Stationed the right corner suite, Nephyti battled in hopes of breaking Ephraimur’s hold on the spectators when she noticed Drussaev motionless, kneeling before Dumath. Worry written clear upon her comely, mesmerizing visage, gleaming in her lapis lazuli tinted eyes, she floated down close to him, and began her efforts to counter Dumath’s exertion, reign over his mind.

  A vain effort, yet she ceased not even as blood trickled from her nose, and slowly the tendrils of the primordial will dragged her into the cycling nightmare where they see and even feel the same agonies of their friends. “” Aurelithae felt pity hearing Albrion’s whispers trying to encourage his brother, though the thrill of Dumath infected her, her lips quivered as she struggled maintaining the projected unease upon her face.

  A phalanx of legionaries and his mercenaries moved before as Dumath approached, the snow, mud and blood turned into brilliant tendrils of fluid gold, ruby, sapphire. “It can’t be.” Terrianis’s whispered, and both he and Aurelithae sensed his grim presence voiding sensations from the world. Aurelithae turned and noticed grim recognition and confusion mingle in his polychromatic eyes.

  “WHY!?

  One tendril of fluid gold arose, its wriggling tip formed into an executioners’ axe, swiping across the phalanx formed hastily before the two. Their gilded plates severed like flesh as it cleaved across towards the two, their blood tinting the tendril as they mixture into the sumptuous appendage. It came near, the two collapsed onto each other, half freed from the torturous visions, their eyes locked in eternal and true love, then lost in the lengthening lane of memories they built throughout the long decades.

  The tendril shaped into an executioner’s axe at its tip though never reached either. Impotence forced upon it, the liquid appendage slushed upon the snow and black soil, even coated the two who were at once back in reality, their foreheads locked, their breaths shared. “Not today, by the Eight’s grace.” Drussaev whispered breaking away first, holding her hand as she followed standing defiant before Dumath, whose anger subsided by the cold embrace of dread.

  “It can’t be. Why?

  Drussaev turned, standing abreast of Nephyti, holding her hands in his. “Think you can hold on?” She nodded.

  Dumath boiled, but kept it for herself. It bothered her the signs of agony faded from his visage, instead a heartfelt joy took its place, followed by relief at Nephyti’s wordless answer. “It matters not.

  Once more, Drussaev charged at Dumath, his pace quickened, his axe raised and prepared, swept and nearly severed her head. Though she evaded by a hair’s breadth, noticed the green flames of Wildfire drape the edges, hop onto her leathery sleeves. In a few seconds, the leathery fabric, the plates welded on seamless, the fine fabric and her smooth skin were no more. Bare, and supple flesh of the aevhei exposed and seared, whilst the green tinted flames of voracious nature

  Then reappeared right before Drussaev who leapt, the flames nearly leaping from the arm onto his breastplate, onto the hewn head of the Prismatic Lord. He watched as from the woundn bone, flesh, and cloth grew forth all within the span of few seconds.

  Drussaev bit his tongue a little, his face wrinkled. “Of course.” He sighed, reigning in his arms, shaking mild. Dumath stood still, focused on the two, pondering. Behind, the four remaining members of the Blackened Circle appeared, phased through the thick oaken door of the vomitoria. Dumath paid no attention to them, focused on Nephyti’s whose pupils were circled by snaking ethereal haze, and at once took control over the four.

  Nephyti pursed her lips, as the four charged past Dumath, then recoiled and shrieked, for a moment drawing away Drussaev’s attention. He turned back quick towards the two, spew out a swelling ball of green flame. Each shrieked until naught remained of them, but the melted snow and scorched soil speckled with ash. Ash Dumath weaponized the moment Nephyti eased Drussaev, telling him to keep vigilant towards Dumath, sensing her true essence in the vessel.

  The tiny speckles scraped his armor, his cheeks drawing a little of his blood, their refrained from metering out wounds of the deadly nature. Merely, kept him from reaching her, leaving her to her thoughts. Realizing the vanity to divine His thoughts, reasoning Dumath shrugged then teleported away, onto the curving, thick lintel of the vomitoria. She extended her unseen tendrils into the four nearest Talos Legionaries, compelled them to slay their living brothers and sisters before joining her.

  Quickly she imbued them with her eternal essence, their solidness shifted into liquidness as they took on more magnificently horrific forms of brass and golden. They all retained their bipedal forms, whilst their faces possessed the near divine androgynous beauty Dumath preferred in her manifestations. First two then four metallic wings of myriad crisp feathers sprouted from their back and hip, their arms grew long and clawed, and their torsos shone with blinding radiance as they took the sky and dived towards Drussaev who cursed towards the skies, whilst spewing forth bolts of wildfire.

  This tale has been pilfered from Royal Road. If found on Amazon, kindly file a report.

  “Father, my Elhyrissiar, I beseech for your aid!” Albrion turned and knelt before Terrianis who appeared cold and distant, lost in his own thoughts.

  “Trust in your brother, our son!” All he spoke and Albrion pushed no more the matter, but turned and watched.

  “Trust in him brother.” Aurelithae whispered, gently touching his hand furling into fists.

  “I shall.” He whispered looking morose, turning back as the three-winged daemurs of brass and gold dived and clawed away the sumptuous panoply, quickly reaching to the golden scaled mail. She saw the contemplation in Albrion’s black eyes, wanting to leap down, and feared where it could lead.

  But to her true relief, one swing of his axe decapitated one, wildfire spread from its tip onto brass and gold. As it flew towards the endless firmament, chromatic ash tumbled back to the bloodied slush. The other two followed not long after, their demise, swift and sudden as soon as Drussaev leapt higher into the air. He swung his axe into one of their heads, strained his arm pushing it across, cleaving it half from head to haunches. The wildfire coating the sharp edge latched onto both halves, burned metal into gleaming embers and black ash with a slight green tint. Then, hurled his axe into the last swooping in with its taloned hands to tear him apart. It thudded into its blindingly radiant chest of gold, and as it tumbled towards the dewy soil, consumed by the green flames, the axe dislodged itself and flew back into the hands of its owner.

  “Come down here and face me you coward, you wretch of the six abysses!” Drussaev’s voice boomed through the shrieks, the clashing of weapons reverberating across each tier of the grandstand, pointing his axe towards Dumath. She paid no attention to him, wondering still on his reasons. It bothered her greatly. Then at last Aurelithae sensed she came to a decision, though what led Dumath to it, or what the conclusion she reached, she kept from Aurelithae.

  From high up she vanished, then appeared before Drussaev, lifting him by his throat, though with enough care not to crush his windpipe. “I’ll admit. You fare better than your little sister.

  Hearing her little shriek and angered by her words, Drussaev curled his fists and enveloped them in the green flames as he walloped at her shoulders, setting her aflame. Though she screamed not, tumbling back to the shadows lengthening slowly over the blood-soaked soil. Drussaev watched the green flames devour the rich fabrics, the smooth, fair flesh down to the bone and then it ceased, though there were no signs of surprise upon his countenance. He knew the wicked serpent standing across, the one whose slaying shall herald his name into the annals of history. Or gives him a glorious death.

  As before, she appeared unharmed, unaffected in a matter of seconds, though he noticed the spell repairing her vessel took longer, giving him a faint glimmer of hope. Drussaev charged, leaping as motes of gold and iridescence arose all about him, molded into shapes of crescent blades he expected would cut him in two if any of them found their way into his flesh. With each leap, each throwing of his whole body, Drussaev prepared his muscles to strike and his mind to the battering frustration of his enemy vanishing.

  Instead, he looked as confused as Aurelithae when axe parted flesh and bone. A wound deep and expanding as the blade ceased not until her head severed from her body. Thick, molten gold of slight pearlescence erupted from the gaping neck, accompanied by an unpleasant heat that burned more than flesh. Drussaev took a few timid steps back, watched unsure as the head finally stopped in its track, glee in its crimson eyes he recognized from years ago. The assassin who came to take his sister’s life, in her most vulnerable days.

  He stood there stiff, watching and waiting, gnawed by uncertainty. He waited, muscles ready to leap from tendrils, projectiles barely visible to the naked eye, prepared for all known tricks of the adversary. Seconds passed into minutes, the cacophony of chaos lessened, then at last he sighed knowing triumph at last standing before him. An empty one.

  Though some gnawing uncertainty remained. Even as he lifted Nephyti, took occasional glances towards the severed head staring at him. It lessened as he placed her on the cushioned bench, but never went away, remained whilst he looked over the grandstand and noticed amidst the chaos, Calaviril in her adventurer’s gear. Seeing her weighted many things over this uncertainty, one of which was anger at her defiance to remain in her room. Each kill along the way, returned his confidence, though it still kept him from ordering Euthymius’s summary execution thither.

  Amidst preparing a long sermon for Calaviril, his focus shifted downward, at the opening of the Dusk team’s vomitoria. A husky, raspy bellow as the thick doors swiped clean the area before them. From beyond the shadows, Mirayroth sauntered into the light, whilst shadows followed him on the ground, the little snow which began melting as Mineirvia’s vernal winds carried back warmth into the colosseum. Though Calaviril prepared to join her, she ordered her taken away, then leapt off ready for another battle.

  Three steps in though, he collapsed, hit by the heaviest of drowsiness he ever experienced.

  “This all better be worth it.Now watch, bask in and absorb the magnificence of Dusk.

  “Watch, our dear daughter, our inheritor. Bask in and absorb the magnificence of the Elhyrissiar.”