but she kept on nonetheless, hoping to get a better idea of what exactly he was capable of and hopefully giving Mythal a chance to get in some strikes of his own. Yet when Mythal moved to flank, snapping out the tip of his whip, the Trumpet knocked it away with his free sword. Thus did he engage them, calmly and steadily fighting a battle on two fronts without giving much, if any, ground to either opponent. Serilda had always known this battle would be grueling, but she was steadily understanding this was only the tip of the iceberg.

His extra step caught her off guard and she grunted as he kicked her sword away, knocking her out of her attack flow momentarily. By the time she regained herself, Serilda was already moving in with an attempt to capitalize on Shepard’s avoidance of Mythal’s whip, but the Trumped anticipated her. Her swords sliced through the air with a sharp whoosh as he leaped backward a few feet out of the way. In a chastising tone, he suggested that they start utilizing their magics should they wish to last as long as possible against him. Serilda ignored the comment even as Mythal more or less told him to shove it up his ass, her mind fast at work in trying to come up with a strategy.

Unfortunately, he wasn’t going to give her much time to think. Branwen pressed his advantage, going on the attack and pushing the two of them back with far more ease than Serilda would have liked. She grit her teeth in a determined grimace and focused on keeping him back, waiting for an opening. Watching as his sword came bearing down on her, Serilda crossed her own blades above her head, catching his weapon between both of hers and bringing his attack to a brief halt. It was enough of a pause for Mythal to shoot a point blank blast of his shadow magic, thrusting the Trumpet up into the sky.

No sooner had the words left Mythal’s lips than Serilda was already streaking through the air after Shepard while Mythal continued to launch magical blasts at him. At the last second, just before she was about to re-engage him, she instead stepped through the Void to disappear. Materializing behind and above him. With a deep breath she roared, and the energy of the Void burst violently from her mouth, swallowing the area in a dark miasma that was littered with spects of bright, golden stardust.

Once that attack was done, she was already on to the next. An explosion of black frost swallowed the sky, tainting the air around Shepard with its demonic energy. Coating both of her swords with demonic black ice, she would once more leap in to engage him. This time, when their blades clashed, shards of her god slaying ice would shatter from each blow, so even if he managed to parry and block her strikes, bits of the ice would explode toward him like shrapnel at point blank range.

Well, they were finally able to start landing some real hits, which was nice. Serilda wasn’t expecting him to be a push over by any stretch of the word, but at this point she’d take what she could get. Every little bit helped. Yet despite the numerous attacks that hit home, Shepard didn’t seem too bothered by his injuries, as calm and collected as ever, even to someone as unflappable as Serilda usually was.

One of her strikes landed hard enough to send him flying back down to the ground where Mythal was. Serilda remained hovered where she was in the air, allowing Mythal to take the lead in melee while she would focus on ranged, the couple effectively switching roles in the fight. However, before she could finish casting the spell she was brewing, the Trumpet changed tactics. Several bizarre looking creatures seemed to appear out of nowhere, flooding the battlefield and preventing Mythal from divorcing Branwen’s head from his shoulders. She felt a shift behind her but wasn’t quick enough to move out of the way as one such creature swiped at her, just barely able to get a sword up in front of the hit before it could slice her in two. With a grunt, she kicked it off of her where it fell down to the ground with the others, with the noblewoman landing on her feet beside Mythal. “What the hell..?”

It was puzzling and distracting enough that Branwen would have plenty of time to shake off what little damage they had managed to do during the last exchange. As he explained, this was the fate that had befallen the villagers who had once called this town home, claiming they likely had an opinion about the fact that she and Mythal hadn’t been there to protect them this time around. Serilda scowled, annoyed but not infuriated. The Trumpet was ultimately to blame and his attempt to “speak” for his victims was unimpressive at least, particularly when she knew they could hardly expect to be responsible for the safekeeping of people outside of Fiore.

The fight began anew and Serilda swiftly moved to focus on beating back the handful of creatures that were coming at her. She kept an idle ear toward Shepard, who seemed more interested in talking than fighting as he claimed that he held knowledge about Kingdom Darkness that not even Faera could boast. Talk about doors and prophecies and all other manner of bullshit that at this point she simply didn’t care about. At least, until he mentioned something about a “power” that lay beneath all else. Was he… speaking about the Weave?

In a single move, he suddenly brought the creatures around them to a halt with an unnatural energy that was somehow both darkness and light. It was unnerving to witness, let alone comprehend, but there was little time to ask questions. For a brief moment the monsters seemed to have their humanity restored, with their souls if not their bodies, before they practically began to melt before the pair. Serilda’s jaw was set tight with anger at the display, knowing there was nothing she could do and hating Branwen for the disgusting act, even as he admitted he had not mastered the power he’d uncovered yet.

There was a long silence after he bid them to submit to their defeat. Then, Serilda… chuckled. It was a relaxed sound, one without worry as she shook her head. “I hate to break it to you, Branwen... but once again, it seems you’ve a little catching up to do. How embarrassing.” She turned her gaze up to smirk at him with a knowing expression, all but taunting him with the fact that she seemed to have valuable knowledge about his discovery that he didn’t.

“As to your ultimatum… honestly, it’s like you don’t know us at all.” She shifted back into a readied stance beside her fiance. “There’s nothing more painful than having to deal with your ceaseless yammering. But please, if you wish to continue underestimating us, be my guest.” Taking hold of both Moonlight and Malice with her magic, the swords hovered briefly before her until, with a touch of the Void, they unified into a single weapon with a flash of starlight. The Voidsword, as Alergone had dubbed it, rippled with an impossible combination of holy and unholy energies, its blade shimmering with darkness and starlight alike. Wrapping her fingers around the hilt with one hand, she pointed it up toward him. “It won’t change the fact that you’ll perish long before you have the chance to realize any of these lofty goals that are far beyond your reach.”

It was time to step things up a notch. While Serilda trusted that help was on its way, there was no telling how quickly Ryori would be able to get to them, and until that time the pair would have to continue operating as though they were on their own. A tricky disadvantage, since Branwen was familiar with their magics and their attacks after watching them for so long… but being backed into a corner had a habit of forcing warriors to act on their feet and try new things in the midst of battle. And Serilda would do whatever it took for her and Mythal to live past the end of this battle, refusing to leave her daughters to live as orphans without them.

Once more Serilda charged the Trumpet, clashing her empowered sword against his with renewed vigor. However, they would exchange only a few blows before suddenly her body would blur before appearing to burst into nothingness. Normally, Serilda used her Void magic to rearrange the particles in either her own body or that of another object to cause attacks to miss her, or other such applications. This time, she used it in a way she never had done before, spreading the atoms of her body so far apart that she would seem to no longer have a corporeal form that they could see, though her presence could certainly still be felt.

With her command over her Void magic, she continued to direct her sword against him, the blade seemingly moving of its own volition to strike at him again and again. Meanwhile she encircled Branwen with the split molecules of her body, the atoms racing around him in a sphere. A chill would quickly pick up around him, the air filling with the demonic energy of her slayer skills as a black tornado of wind threatened to suck him up. Opening several small pockets of Void space, she directed her sword through them until it was repeatedly hurling toward the Trumpet at light speeds with intent to impale, only to hit another pocket of Void where it would be teleported to a new spot within the whirlwind and sent flying toward him once more.

“You’re sure?”

“Yes.”

The two women stood on either side of a table, upon which a map of Desierto had been rolled out. Aster had her finger pointed to a spot on the parchment. “Desierto doesn’t have too many real towns, not any that are large enough to list on a map, but when I started hearing about the work Serilda and Mythal were doing together when they first got started, I made sure to keep up with their jobs. I also read nearly all of her mission reports from back then. I am sure this is where Bran– Shepard has them.”

To say that Aster’s life had been thrown into turmoil the last year was putting it mildly. What had first started as a desperate search for a husband that had gone missing overnight fourteen months prior had eventually turned into a manhunt for answers and blood upon learning the truth of who he was. Ever since then, the former Rune Knight had been ceaselessly scouring the earth for any news or sign of Faera’s wayward agent, hellbent on not just keeping Shepard from hurting more people, but also on forcing him to confront her and the life he’d lived with her for the last several decades. She was hurt and confused, fighting back fear and the lingering sense of violation…

…but mostly, she was just fucking pissed.

“Alright. I should at least be able to get us close enough to sense them, and then we’ll move. Are you ready?”

“I’ve been ready.” Making sure her sword was secured to her hip, the blonde turned to face Ryori with an even, if stern, expression. With a curt nod, Aster told her, “Let’s go.”

And just like that, they were standing in the dunes of Desierto. Both women squinted in the bright sun as it glared across the sands, raising their hands to shield their eyes as they reached out with their senses. “There,” Ryori said, turning to face toward the east. “I can’t quite sense Shepard. He is cloaking himself, I assume. But I can sense Serilda and Mythal’s energies.”

“Then they’re still alive, at least. Good. I expect no less.” Archangel or no, Aster would have been disappointed if the woman she’d personally trained had succumbed so quickly to a foe. “Do what you need to do, Omen, and we can finally finish this.”

“Yeah…”

Aster glanced at Ryori, who seemed distracted. The Omen was looking out in the distance with a frown as if searching for something, but not in the direction where she had indicated the battle was. “What’s wrong?”

“Shepard’s not alone. I can sense two other angels nearby.”

“Reinforcements?”

“Maybe…” It was a reasonable conclusion to make, that two other Trumpets – presumably Ruman and Izrael – were waiting on retainer nearby to step in should their companion need assistance. Afterall, Faera had been like a dog with a bone when it came to Mythal and her obsession with getting her hands on her vessel. But something was giving her pause, a feeling from the Weave that something wasn’t quite what it seemed. Unfortunately, the Weave didn’t always paint a picture that was easily interpreted, so there was no way of knowing what she needed to be on the lookout for; just that she needed to keep her eyes and mind open. “Change of plan. You go on ahead. I’m going to do a little recon and catch up to you when I’m done.” If the individuals she sensed were there to be some form of backup for Shepard, then Ryori would simply deal with them now before the Trumpet had a chance to call on them.

“Very well. Proceed.”

Ryori finally turned to face Aster fully, who was standing ready at a parade rest with an expectant look. “You’re sure about this?” the Omen asked with an amount of gentleness that likely would have surprised anyone else that knew her. “Once I do this, that’s it. There’s no turning back.”

“I am aware of the consequences, and have had plenty of time to consider them. My decision is made.”

The two women held one another’s gazes for a brief moment more, Aster’s confident and determined, Ryori’s searching and… perhaps a bit reluctant. Finally, she nodded. “It’s your call. Give it everything you have, while you still can… and good luck.”

“Thank you, Ryori.”

Reaching out, the Omen placed her fingers on either side of Aster’s temples. “Animum aperi. Aeternum amplectere..!” The area around them exploded, or at least in a sense. There was no sound, no destruction, no mushroom cloud or light show. It was more of a burst of pressure that caused more of a spiritual shift in the world around them than a physical one. And then, Aster was gone.

Meanwhile, at the heart of the battle, Serilda seemed to have successfully gotten under Shepard’s skin. It probably wasn’t a wise idea to antagonize the Trumpet, but she was long since caring about such matters when it came to Shepard. He had deceived and manipulated not just Mythal, not just Gren, but also Aster, for decades. The list of Shepard’s grievances nearly outweighed Faera’s as far as the Voidwalker was concerned. Faera was a bitch, but at least she had kept her confrontations with Mythal fairly honest. Shepard was an entirely different story. So yes, Serilda was going to sink to a slightly lower level of composure than she typically held herself to, and she was not going to feel sorry about it, either.

Mythal was right there beside her, informing Shepard where he could shove his so called grace before the couple re-engaged the Trumpet once more. But before he could get too comfortable with the pattern of attack, Serilda atomized herself, leaving Shepard to fend against Mythal and her blade while she immersed herself in the molecules around them, bleeding her god slaying magic into the air and becoming a literal funnel of unholy energy around the Trumpet. It was so out of left field from her usual methods that Shepard was visibly surprised and thrown off guard as he scrambled to try and figure out where the hell she’d gone.

It gave Mythal an opportunity to unleash an up close blast from his light magic, swallowing Branwen in a blinding flash before following it up with more shots from his darkness cannons. Between all that and Serilda’s own efforts it felt like they were finally starting to make a little headway. Which honestly should have been a sign that a turning of the tide was due. Before either of them could have a chance to react, Shepard’s strange eye lit up and Serilda found herself being shoved back together. In a snap her body reappeared and she gasped in shock, too surprised that he had been able to control her that way to even care about him catching the Void sword and dumping it at her feet. But it was more than that. He hadn’t just forced her back together, he had… cut off her access to the Void entirely.

He proceeded to chastise her for using the Void when she had access to powers granted to her from more divine sources. Serilda gave a low growl of annoyance, baring her teeth at him. Having her Void magic sealed was bad. She had plenty of tools in her arsenal with her god slaying and blood magic powers, sure, but she had learned to adapt both of those to her Voidwalking, using her access to the Void to heighten her other abilities. It was also her main source of defense, the skill that allowed her to fly and teleport, to control objects telekinetically. He’d dealt her a serious blow.

Reaching down to pick up her sword by hand, she could do nothing as Branwen turned Mythal’s cannons on the Darkness King; a reminder that he held just as much, if not more, control over darkness than Mythal did. Gripping her sword with both hands, Serilda sank into a ready stance and was about to begin a new attack, when Lux suddenly appeared. With a quip about how much Branwen liked to talk, he blasted him with light and sent the Trumpet flying. Serilda hurried over to regroup with the pair as Lux helped Mythal to his feet. “Your timing could not have been more spectacular,” she informed the Seal plainly, not even bothering to care if the compliment inflated his ego further or not.

He explained how he’d discovered what had happened and used his powers to rejuvenate and heal the couple. It wouldn’t remove the block Shepard had put on her Void abilities, but at this point she’d take what she could get. While Mythal got Lux caught up, Serilda focused her mind outward. Victoria, I need you.

What’s wrong?

Shepard.

It was all she had to say. Victoria didn’t appear out in the open like Lux had, rather choosing to merge herself back into Serilda’s subconscious where she could quickly read the Voidwalker’s memories to figure out what happened. The seal swore inside Serilda’s mind. Why didn’t you summon me sooner?

Honestly been a little busy, Vic. You can scold me later.

The shifting of rubble drew their attention back to where Shepard had been buried, the Trumpet calmly approaching once more, much to Lux’s excitement. “We just need to hold him back a little longer,” she told Mythal softly, and by extension Lux and Victoria. While she gave no further details, it should have been more than enough for Mythal to figure out that Serilda had something cooking.

Her fiance barely gave Branwen the time of day, retorting to the Trumpet’s comment about starting the next round with two streaks of darkness and light that annihilated the crumbled building behind Shepard as he leapt out of the way. He wanted the Sword of Wrath, the Seal of Conquest? Then fine. That’s exactly what she would give him.

Or at least, that’s what she would have given him. But before any of them could make a move, a sensation washed over her, and presumably everyone else, like some sort of inexplicable pressure had exploded far out in the distance, many miles off. Serilda narrowed her eyes in the direction of the disturbance, trying to figure out what exactly she had felt… and then she smirked. “I think the cavalry's here,” she told Mythal, though her voice wasn’t so quiet that Shepard wouldn’t be able to overhear her. The noblewoman turned to look back at the Trumpet once more. “I hope you don’t mind, but while you were busy talking our ears off earlier I decided to phone a friend. Someone who’s been looking for you for quite some time.”

Serilda adjusted her grip on her sword, sinking into a renewed stance with the confident smile of someone that was about to pull the rug out from under her opponent’s feet. And yet, it would be entirely her own shock when the figure that suddenly popped into existence before them was not the one she’d been expecting. Aster appeared without warning before them, her back to the two Rune Knights as she faced off against the man that she’d married with a hard stare. She stood still as a stone, unmoving and unbending, her long blonde hair flipping this way and that in the breeze. Much like Shepard, she wore a simple attire that had a military flare to it, crisp and pressed blue pants with a plain black top, and a blue fur-lined coat. Everything about her posture suggested an easiness and calm about the situation – everything except for her eyes.

The Voidwalker openly balked. “Aster?!” This wasn’t who she had called!

“Pick your jaw off the floor, Sinclair. It’s unbecoming.”

Serilda, for once, ignored the order. “How did you…” This wasn’t good. Even if Aster wasn’t in league with Shepard, which seemed likely at this point, the former Rune Knight was not prepared for this level of combat. Aster was strong, but Serilda knew for a fact that she wouldn’t stand a chance against the Trumpet, and no amount of righteous rage of a woman scorned was going to change that.

“Your friend will be along in a minute. And if she’s very lucky, I will leave her some scraps.”

Speechless, all Serilda could do was watch as her mentor reached up and carefully removed her jacket, allowing it to fall to the ground. “Here’s how this is going to work,” Aster informed the Trumpet. “I’m going to pick you apart piece by piece... Your body, your soul, your mind… Until I am satisfied as to whether or not I still have a husband knocking around in there somewhere. If you truly have been lying to me from the start about who and what you are, then I will simply kill you. If I find any evidence at all that the man I married is a different individual than the one standing before me, I will remove you from his body by force and tear your soul to shreds until there’s nothing left to send back to Kingdom Darkness.”

Slowly, she withdrew her sword from its scabbard and pointed it right at Shepard with a dark and dangerous look. “And then we’ll see what kind of ‘ridiculous face’ you make.”

A pressure built around her, not unlike the sensation from before, though none would feel it stronger than Shepard. In the blink of an eye, he would find himself under attack, but his body was not the target. It would feel like someone was clawing through his mind and spirit with a red hot poker, searching his thoughts and his memories, demanding answers.

Several miles away, Ryori appeared in the area where she had felt the other presences. Her gaze narrowed on Ruman and Izrael in suspicion, if not necessarily surprise. “And here I thought I’d only get to break one of Faera’s toys, today.” Despite what her words would otherwise suggest, there was no taunt in her tone, nor any overt sense of pleasure for the battle to come. This was business for her – duty – and nothing more. “Whatever you two and Shepard have planned, it ends now.” Reaching up to her shoulder, she wrapped her fingers around the hilt of the blade strapped to her back.

Ruman’s compliment fell on deaf ears, the Omen unmoved by his words of praise. Her gaze flicked briefly to Izrael. Even without her fidgeting, she could feel the Trumpet’s fear as Ryori reached up to palm her weapon. Yet as she started to pull the blade free she paused as Ruman met her eyes after quietly calming his companion before. Her mismatched gaze narrowed on him sharply in disbelief... But she drew her sword out no further, at least for the moment, though it remained held in her grip. “I would find it highly unlikely,” she informed him. And yet she waited expectantly, giving him a chance to state his case.

And what a case it was. All she could do was give him an incredulous stare as he claimed that if they had been allied with Shepard over this battle, then they would have been beside him already. Instead, they had cloaked themselves from their companion’s notice and waited, hoping to draw Ryori to them first. In fact, they were the reason she had been able to see the memory of their meeting with Shepard that had revealed his disguise to her. A bold declaration if there ever was one, but Ryori allowed him to continue.

Ruman was sure that her presence would turn the tide of the fight and in all likelihood Shepard would be killed, but it would come at the cost of Branwen’s life. Ryori’s brow twitched. The big question from the start of all this was whether or not Branwen had been Shepard from the start, or if the archangel had inhabited and stolen the body of a mortal man that was still buried deep within the darkness. It was part of the reason that Ryori had planned to be present for the fight, so she could help Aster ferret out the truth, and here was Ruman fully confirming that there was an innocent soul at stake, one he felt would be lost if Ryori took part in the fight.

“A grand tale,” was her only response when he finished, though the breath of silence that followed was pregnant with consideration. Her eyes continued to scrutinize them like she could see through to their souls, her expression neutral, if steely, in its study. Nostrils flaring, she released a deep sigh through her nose. “But one I find no deceit in.”

Somewhat reluctantly, she released her grip on her sword and allowed the blade to remain at her back, her arms instead coming up to cross themselves over her chest. “You ask much of me, Trumpet. I presume you understand I am under orders by Ozorith to eliminate Shepard, which means you are asking me to defy his command.” While Serilda, Mythal, and the others were aware that Ryori didn’t have any true allegiance to Wrath, the pantheon at large was under the illusion that Ozorith pulled her strings. As such, their request for her to stay out of the fight was, as far as they were aware, asking her to be insubordinate. “Likewise, for all of this to be true, the two of you would be acting in betrayal of Faera. A dangerous decision. Explain.”

Much like Serilda, Aster was probably one of the last people that Shepard had expecting to join the battle. Not that the woman held no stake in the fight, as she certainly did, but because her power in comparison to the other players was like the flame of a birthday candle against a raging inferno. Aster was strong for a mortal, and certainly had enough discipline and training to carry her far beyond her limits, but her limits were still numerous. Her water make magic would be all but useless in a fight of this scale, and everyone present would know that, especially the man that had been masquerading as her husband for so long. Shepard knew the ins and outs of her abilities like the back of his hand, at this point, putting her at a further disadvantage.

And yet she stared him down all the same, declaring her intentions in no uncertain terms without a hint of apprehension or doubt. And to his credit, Shepard chose not to mock her. Whether that was because he saw her as a threat or because he had grown fond enough of her during their time together that he held no desire to belittle her was anyone’s guess, though it meant nothing to Aster either way. He merely invited her to shoot her shot.

But he was not prepared for the shot she took. As the Trumpet writhed in agony and shock, the first such genuine display he’d shown since the start of the battle, Serilda could only watch in awe and horror, completely baffled as to what her mentor was doing. “What the..” It was so shocking that the Voidwalker simply didn’t know what to do, as if suddenly wondering if any attempts she made would only put herself in Aster’s way.

Meanwhile, Aster dove right into the Trumpet’s mind, finding herself in an inky pit of darkness so thick that it threatened to suck her in like mud. She wrapped herself in a protective layer of energy, watching as pathways formed before her, each of them leading to memories that became older the further away from her the path lead. Knowing that the information she sought would be buried deep, the former Rune Knight ignored the distractions around her and instead fixated on the path that looked as though it had been decaying for quite some time, one that led so far down that it might threaten to drown her.

Something within her told her it was the path she was looking for, and Ryori had told her to trust her instincts. As such, Aster didn’t hesitate to throw herself down the trail, racing as quickly into the black as she could. Before she could reach the end, however, she was brought to a halt by a perverse energy that sought to envelop itself around her. Aster could feel its intent, its desire to pull her in and take control of her, to spread its corruption beyond Branwen and into herself. It was certainly welcome to try.

Just as she was getting ready to mount a defense, a new development put her on high alert as a number of green triangles appeared, pushing the darkness back from her. Along with the strange energy came an even more strange man whose face was shrouded by a smoke filled helmet of glass. Aster faced off against him defiantly, ready to fight, but he made no move against her. If anything, he seemed more interested in what she had discovered. After a moment of conjecture, he determined that it was some kind of doorway, one that made him uneasy.

Despite the fact that she had no idea who this man was, and thus had no reason to trust him, once more she could feel an almost guiding hand telling her that he was not her enemy. “A portal… to Kingdom Darkness?” the blonde asked, turning her attention back to her surroundings and examining them with her unexpected companion. Aster only returned her gaze to him when he insisted that she needed to leave, claiming that he could only hold the power back for so long, and if it got to her it would seep directly into her soul. “A tougher feat than it might think,” she informed him stubbornly.

“...But a risk that should only be taken if absolutely necessary, I suppose.” She would be no good to Branwen if she got killed – or worse – presuming that there was a Branwen to save. Aster wasn’t convinced one way or another on that just yet, equal parts unwilling to grasp in a false hope as she was to accept Shepard’s word as truth just because he said it was. “Fine. But if I cannot find what I’m looking for elsewhere, I will be back.” It was less a threat to the man and more one to the darkness surrounding her. Giving the stranger a curt nod, she withdrew herself from Shepard’s mind and retreated back into her own.

Despite being shorter than the Trumpet, Aster practically looked down her nose at him in disgust while he recovered from her invasion. “You are a lot of things, but I hardly took you for a slob. Your mind is as well kept as a sewer… but I will have the answers I seek, even if I have to thrash them from you.” With the smallest flex of her hand to renew the grip on her sword, she lurched directly toward him in the sky, despite the fact that she had never been able to fly before now, with a speed that far surpassed anything she should have been capable of. As her sword danced and jabbed and sliced, Shepard would find that somehow, impossibly, Aster was moving with the agility and strength that was more fitting of a divine being, on par with what he would find had he been up against another Trumpet or an Omen.

Serilda was feeling more and more useless and confused, but her frustration only served to fuel her determination. With a growl, she thrust her sword in the sky and opened up the depths of her god slaying powers as a massive rune several hundred meters wide filled the sky above the battlefield. As it began to spin, a violent snowstorm churned around them, swallowing the town and beyond in a mixture of black snow and thick black hail. The temperature plummeted to below freezing, though Mythal and Aster would be spared from its effects. If nothing else, the constant battering of unholy energy would help slow Shepard down and distract him. Refusing to be left on the sidelines, however, a great set of white feathered wings stained with blood – Victoria’s wings – burst from between her shoulder blades. With a great flap, she thrust herself into the sky after them to join the fray once more.

The response to her point about being asked to belay her orders was that they weren’t asking her to defy Ozorith, merely to delay her interference until they could have a chance to rescue Branwen. It would result in Shepard losing a great deal of his power, and thus not being much of a challenge to her, but ultimately she could say that she performed as instruction. In truth, Ryori didn’t care nearly as much as Ruman seemed to think about the difficulty in bringing Shepard down. There was a certain amount of catharsis in fighting a worthy opponent, true; but only because it was so rare that Ryori found anyone who could push her to her limits. Unlike many other warriors of great stature, however, she wasn’t driven by the thrill of a fight. A battle was a means to an end, not a source of entertainment.

But there was no point in commenting on such trivialities. At least, not right now. There were far more pressing matters, such as figuring out why Ruman and Izrael were moving against their mistress. The two angels regarded one another for a moment before Ruman continued to speak for them both, claiming that they did serve Faera… but the Faera that was still the Divine of Love, not the one that had been corrupted by Kingdom Darkness. For a time they had fallen, same as her, but with Mythal’s ascension as the Darkness King it seemed that they and several others had been purified of the Kingdom’s influence. Once they realized what was going on, they had vowed to do whatever it took to make things right, even if it meant having to protect Faera from herself.

For the first time since the conversation had started, Ryori looked interested. Or perhaps interested wasn’t a strong enough word. She looked… sympathetic. There was a softness to her expression, one that bore equal parts understanding and sorrow. “If only it were that simple.” As they were well aware, Ryori had spent quite a bit of time in Kingdom Darkness herself, having once been beholden to the realm’s original and true ruler. She understood a great deal about how things worked there, possibly more than they did.

Before any further discussion of it could be had, however, Izrael finally spoke and drew everyone’s attention in the direction of the battle, remarking that Shepard was going to go postal sooner rather than later. She was also quick to correct Ruman’s assumption that it was Mythal and Serilda pushing him to his limits, sensing that another had joined the fight and correctly deducing their identity. “Aster,” she interjected, providing them a name to use. It seemed she wasn’t wasting the gift she had been given either, if one could truly call it a gift. The woman was sticking it to Shepard hard enough that he would be forced to activate his true form and his domain.

Ryori’s look soured. She was certainly aware of what that meant. It was the whole reason she felt she needed to be present for the fight. Escaping a domain was impossible, at least as far as anyone knew. In truth, that was the reason why Ozorith had been so insistent that Ryori be the one to confront Shepard, and for once she had been fully in agreement with the Prime. If anyone stood a chance at finding a way out of Shepard’s trap card, it was her.

She was about to argue as much to the Trumpets to emphasize her necessity at being present, when Ruman explained that there was a weakness they could exploit, one that not even Ryori knew: Shepard’s domain was only effective against anyone who was not of his own rank of angel. As such, they had a strong chance of not just saving Serilda, Mythal, and Aster from being imprisoned, but also give them a direct line to Branwen to pull him out as well. If worse came to and they failed, then she could step in and clean up the mess.

Her gaze flicked between the two Trumpets in consideration, though admittedly her expression wasn’t as stern as it had been before. Then, she grunted. “Over a year hunting this asshole…” the Omen muttered, shaking her head. “Fine. I will stay back for now, but I will be monitoring the fight closely, and if anything rubs me the wrong way, I will step in… but I will give you the chance you ask for.”

“Before you go, you should know: Aster is currently fighting Shepard with my power. It has given her a significant boost and advantage, but it is only temporary. The longer she uses it, the less safe it is for her and the more sacrifice it will require of her, and she will not stop until either she or Shepard is dead. She does this in the name of Love.” Ryori leveled the Trumpets with a knowing look. While there was certainly plenty of Wrath to be had in Aster actions, the woman’s driving force was not that of Ozorith’s domain, but that of Faera’s; of the Divine that she once was, and the virtue that Ruman and Izrael claimed to still represent. “When you see your chance, take it and make it count. Do not fail her… or she may not get the chance to reunite with the one she’s risking everything to save.”

“That’s because she’s not capable of this.” Serilda had been utterly floored by everything that was happening, much like Mythal apparently was. “I don’t know what this is, but it’s not her magic. He should be knocking her around with even more ease than he has been with us.” Questions upon questions, but not enough time or luxury to seek out explanations. Serilda didn’t know how Aster had come upon such intense might, but she did know that she wasn’t about to let the woman take the fight on alone. So, she cast one of her highest levels of god slaying spells before sprouting Victoria’s wings and taking to the air alongside Mythal, who’d thrown in a bit of his own magic to pollute the air for Shepard further.

This time, she felt like they were finally putting the Trumpet on his heels. He seemed to be genuinely struggling with Aster’s assault. Throwing the two Rune Knights in the mix had put him fully on the defensive while he was besieged from all sides. So far he had managed to avoid any major damage, but all of them knew that he was having to put all of his concentration into the fight to keep it that way.

When he’d finally had enough, Shepard broke away from his weapons, which continued to fight in his stead and hold the three fighters at bay while he took himself to the next level. After fighting Archimedes and Hugo, Serilda had a suspicion of what this was: Shepard was taking on his ultimate form. A gust of power broke up the sword fighting, pushing them all back several feet where they were given a brief reprieve to watch the transformation finish. It was more demonic than divine in nature, with a set of horns and a hardened exterior that was more chitin than flesh. He was finally getting serious, which was both a good and a bad sign. Good that they were finally pushing his buttons, but bad because things were only about to get more deadly.

He summoned a pool of darkness behind him, which broke into numerous strands before streaking out toward them. With a grunt, Serilda shifted her Void sword to one hand and summoned Victoria’s poleaxe in the other, utilizing both in a steady campaign to slice through each inky black tendril. Several of them managed to slice her, but she was able to keep herself from being impaled or grievously injured, stubbornly ignoring the pain and keeping herself focused.

Meanwhile, Aster’s approach was far more collected… and a bit terrifying, all things considered. Though it wasn’t without noticeable effort and concentration, not only was she successfully evading each vein as it thrashed at her, but she was doing it with her eyes closed. It was like she was moving on instinct without thought, somehow avoiding the incoming blows like she was predicting their movements before snipping the threads of ichor with a swift slice of her blade. She was aware of the spell he was working to cast. What the effects of it would be, she had no idea, but she could practically hear the Weave as it screamed the danger in her ear.

Her eyes snapped suddenly open, wide in alarm. Dropping her sword entirely, Aster extended a hand each toward Serilda and Mythal, both of whom would feel as though some kind of invisible force had taken hold of their bodies. Then they would suddenly find themself hurled across the battlefield as Aster made a desperate last ditch effort to attempt to throw them out of range of the spell, even if it came at the cost of her being swallowed up by its effects.

“Damn it..!”

All this phenomenal cosmic power, and she hadn’t been fast enough. Aster had done her best to get Serilda and Mythal out, but for all the reserves of strength and knowledge that Ryori had crammed into her, she still was bound by certain limitations. Namely, that she didn’t have the experience of practice to hone such a robust power. As a result, she recognized the signs too late to grant the trio escape. She had known that at the very least she would be affected, but had hoped to at least protect the other two. And it had been close, so close. A second or two more and they would have been spared.

Instead, the dome snapped shut around them just as Serilda and Mythal were approaching the range of the spell, causing them to bounce back inside and nearly back to square one. The field marshal had been both perplexed and confused at having been snatched at all, mostly due to momentarily forgetting that she had no access to her Voidwalking for the moment… though in truth, she felt like her Voidwalking wouldn’t have been able to prevent what had just occurred. It wasn’t until she heard Aster swearing that Serilda even realized it had been the older woman’s action. It was like she had predicted what was going to take place, and had attempted to circumvent it.

How is she doing all this?

The question was more to herself than Victoria, but the Seal responded all the same. The Weave, she replied, if a bit hesitant. It has to be. It’s the only thing that makes sense.

Serilda was about to argue that Aster never had that kind of power, but paused. Obviously, Aster and Ryori had come here together. Or at least, Ryori had relayed the information to Aster after Serilda’s call. The logical assumption was that Ryori had something to do with Aster’s current skill set, though there wasn’t much time to ruminate on the specifics. She had to wonder where the hell Ryori actually was, though. The Omen should have gotten there long before Aster, and should have stepped in long before now. What was taking her?

The trio was completely surrounded by darkness, and for once Serilda was worried about the fact that she couldn’t see. With her Voidwalking sealed away, her Void sense was gone, leaving her well and truly blind outside of the minimal glow from the rune on the ground. But she could hear Quentin, who had materialized in a physical form to speak with Mythal, telling him about some kind of portal within Shepard. He explained about the nature of the Domain Incursion they were all trapped in and the fate that awaited them, while also describing the strange doorway that he and Aster had encountered inside Shepard’s mind, which he believed to be connected to a soul at the other end. Which meant…

Serilda growled in anger. So there was a real Branwen. He was alive and likely had been imprisoned in Kingdom Darkness all this time. Shepard had lied to them, a mistake he was going to regret just as soon as they escaped this stupid bubble he had trapped them in. Unfortunately, it seemed it would not be that easy. As Mythal pressed for information on how to get out, Quentin took on a crestfallen look, explaining that there was no way to escape. Serilda’s thoughts mimicked Mythal’s words in resolution, and the look she gave to her fiance was equally as fierce. “I will not leave our daughters orphans,” she declared in agreement that they would do whatever it took to outlast the spell.

“If there isn’t a way out then we will simply have to make one.” Aster had been quiet during the conversation, but the moment Quentin had confirmed that Branwen was real and alive, a steady broil of passion had begun to churn deep inside of her unlike anything she’d ever felt before. Serilda didn’t have to see Aster’s face to know that the older woman’s final button had been pressed, the limits of her mercy finally met. There was a tone to her voice, a coldness and determination that set even Serilda on edge, wondering what insane stunt her mentor was about to perform.

Aster herself had lost all sense of politeness. Her husband was alive, and had been spending the last several decades in literal hell while she had carried on completely oblivious to his fate and to the stranger that had taken his place. She could have honestly been more forgiving about Shepard lying to her from the start. Using her and tricking her for so long was one thing… but taking her husband from her and abusing him? That was crossing the line, and Shepard was going to pay. If Ryori was here then surely the Omen could have found a way out, but she wasn’t yet. It was up to Aster; she was their last hope, and she’d be damned if she let Branwen down again.

Reaching deep into the Weave, she tightened her grip on her borrowed power, filling herself to the brim until she felt like she was going to burst. A bright glow took over her body, allowing her to be seen clearly through the darkness as a luminescent pair of wings crafted from pure energy  erupted from her shoulders. She was absolutely resonating with untold power, enough to cause Serilda’s eyes to go wide in awe and fright as she took a step back. It was not unlike the experience that Grubar had described of Saffron when Cedric had nearly been killed. Aster pushed her will against the interior of the dome, clawing at it with the Weave until she could find even the smallest bit of purchase against the spell’s walls.

Then, with a feral snarl, she started to pull, using the Weave to find the threads of the woven magic and attempting to pull it apart and unravel it. She strained from the effort, fueling her attempt with the raw energy of the Weave and pure, unadulterated spite and determination. And for the briefest of seconds, she could have sworn she felt it give just the smallest bit before the dome redoubled and resisted. Aster released the barrier, heaving in exhaustion and anger. She had already been feeling the toll of Ryori’s magic even before she had forced more of the Weave into herself. It wouldn’t be much longer before Ryori’s spell had run its course, and the consequences of borrowing a power far beyond her natural abilities would claim their payment. Unfortunately, she couldn’t do anything while that coward had them trapped.

She was about to center herself and give it another go, determined that she could find a way through even if it meant absorbing more of the Weave, when the three of them suddenly had more company. A voice that was new to Aster but familiar to Serilda pierced the darkness. An orb of protection erected itself around the group while a figure flew through the dome, decimating a number of the glowing eyes in the process. Through the faint glow of the latter’s book, the three of them were able to see Ruman and Izrael appear between them.

Serilda brandished her sword toward them, doing her best to fight back the pit that was forming in her stomach. Shepard alone had been more than their match through this whole fight so far. Adding these two to the mix… well, she was trying not to think about how bad the situation was. Or at least, she was up until Ruman insisted that they were there to help them fight Shepard. Serilda scoffed in disbelief, insulted by the very notion that they were supposed to believe that. However, it was Mythal’s reaction that caught her attention. Her fiance didn’t rebuke them. If anything, he sounded flabbergasted, as though they were telling the truth.

The larger Trumpet explained the details of the situation as quickly and concisely as he could, including the weakness they’d exploited to gain entry into the domain, and the opportunity they had to help Mythal free Branwen, who likely had been taking all their punishment through Shepard’s connection to him. In the end, it was their suggestion that Mythal and Serilda use their help to get to Kingdom Darkness while the two Trumpets and Aster stayed behind to keep Shepard busy. “I don’t like this,” Serilda voiced hesitantly. “This could just as easily be an attempt to trap us in Kingdom Darkness.”

“I don’t think so.” Aster, by comparison to the other two humans, had been more pensive than concerned by Ruman and Izrael’s arrival. Surely these were the two individuals Ryori had sensed. She knew the Omen well enough by now to know that if they had fought one another, the battle would likely still be going. Ryori wouldn’t be killed or tricked so easily. Plus, she had been looking to the Weave for guidance on the situation, and had felt no alarms of deceit or suspicion. Serilda opened her mouth to argue, but Aster cut her off gently. “There’s no time. If you can’t trust them, then trust me. Please.”

It wasn’t often that Aster pleaded for anything. And while it had beena simple “please”, the way she said it may as well have been begging. Serilda looked at her for a moment, then at Mythal, Quentin, and the two Trumpets. Finally, she nodded. “We’ll get him. I promise.”

“Thank you.”

Serilda wasted no further time hopping on Ruman’s keyblade beside Mythal. Then, with an encouraging sendoff, Ruman shot the blade with such force that both Rune Knights had to grab on for dear life to keep from being unseated.

As they popped back into Desierto, they were practically already face to face with Shepard, who was shocked by the unexpected reappearance. But before he could react, Mythal attuned to the darkness and opened a portal of darkness, the two Rune Knights disappearing inside and into Kingdom Darkness. It was time to teach Shepard the danger of underestimating them. It was time to bring Branwen home.

Meanwhile, Ryori continued to monitor the fight from her post several miles away, as she’d said she would. She had taken a seat upon the ground with her legs crossed and her eyes closed, appearing in a deep meditative state. She was able to keep track of Aster and the others only until Shepard’s domain had been activated. After that, everything within the domain was shrouded from her. All she could sense was Shepard as he concentrated on his spell. Several long moments passed… and then two individuals broke free. The twisted corruption of Kingdom Darkness settled upon her mind briefly, as though a door had been opened, and then it and the two individuals were gone.

She would barely have time to guess as to what had happened before three individuals appeared beside her once more, shimmering into existence out of smoky darkness. Her eyes fluttered opened to find the two Trumpets along with Aster, who was radiating with the energy of the Weave at an alarming rate. The mortal dropped to her knees and began to convulse, her eyes rolling into the back of her head.

Ryori was on her feet in milliseconds, kneeling beside Aster. She placed one hand on the blonde’s forehead and the other on her abdomen. “Demittis!” The power of the Weave pulled itself forcibly from Aster’s body, causing the transformed state to come to an end. Despite this, Aster continued to seize violently. Ryori closed her eyes and continued to search, looking for the source of the trauma and quickly deducing how much it had spread. Aster had taken on far too much, more than even Ryori had given her. No surprise, given the circumstances. Foolish, but…

“Separari a texere..!” Aster’s body suddenly went stiff, her back arching up as the point where Ryori’s hand met the former Rune Knight’s abdomen shone brightly with a sickening light that would reek of dreadether to the two nearby Trumpets. Then the light swiftly cut off and Aster’s body went limp. Ryori carefully put her fingers to the woman’s neck to check for a pulse… and breathed a small sigh of relief. “She’ll live.”

And then they were back in Kingdom Darkness.

The Rune Knights hit the floor hard, leaving Serilda in a momentary daze. With a stubborn grunt, she forced herself to sit up, somehow conscious of the fact that she had miraculously managed to keep hold of her sword. A quick glance around told her they were in some kind of dungeon, though it was decrepit and barbaric in nature. Rather than a fabricated structure, rooms had been carved out of the natural formations of the cavern walls, with ancient rope and wood bridges spanning the crevasses. There were spider webs everywhere, made from threads of sticky silk so large they suggested a monstrosity of an arachnid to go with them. Luckily the faint glow of purple lights dotting the area gave plenty of illumination to see by while Serilda was still unable to utilize her Void Senses.

The sluggish moan of a nearby creature caused the two of them to turn to the other side of the cavern. It was oddly proportioned with an oversized upper torso and arms that reached nearly all the way down to the ground, bearing a shield with the face of a wolf that looked nearly as alive as the beast that carried it. It glanced in their direction and, after what seemed to be a moment of thought, began to make its way toward them at a lethargic pace. A concern, to be sure.. But one that gave them time to think.

After a quick word from Quentin to point Mythal in the right direction, her fiance asked that she distract the guard so he could find their charge. “I’ll keep it busy,” Serilda assured him. As Mythal leapt across the gap, she was already turning to confront the thing, closing the distance between them so that she could keep it occupied as far away from Mythal as possible. The last thing they needed was the guard doing something that could compromise the rescue.

Focusing on her god slaying abilities for the moment, Serilda conjured her arctic aura around her, the shrouds of black frost cold enough to chill to the bone. It clung to her in a burst that filled several meters from her, swallowing up the creature and causing it to move even more slowly. It moaned in lazy protest, still pushing toward her in singular focus as though it hadn’t really noticed it was being held back. With a flap from her wings, Serilda rushed forward, slicing a large laceration across the creature’s torso as she moved past it.

Despite how it had been moving so far, Serilda had expected… something. Anything. Some surprise burst of power or a trick attack. Instead, it fell to a knee in protest with another groan before slowly pushing itself back up into a standing position and recentering its attention on her once more while the wound began to knit itself shut. The knight made several more such passes and each time the same result occurred until she finally cast a frown in its direction. “Well, this is… underwhelming. You’d think the security in here would be a little more aggressive.”

I imagine Faera never expected to have to fend off intruders this far into the Kingdom.

Serilda scoffed, unimpressed. Sloppy. No reason to look a gift horse in the mouth, she supposed. Looking to keep her magic use to a minimum in order to prevent drawing as much attention as possible, she used a small fraction of power to erect a wall of thick black ice around the beast. It bounced dumbly off the structure, if one could really call it bouncing from the low speed with which it moved, before grunting and trying again. Keeping an eye on it, Serilda took a moment to glance around and just keep up a general post watching their surroundings to make sure there was nothing more deadly sneaking up on either herself or Mythal.

But her attention snapped to the prison when she felt an intense surge of energy that was quickly followed by a malicious presence advancing toward them from further in the kingdom. “Shit..!” Whatever Mythal had done, presuming it was Mythal, Faera had felt the intrusion and was probably making all haste to intercept them. The entire area was quaking, the prison crumbling to dust as Serilda abandoned the trapped guard entirely and raced to meet Mythal as he crossed the bridge with Branwen draped over his shoulder.

Things were happening so quickly that frankly Serilda did even have time to stop and wonder how the hell they were going to get out, considering the last time they were here they had been reliant on Gren coming to their rescue from the mortal realm. All she could do was trust Mythal and Quentin to have a plan, and hope that Ruman and Izrael had not led them astray. But Faera was coming, and she was coming fast. In an effort to buy Mythal enough time to get them out, Serilda activated the charm on her ring and a translucent pink bubble appeared around them just as a pair of glowing red eyes materialized in the shadows; a shield to protect them, though only for a moment or two.

Thankfully, they wouldn’t even need that long. Mythal had already formed a portal of darkness and with a final defiant glance in the goddess’ direction, Serilda threw herself into the gateway behind her fiance. They popped back into the sands of Desierto in a blink and would barely have a second to adjust before a pained roar filled the air, causing Serilda to whirl toward the source with her sword brandished and ready. Shepard was writhing in agony, and while the Field Marshal wasn’t sure what Mythal had done, she recognized death throes when she saw them. Knowing that this was the moment someone was often at their most dangerous, she jumped straight into action.

She had felt her connection to the Void the moment they had returned to Earthland, the Seal undone by whatever had happened to their foe. Instinctively, she reached into the empty spaces between the particles in the air around them and willed them to vibrate violently. Each tendril of darkness that Shepard lanced at them would sunder upon impact with the barrier, dissolving into nothing with each strike. The assault would not last long as the Trumpet’s strength began to fade at an almost piteous rate, becoming weaker and weaker until it was gone.

Serilda watched with a horrified look of disgust as Shepard’s body shriveled in upon itself, deflating into a grotesque and whimpering lump. Eventually, all that remained was a shell of the angel, motionless and barren of any real substance. Cautiously, she approached the decrepit husk and peered down at it like she half expected it to spring out at her while her guard was down. Serilda reached her sword toward it, using the flat of the blade to prod the body in an attempt to see if Shepard was still alive or not, ready to act at a moment’s notice in case the Trumpet had any last ditch effort attacks left in him…

“Damnit..!”

She should have known it wouldn’t be that easy. The corpse was all but dust, and yet a piece of Shepard remained in the form of a black centipede with a humanoid head. It zipped out from what was left of the husk and attempted to make a run for it. Already Serilda and Mythal both were launching spells to dispose of the thing, the former leaping into action to chase it while the latter hastily set Branwen down.

But Serilda came to a screeching halt as something seemed to snatch the critter, which squirmed and struggled violently in its grip. A portal of darkness not dissimilar to Mythal’s opened, a hand reaching out to grasp the Trumpet so tightly that he started breaking into pieces. Serilda stared in shock and horror, too dumbfounded to even know how to react. When the deed was done, a voice spoke from beyond the portal, lamenting that they hadn’t managed to get there sooner to help them, and chastising Shepard’s failed, overreaching efforts.

Mythal demanded to know who the man was, and after a moment of amusement the stranger poked his head through the portal. Serilda shifted her stance as he did, brandishing her sword at the ready without actually attempting an attack just yet. The figure had long red hair and wore a wide brimmed hat. She studied him quietly, memorizing his face while he insisted that he wasn’t important for the time being, though he seemed to think that eventually the two Knights would have an issue with him. Serilda’s gaze flicked briefly in the same direction his did, toward the “beacon of energy” as he’d called it.

But before Mythal could get too far in laying down the rules, the figure interrupted him and advised he’d simply come to clean up Faera’s mess. Opening his hand to reveal that Shepard had basically disintegrated, he wished them farewell and a blessing before he closed the portal. Serilda was already moving trying to follow the figure through the other side for more answers, but despite even Mythal’s efforts the gateway snapped shut. Serilda growled in frustration. “Why can’t we ever just solve one problem before we get another one..?”

The moment the portal had opened, every hackle on Ryori’s neck had risen. As Ruman had said, it felt familiar… too familiar. For the first time since meeting her, the Omen would appear spooked, if only slightly. Perhaps uneasy was the more appropriate term. “Yeah… probably a good idea,” was her distracted response to Ruman. She could get everyone out of there soon enough, but first…

Without warning, Ruman and Izrael would simply find themselves standing in the desert sands where the battle had taken place, where Serilda and Mythal had just finished confronting the mysterious stranger. “What just happened?” she asked as she walked over toward Serilda.

The Voidwalker spun slightly in surprise, raising her sword in defense only to realize who was approaching her. Not that the sight of Ryori made Serilda’s mood any less sour. The Omen, oblivious to the stern glare that Serilda was giving her, gently paced the spot where the portal had opened, examining it with the Weave. “You would know what happened if you had been here,” Serilda snapped. “Where the hell were you?! Shepard finally shows his face and attacks us, yet after all your talk you wait until the battle is over to show your face..?”

“The plan changed,” Ryori informed her, her focus still more on the place the portal had been than on Serilda herself. “Trust me, I’m no more happy about it than you are. Wasted a year of my life hunting that asshole and didn’t even get to punch him…You’ll get your answers, but first Ruman suggested that we get Branwen and Aster someplace where they can recover.”

As if only just remembering, Serilda looked over and saw Aster laying in the sand near the two remaining Trumpets. Her eyes went wide and she rushed over to her unconscious mentor, kneeling beside her. “Is she..?”

“She’s alive and she’ll be fine. She just needs rest.” Finally accepting that she wasn’t going to get any additional information from examining the place the gateway had opened, Ryori sighed in resignation and turned back to the group. “Where to?”

Serilda slowly stood to her feet, glancing up at Ruman and Izrael with a stern stare, clearly trying to decide what to do with them. The sight of them still made her a bit angry, considering all the events from their prior meeting, and naturally she was not ready to let go of her mistrust of them just yet… but when push came to shove, they had helped make sure Branwen was brought home. Her gaze flicked to Mythal and, presuming he didn’t voice anything against bringing them along, she’d nod. “New Rhaegar? If anyone can make sure these two are patched up properly, it’s going to be Cyrene… Though we may want to send a warning ahead, for Vriko’s sake.”

Mythal’s sister certainly wasn’t going to be pleased to see the two people that had killed the only person she’d cared about growing up. Though Vriko still lived with Serilda and Mythal in Era, she had the means to travel back and forth to New Rhaegar as she desired, and was oftentimes there as much as in Era. The last thing she probably needed was a surprise face to face with Ruman and Izrael after everything that had happened.

Once they were ready, Serilda used her Void powers to lift Aster and Branwen gently into the air, the pair hovering above the ground. Then, giving Ryori a nod, the sand dunes of Desierto would disappear and be instantaneously replaced by the familiar sight of New Rhaegar. Specifically, Ryori had brought them to the training grounds where Vandrad and Cedric spent most of their time with Victoria.

They wouldn’t get very far before Mercury hurried out to greet them. The Queen Apparent cast a curious glance at the two Trumpets, but otherwise went straight to the two Rune Knights. “Cyrene is getting everything set up for them.”

“Thanks. I suggest that she let them recuperate in the same room, otherwise Aster is just going to insist on getting up once she’s awake, and I guarantee she’s more stubborn than Cyrene is.”

Mercury smirked. “That’s saying a lot. I’ll let her know.” With the wave of her hand, she summoned two metal gurneys that hovered in the air. Serilda gently guided both of the unconscious individuals onto them. “Vandrad’s getting everyone to the conference room. Go on ahead. I’ll take these two to Cyrene and join you once they’re settled.”

“Thank you, Mercury.”

Serilda led the way to the conference room, wordlessly falling into step with Izrael and Ruman flanked between herself and Mythal. Ryori ambled along behind the group, though she was less worried about the two Trumpets and more exhausted by the prospect of having to cram herself in a room full of other people. While she had sort of met most of the du Wolff clan from her first encounter with Vandrad and Cedric, she really hadn’t spent any time with any of them, or even been formally introduced to most of them. For the most part, she showed up in the training grounds to work with Vandrad, Cedric, Saffron, and Victoria, and then she left as soon as training was completed. She’d never even set foot inside the manor.

The room itself was at least spacious. The Omen stepped inside and stopped to take stock of her surroundings. A large table that could easily fit more people than were already present took up the center of the room. She eyed each individual briefly while they did the same with the Trumpets, making note of those she was familiar with and memorizing the faces of the rest. Rather than claim an empty seat or arrange herself directly in the gathered group, however, she picked a spot on the side of the room where she could see and hear everyone clearly. There, she leaned against the wall, careful to make sure she didn’t bang it with the sword on her back. From there she would observe the proceedings apart from everyone else, withdrawing her flask and drinking from it quietly as she did.

Cedric was the first to break the silence, Saffron snorting dryly beside him at his humorous remark but otherwise making no other commentary. While the blonde was now part of the group that was fully roped in on the matters regarding the gods and demons, she still was somewhat new to the scene and still had some catching up to do. Basically, she was there just to support Vandrad and Cedric, and to keep herself fully informed in case they ever needed her help with anything. She, along with everyone else, listened in attentive quiet while Mythal gave them the skinny on what had transpired with Shepard – the most anyone, Serilda included, had ever heard him talk in one go. Mercury walked in sometime in the middle of it, quietly taking a seat beside Vandrad without interrupting the Rune Knight, trusting that someone would fill her in later on what she’d missed.

When he was done, Vandrad turned to address the Trumpets, inquiring as to their reasons for shifting allegiances. The question was met by some reproach from Izrael, who’s attitude earned a sharp look from Serilda, and varying looks of amused bewilderment from Mercury and Saffron. Ryori didn’t even shift her gaze in their direction, listening but otherwise zoned out on a random spot across the room while she took occasional sips from her drink. It was Ruman that calmed her down, as seemed to be his repeated lot in life, before going into his explanation about their conversation with Ryori during the battle with Shepard. Serilda considered the tale with an even, if stern, expression, her eyes flicking briefly to the lone woman against the wall as if weighing the new information against her prior annoyance with the Omen. If Ryori knew she was being watched, she didn’t care enough to acknowledge the look.

It was once again Cedric that offered the first response, not fully buying into the sell and questioning how they were supposed to believe them. Mythal insisted they were telling the truth, at least according to his supernatural ability to spot a lie. “One can tell truths and still be deceitful,” the Omen remarked from her perch in what could only be described as detached academia. “But if I had sensed any attempt to deceive me, any shred of obscurity in their story, I would not have allowed them the chance to intervene in the fight. Past that, their testimony aligns with the mythology of Kingdom Darkness. The reality of the situation is what they say it is.” She looked momentarily over at Cedric, meeting his gaze, offering him the chance to trust her if he could not trust the Trumpets…

…but that was all she would say for now, distancing her attention once more. Ruman insisted that they understood it was going to take work on their part to prove themselves. All they wanted was the chance to do so, and to do their part to save their matron from the abomination that she had become. It certainly upheaved the path the group had been expecting to take before confronting Faera, and Vandrad admitted as much. He asked if either of them had any knowledge of the Goddess’ next steps, and Izrael expressed that they didn’t. At least, nothing concrete. Faera’s ultimate goal was to invade the mortal realm, but it wasn’t as simple as finding a way out. She could open doors, but creatures that were tied to the Kingdom would not survive if they weren’t strong enough to survive the trip. Those that did possess such strength still needed a period of time to recover, and the same would be true of Faera herself.

Serilda had a thoughtful frown on her face as she considered Izrael’s words. “How weak?” she asked. “Say she manages to find a way out of the Kingdom. Would that be our chance to strike, if we can find a way to detect when she arrives?”

“You’re not asking the right question.”

“And what, pray tell, is the ‘right’ question?” the Voidwalker asked, a hint of annoyance with the Omen still present in her tone.

“If you are given the opportunity to kill Faera, should you?” she asked simply.

“You’re suggesting that we don’t? With the danger she poses, and after everything she’s done to us? To Mythal, Gren, and Vriko? To Branwen?”

“You know she only became what she is because Kingdom Darkness corrupted her.”

“Her sacrifice is noble and I can respect what she did, but it doesn’t change the situation. We can’t base our solutions on who she used to be–”

“You’re not listening to what I’m saying,” Ryori interrupted with careful, if forced, patience. Once more, she finally turned her gaze toward the group, settling it first on the Voidwalker before shifting it to regard the group as a whole. “She became the vanguard of Kingdom Darkness out of necessity. There was no choice. And once she is gone…”

“...Someone will have to take her place.” Mercury finished the sentence softly.

Ryori regarded the Xocili for a moment and then nodded. “Kingdom Darkness requires someone to guard it. Without someone to keep it in check, it will do far more than destroy the realm of mortals. It will consume everything.”

There was a pregnant pause as the Omen left them to consider that hard truth. This time, it was Saffron who broke the silence. “Okay, so… another god has to step in?”

The Omen shook her head. “Even if one of the other gods was willing, you wouldn’t want them to. Faera was once the kindest and most compassionate of the Divines. She was…” Her voice trailed off for a moment, and there was a rare softness to her expression. “She was the best of them. The only one that exemplified what a god should be.” She looked up briefly at Ruman and Izrael with a meaningful expression, one that was perhaps a bit sad. The look melted back into neutrality as she sighed softly through her nostrils. “I’m not saying all of the other gods are dicks. There are a couple who do care about more than just themselves, but the last time there was a changing of the guard, Faera was the only one to volunteer. The rest were ready to draw straws and dump the responsibility on one of their brethren. You’ve seen what Faera has become… Do you really want to see what Kingdom Darkness does to another god that has never shared her humble disposition? Because I don’t.”

As hard as it was to believe, Faera as she currently stood was the best case scenario. The other gods would not be able to resist the corruption as long as she had, would become something far more depraved and horrific. “There are only two that are immune to the Kingdom’s infection: Ataxia, the realm’s original ruler… and the Heir to Darkness.” She fixed her gaze directly on Mythal, unwavering. “Ruman and Izrael choose to ally themselves to you because you are the only one who can release Faera from her torment, as the rightful inheritor of the Kingdom. But from what I hear, you are staunchly against accepting your role. If that is the case, I would not be as eager as the rest of you seem to be to bring Faera’s life to an end, or the victory of the Heir will not bring peace.”

“There aren’t any other options..?” Mercury asked, pushing back skeptically on the topic. “Out of the billions of people on Earthland and the trillions out in the rest of the universe, out of all the divine beings beyond it, you’re saying there are only two people that can do this?”

“Only two that can do it safely. Only two that we could be sure of. I can’t say for sure that someone else, someone not a god, couldn’t do it but…” She gave it a moment of thought. “It’s never been done before, and I don’t think it’s likely to succeed. The corruption of the realm is just too strong. At the very least, they would need to have some connection to Kingdom Darkness, such as someone whose soul has already become one with the realm. You can’t just pick anyone arbitrarily, and no matter who took up the mantle, we would find ourselves back in the same situation sooner or later. They would only be a stopgap toward the inevitable.”

“So the question that needs to be asked is: If Faera is killed, are you ready to accept the consequences?” Her mismatched eyes once more settled on Mythal, and there would be no mistaking who the inquiry was aimed at. This was not a general problem for the group to solve as a unified whole, but one being put directly on Mythal. “And if you refuse to take up the crown, who will you condemn to take your place? Will it be one of the gods, who will become something far worse than Faera? Or maybe your friend Ruzatz? He certainly has a distant connection to the Kingdom. Would you convict him to suffer, to become a thing that wants nothing more than to consume the world of man that he loves so much? To hate his human wives? Will you force some other mortal to bear the weight of your responsibilities until they ultimately fail? Or perhaps you’ll simply let the Kingdom run rampant until it bleeds through all of time and space, all of life and death, until there is nothing left but the Darkness.”

While her words were without malice, they were intentionally harsh. Ryori was targeting Mythal because he was the only one who could decide what the future of Kingdom Darkness would be, and he had chosen to deny the reality of his situation every step of the way so far. Others may have been willing to let him entertain such petulant notions, but Ryori was not. The fate of all things rested squarely on his shoulders, and he had to confront it in one way or another. She wasn’t saying that he was without options, but the fact of the matter was that all of his options sucked, and he needed to start thinking about which outcome would be the worst for him to live with.