by Jade Alters
“The blood of the original sapiens, preferred prey of the Gray Fiends. Preserved from the Age of Legends,” Heren tells us. Then, just as casually as he says it, he turns the vial on its head. A congealed glob of dark jelly splats on the soil before either of us can stop it. Even I smell a tinge of iron on the wind. I can’t imagine what it’s doing to Darius. “I give you an hour before every last Gray Fiend comes running. Test the skills you’ve built these past weeks. When the battle is done, we’ll be here to clean up whatever is left over. One way or another, this will be the end of the Fiends.”
Heren retreats a step, his orb still up to keep us back. He clicks the heels of his shoes against the ground as he goes. Slits open in the sides of them, unleashing a thick flow of smoke. In seconds, a cloud has gathered, too dense for Darius or me to see through. When the wind scatters it, Heren is gone. Only the red-black stain on the ground remains as a trace he was ever here.
Darius,
Truce Camp, Mount Shasta Wilderness
God, that smell! It screams through my head like a command I can’t possibly deny. Drink. Drink. Drink. I shake my head from one side to the next, once I’m sure Heren is gone. I’ve got to shake this out of me. Or maybe I just need to get away from it. And not just me. I grab Emery’s hand twice as hard as I mean to.
“Come on,” I pull her along.
“Where?” Emery counters.
“Away from here. We have to,” I rattle. My mouth moves independently of my brain. I can’t possibly translate through to words right now. I’m operating on feeling alone.
“Darius, we can’t. You heard Heren,” Emery fights. She digs her heels in, quite literally, to stop me. She knows I could break her arm and drag her away. And yet she fights. “All of the Fiends are going to be here within an hour. All of them. It’s our chance to eradicate-”
“Look at me, Emery!” I growl. I pull my arm away from my face to show her just what I’ve become. The pulled back lips. The extended razor teeth. The wrinkled nose and dilated eyes. I look like a damn shark in a feeding frenzy. “This is what that shit did to me! You know what it’s going to do to the Fiends? Even if we somehow survive, then we’ll have Heren and his frat house to deal with!”
“We don’t have a choice, Darius,” Emery’s whimper nudges me back from the steep edge of panic. “An hour? We won’t get far enough away. We’re scented with the blood. They’ll come for us, and strike from the back while we run. At least if we stay here and hunker down… we have a chance.”
“Don’t you say that.” I grab both of her shoulders. “Don’t you say chance like we both know there isn’t one! If… if I carry you, we can run. We can get far enough. An hour is plenty of time at my pace-”
“I’m not leaving Helena and Fey Deller. Or Rock, or even Cece. Together is the only way any of us stands a chance. It’s the only choice. The Lotus sees us as a threat. We have to prove them wrong. We have to protect this Realm,” Emery says. So resolute. So determined to die.
“I won’t let you… I can’t let you die doing this. Not for the world,” I confess. I have to. All my usual barriers are down. I can’t just let her go.
“Then don’t. Stay. Keep me safe,” Emery pleads. She pulls my hands off her shoulders and brings them together inside of hers.
“I… I can’t even,” my eyes wander to the stain on the ground, “I’m just a…”
“Look at me,” Emery says before I can finish. In her golden-brown orbs, I see my reflection. I see my pupils shrinking. I see my fangs retreating. Through her eyes, I don’t see the monster I know. I see the man that she does.
“What happened?” calls out Magister Reynold. He storms out from the thoroughfare alongside the rest of the Council. Dorian and his colleagues aren’t far behind.
“Heren was here,” Emery tells them. She smiles at me before she lets me go. She turns away, but I still see that man in my mind’s eye. The man I didn’t even know, until she showed him to me. Buried so deep beneath layers of sarcasm and years of bloodshed, I thought he was dead. I never thought I’d see Darius Jecks again. But he’s still here. I’m still here, somehow. “He dumped an attractant for the Gray Fiends right there. We’ve got about an hour to prepare.”
“An hour?” Dorian echoes. “That’s not long enough to evacuate.”
“No it isn’t. So we have to organize a strategy fast,” Emery answers. “Find Rock and the Shifters. We need everyone else here, too. I…” She chokes on the next part as she digs into the memories of our battle against Heren and the Lotus. “I’ve got a few strategies we could use.”
Circle of Fiends
Emery,
Truce Camp, Mount Shasta Wilderness
“Just like during Sealbreaker, right?” Serge smiles and pats my shoulder. It’s hardly as encouraging as he means it to be. But I know he’s just as horrified as I am. As we all are. I force a smirk and shoot a glance back to Horace and Deliah a few feet behind us.
“Think we could pull it off better than him, now?” I whisper. Serge snorts.
“Imagine the look on his pompous face when he sees his kids do his own trick better than he can,” he says. A soft pound quiets us all. Bart’s feet hitting the ground. He, along with Darius and Lucidous, is one of the few Vampires who don’t look like sharks in a frenzy from the potent smell of the Original Sapien Blood.
“They’re moving in fast. Maybe ten more seconds,” says Bart. Rock, River, and their Shifters retreat to the spaces between tents. They make sure their bright red armbands are fixed on tight above their elbows. Helena and Bryant move in towards the dark red stain on the ground together, hands extended.
“We all know what to do,” announces Dragonlord Thise. Somehow, her bracing for impact signifies that it’s real. That we should all do the same. One by one, the Council of the Broken Academy, the Kyrie leaders, every student, and every vagrant tenses up.
“You should probably-”
“On it,” Helena cuts Dorian short. Magnificent golden light shines from each of her palms. An equally vibrant orange one glows through the cracks in Byrant’s. Together, they raise a dense column of earth around the stain of the Original Sapien Blood. It bears the subtle shimmer of Helena’s spellwork, the hot orange cracks of Bryant’s corruption, and the strength of both. The rounded wall domes at its peak, fully enclosing the bloodstain.
The very second it’s done, a body slams into it. Then two more. Then three, until an entire crowd of flailing, lanky limbs piles up around Helena and Bryant’s protective shell. Those who have never seen a Gray Fiend suddenly understand the appropriateness of the name. Even the ASTF have never seen one out in the open, during the day, like this. A thick circle of gray flesh gathers around the rising black and orange column around the bloodstain, all exposed ribs and flailing arms. Their dark eyes and wide mouths will haunt the nightmares of everyone who dares lay eyes on them. The smell of that blood is so intoxicating to the Fiends, they don’t even notice the small army gathered around them. Not yet.
“Hold, until they’re done showing up,” whispers Chief Botan to his son. Talon-like nails dig trenches through Helena and Bryant’s barrier just faster than they can mend it with shaking hands. Slowly but surely, they’re tunneling through. A few gray lightning bolts shoot in from the outskirts of the Mount Shasta countryside. A collection of uneasy nods declares the last Fiend arrived after a ten second delay. They can’t afford to wait any longer anyway, with so many claws tearing at Helena and Bryant’s shell.
“Box them in!” Rock shouts to signal his Shifters, scattered throughout the tents of the Truce Camp. They sprint out from every gap and shadow. They shift along the way, their speed multiplying faster than the human eye can track.
The Council and the Kyrie both look on in horrified awe as a second, almost equally dense wave of Gray Fiends converges around the circle already gathered. After all their practice under Rock and River, this elite squad of Ahwahneechee warriors has replicated the Gray Fiend form perfectly, down to the crooked dagger-
nails. All that sets these beasts apart from the real ones are the red armbands they bear. This second wave blurs in and slams into the backs of the true Gray Fiends, hard. Claws open backs. Teeth rip chunks from necks. Flesh and blood jump through the air like popcorn in an oven. The Shifters throw their weight around to bring Fiends down and converge on them like they’re the rabid ones.
They dismember a handful of Fiends before the rest realize what’s happening. The inner shell continues to dig at Helena and Bryant’s barrier, while the outer writhes around to bite back at their attackers. The commanders of the unit wait for this signal to jump in themselves. River shifts into form first, crouching low for Rock to spring off of her back. He clears the outer ranks of his own, crashing down into the real Gray Fiends. River rises to join him in the all-out thrash.
“They’re… almost through,” Helena growls to me. Her hands begin to lower against her will, exhausted from the constant reconstruction of her barrier. I look to Serge. He doesn’t need me ask.
“Not yet,” he says. “We need them boxed in tighter.” I look back to the warring crowd of Fiends. I watch the red ribbons tear and fall in the blood-soaked mud. I watch the Ahwahneechee Fiends fall back from the thrashing scarlet claws of their foes.
Darius darts through the crowd. He ducks under severing Fiend-blades. He leaps over the corpses of allies he was too late to save. He wades in pools of blood with a single focus. Grab the injured. Get out. A handful of other Vampires join him. I hold my breath every time a blade nears him, ready to snap a portal beneath him any second. But he takes two at a time, shooting over to the gathering of the Kyrie’s most gifted Fey Healers on the outskirts of the camp. Fey Deller waits among them, her scalded scars from the Lotus’ vile weaponry keeping her one eye shut. But, whether or not she’ll ever fully heal, she’s ready to pull others back from the brink. Viney tunicates seal off fatal leaks from severed limbs. Leafy bandages flatten over pulsing puncture wounds. And Darius zips back and forth, to keep a steady stream of survivors heading to safety.
The Fiends go down, too, but not as many. Not fast enough. I can tell from the weakening light in Bryant’s armor-skin, he and Helena don’t have much fight left. And Rock’s Fiends are falling left and right. Soon there won’t be enough…
“Dalshaks! Spears!” I’ve never been happier to hear Horace’s voice. It’s followed directly by a rain of translucent spikes. A few skewer Gray Fiends through the head, but most just irritate them. The beasts whip around in confusion, illusory weapons vanishing from their wounds just as fast as they pierce through. It’s just the distraction the Shifters needed.
“Push them in tight!” I shout as loud as I can. I don’t have a chance to scream watch out.
A five-taloned claw closes in on the back of River’s skull. It clangs against a familiar black steel shield, inches from her scalp. River whips around, still in Fiendish form, and slips her thin arm through the bracers on the back of Rock’s shield-body. She uses it to shove the Fiend back on the ground. I hardly believe my eyes as Rock shifts again right in her hand, this time into a gold-handled, black-bladed sword. The pommel is adorned with a glinting lion’s head. It’s the size of a claymore, yet with River’s Gray Fiend strength, she lashes it around with a single hand. The sting of its edge cleaves Fiends in half whichever way she swings it.
The rest of the Ahwahneechee Fiends put their bony shoulders down and charge. It’s slight, but the whole cluster of true Fiends within them sandwiches tighter. I look to Serge, then Helena. Each is less certain than the last.
“That’s it, Em… they’re through!” Helena grunts. She can hardly keep her arms up.
“We don’t have a choice,” I say to Serge. He readies his shaking hands, despite the horror in his eyes.
“There won’t be a better time, I guess,” Serge concedes. I take one of his hands. We each put the other out towards the crumbling dome of corruption around the bloodstain. Once the Fiends realize there’s nothing living inside… One way or another, the fight will be over. Our combined focus condenses waves of light from the sun in a visible curtain that gathers around the circle of Fiends. It sinks into the soil, leaving a shimmering yellow outline.
“Outside the circle, now!” I thunder over our allies.
River, Rock, and the Ahwahneechee warriors who are still able, hold back the Gray Fiends as long as they can for Darius and the other Vampires to zip in for rescues. They gather up as many maimed survivors as they can before everyone heeds my order. Anyone left inside the golden circle now, as every last member of the Truce Camp forces falls back, knew the risks before hand. They grab tight handfuls of grass, eyes clamped shut while they await the fate they share with the Gray Fiends.
When the last saveable survivor escapes, Serge and I lift our free hands over our heads. A column of semi-transparent golden light rises about sixty feet into the air. It’s wider and taller than anything I’ve seen Father conjure. If only I could see his jaw hit the floor behind me. But it takes all of my brother’s and my focus just to maintain the shape around the Gray Fiends. The outer ranks of them bash and kick against their glimmering prison. It bounces their strikes back with equal force. Beside us, Helena and Bryant share an exhausted, frantic glance.
“Do it,” Helena utters. They fall to the ground together, slamming their fingers in the grass. What remains of their corrupted earth dome explodes. Piping hot comets spit out in every direction, contained only by the walls of our Light Pillar. Fiends take flaming earth to the head, chest and legs. Those struck directly are seared straight through. Those hit by ricochets are toppled. A sizeable number of them still rise to their feet, rage pointed outward into the golden wall around them.
Three shadows zip up from the camp behind us. Halfway up the length of our Light Pillar, they burst into fire and become huge shadows. Dorian, Thise, and Cece spiral around one another like a triad of synchronized swimmers, all the way to the open top of our column. Each of them tilts their mouth in sideways as they circle it. Each of them unleashes a flood of dense fire. Three infernal streams surge around one another into a solid fist of red-hot death on the way down. It fills the already bright column with white-hot light, from the sky to the ground. Screams, squeals, and screeches come through the Light Pillar, muffled. The flame swallows the Fiends completely.
By the time Dorian, Cece, and Thise touch ground again, their flaming force has only just begun to transform into smoke. In just the way the fire spun down, it trickles away into a solid smog cloud, from top to bottom. Before it can reach the full way, Serge and I let go of one another’s hands. Cracks dance up and down every inch of the Light Pillar. Together, we snap our fingers to shatter it into a billion shards. We follow with a thrust of our opposite hand to sweep it all into a stormcloud of razor-sharp stardust. Fire, smoke, and illusory glass spins in a wild vortex for all of five seconds. It’s all we can handle. Serge and I fall on our backsides, hardly able to prop up and watch the clouds dissipate. To watch for survivors.
The smog spins on for a few more seconds before it even begins to thin. From within, comes the first sign of life. A long, gray claw shoots out and digs into the earth. Little as I have the strength left to do, I tighten up along with everyone else. Everyone who knows our defenses are spent. The claw drags forward a Fiend with its chest in the ground. It pulls itself a few, scraping feet from the smoke. Some turn their heads to gag, some laugh, and some cover their eyes, but we’re all equally relieved to see it’s just a torso. A trail of organs spills over behind the Fiend as the smog thins. Its fellow survivors are in similar condition.
“Spread out,” pants Dorian through the uneasy calm that hovers over the camp. “Finish the job before any of them get too far.” Even the most mobile of the Gray Fiends left, however, can barely stumble. Dorian and Cece lead out a small contingent of Dragons for the job.
“Hey…” Serge heaves, when he can speak. “Nice wor…” Something in the corner of Serge’s eye pulls it over, back to the smoke around the Gray Fiend
s.
“What?” I follow his eyes to the spot. Where a small crowd of robed figures step through the smog. “Fuck.”
“I told Emery. We will take care of cleanup,” says Heren, leading the crew. Dorian rushes him, cloaked in fiery mist. He’s stopped, mid-transformation, by a thick, steel bolt from Heren’s weapon, a cross between a pistol and a crossbow. The railroad spike it embeds in Dorian’s chest seems to anchor him just the way he is. The fire of his transformation puffs out before he hits the ground.
“Dad!” Cece screams as she falls on him. She uses her body to shield him as Heren loads a new bolt. The rest of the Lotus spread out with disabling orbs, wire-blades, and other weapons I’ve yet to see before. Heren pulls the trigger on his bolt, but it’s seized from the air by the shining blue hand of the Astral Stephanie.
“Save one for yourself, monster,” she bites at Heren. He drops his spike-bow for a steel X from behind his back. The same kind he burned Hoster away with. No. I scrape my knees on my way to my feet. Both of her parents? Right in front of her? After he already got Hoster… I won’t let him.
An illusory weapon builds itself in my hand like one I’ve never made before. Its translucent glow is almost golden, like the Light Pillar. It mimics the form of Heren’s spike-bow exactly. I lift it to my eye and let loose a crack shot straight for his throat. It misses by an inch when he leans back. He wasn’t even looking at me! But he is now.
“Ms. Dalshak,” Heren hums. He reaches for the orb inside his robe. I conjure another bolt inside my illusory spike-bow. But, before either of us can fire, a portal rips wide in the air between us.
It’s not a Magician’s portal, but there’s something oddly familiar about it. It takes me a minute to realize, I have seen this kind of rift before. Once. In Cooperative Casting. The blueish-black space inside it screams with wails that aren’t heard by ears. It shakes my very soul. Academy and Kyrie combatants alike take the opportunity to flee. But, no matter who calls me, I won’t go. Heren. I’m going to kill this fucker.
