“All’s well with you?” Luelia questioned, in her gaze a faint tint of detection.

  With the question, Euthymius stirred in the cage assembled in his own mind, along with the chains dragging him into the abysses of impotency. Chains not infallible, though he remained unsure whether he could himself break them, tear out the hooks clawing into the ethereal flesh of his mind.

  Euthymius nodded, his gaze focused on the windows where the little light provided stage for the shadows. The sole residents in their target’s home, a man named Ephialtes either knew little about, beyond being an old associate of Proclus. Hours passed since they arrived, and an hour marched ahead when servitors arrived, wiping the ornate shelves, rousing the speckles of dust from their rest. A daunting task, despite the domus appearing quite common, uniform where it nestled amongst the rest.

  A residence of an upper floor seemingly a single, great chamber, two terraces with one hanging above the street entrance, the other over the small yard its meager garden of sparling, groomed grass with a lone tree rising high amidst the sea of white, flat roofs. In truth, the interior was vastly greater, equaled that of the nobilos’s mansions, villas on the upper districts.

  “What if he suspects us coming?” Euthymius asked, as another hour passed into the night.

  The two crouched behind the bulwark of another domus melded seamless into its neighbor, straight across with the descending street below forming a subtly angled chasm between them. The garden itself stood out profound, accentuated further by the black iron grated and arched gate, sitting at the end of the stairs connecting to the street it sat above a few meters. Beyond the gate, marble blocks inundated into the mellowed soil formed a winding path, ceased right at a verandah whilst framed by potted plants of exotic nature even by the standards of the isle. Flowers of blooming silver petals rimmed in deep blues, shrubs of lush foliage deceptively resembling glass.

  The hours they waited, Euthymius spent in eternities of despair, flowing erratically different. Some moments, the blink of his eye thrown him into an eternity of darkness, followed by the seeping silvery glow returning only for a second. Or even less. All the while, the chains pulled him down, forced him onto the impalpable floor, cold and draining hope, singing a hymn of surrender.

  “I am sure he expects us. Especially with Proclus scurrying back to the continent so sudden.” Luelia whispered, her scarlet gaze focusing on the approaching metallic notes echoing down in the street.

  “Who are they?” Euthymius mumbled, watching in the Lunarius lit street the approach of men clad in mismatched panoplies of citrine golden consisting of overlapping pauldrons, the top fluted, helmets smooth and angular with cheek guards and a mask hewn in the likeness of feline dragons from the House of Magnificence, whilst the domes fitted with a faux mane of shifting shades. Small, diamond shaped shields adorned their left arms, the right they kept on the pommels of their axes and short swords.

  “Seems Naghig was right. He reached out to Legatius Drussaev’s militia.” Luelia whispered, staring at the one leading them.

  A khimmerian-orkh floating above the ground, moving with the grace of clouds; clad in scanty robes of golden, trimmed in ruby threads gleaming regally in the night. A long, rugged staff he held with protrusions on the sides, each embedded with an air crystal, whilst the top held a jet holding the darkness of Dusk in itself. Before his half-exposed toned chest, swung an elongated, lone braid of his lush beard, white as the clouds against the gold and ruby of his robe, the pale yellowish skin clinging onto his flesh. His head bald, adorned with porcupine ears trimmed in the blues of clear skies, from its center, cloud billowed out in a broad stripe, drawing a haze as they approached the black grated gate.

  Even from the cage, watching through the distant apertures reflecting the world outside, Euthymius recognized Shu-Khagor, the khimmerian orkh who accompanied Drussaev upon his second return to the capital.

  “Should we retreat?” Euthymius turned towards Luelia who puckered her thin, dark brows.

  “No, we shall enlist their aid at once, and pray Ephialtes returns in time after that.” She answered, her tone cold and sinister, confusing Euthymius.

  Euthymius stared into those scarlet pearls perturbed. No longer he seen the kind aevhe his brother fancied, the one he perished for.

  He remained silent, answered with a nod whilst reaching for the black bladed dagger he received from Volaginius–a gift from a friend he whispered after they finished their day. [Continue from here]

  “Time to go.” Luelia turned towards him, hand held out. Euthymius hesitated at first, with the target not yet showing up, but decided to trust her judgement.

  One arm locked on hers, shadows gathered around them, deepened despite the efforts of the Lunarius. Once wholly enveloped, the two swam down the walls onto the street, just as the gate closed, and two of the auxiliaries assumed position on each side of the stairs. One turned, seeing from the corner of her sight the two shadows crossing on the silver lit marble, but by the time her helmeted head shifted, Euthymius and Luelia reached behind them.

  Euthymius watched as she surfaced, the upper half enveloped in mellowed shadows, whilst hip below, remained thick, impenetrable and swirling, where she danced around before the tallest, like a charmed serpent. Her lips parted open and spoke silence into their ears.

  The two quivered at first, before their stiff stances loosened, made a step forward, bowing to both of them. Euthymius began surfacing, dagger in preparation, but Luelia gesturing him against the needless killing, then turned at the auxiliary, who answered her question with a tone laced heavily in adoration. “He is up in his office, his presence shrouded.”

  “What was that?” A little of his own curiosity seemed to leak out as the faux self uttered the question. At least believed so, granting him the momentary strength to arise in the cage–or at least the sense of verticality flown through him, along with the illusory tones of rattling chains. Yet his own voice penetrated not the impalpable bars, the walls of his own mind.

  “A little trick I learned recently.” Luelia answered whilst the Sylvan-Kin auxiliary with long, lush pinkish hair opened the way for them, then shut the gate once Luelia gave the command. “Fear not Euthy. From this point on, only friends await us all onward.”

  Euthymius recoiled, fearing the worst. The possibility of Luelia learning such wicked techniques, sorcery from the masked jailor of his drained his mental strength. He sprawled on the ethereal floor, letting dark thoughts whisper into his ear, possibilities on whether Luelia ever cared about them truly, whether she used Isocrates to further whatever goals the New Dawn sought. Grief swelled behind his eyes as she turned away, stealing towards the entrance to the house, but he released not the tear nor cry.

  “Will you teach me it?” Euthymius asked in a low voice, as they entered after seeing the warm fiery glow emanating from the khimmerian orkh.

  “After the gladiatorial games, yes.” Her words were hollow, and he sat knowing the one release he desired shall not come for three more months. Unless it is the night the Solemn Shepher comes for his soul.

  Though from the outside, the domus appeared quite meager in size, within the walls, both of them felt and witnessed the spatial spells stretching the limits, distorting the space creating the interior of a vast mansion. Though compared to the Radiant Keep and Proclus’s mansion, it was frugally decorated, a few paintings with brass or silver frames adorned the white walls, aging wooden furnishments held cups, plates, a few baubles Ephialtes collected during his steward days, travelling from city to city on the continent or the isle. Some fetishes to the outer intelligences like fey, the toe nail of a titan saved from the old dying realms took up more than half of windowless chamber, which he bought with half a year’s worth of his salary a few decades before, besides many other peculiar collections.

  If you come across this story on Amazon, it's taken without permission from the author. Report it.

  And as they headed further in the mansion, they at last picked up on the metallic steps of the auxiliaries patrolling the dimly lit corridors, broad and wide, fringed with soft arches. Like the two outside, Aurelithae whispered directly into their minds, using the Authority of Dominance to take hold over them.

  Euthymius averted his gaze, and stared into the abyss of his mind. There like phantoms hovering at the edge of windows, he peered at old memories offering a little shelter from the harshness of reality.

  “Two turns from here.” A lupine demikin stated and at once continued onwards, occasionally staring back with longing eyes.

  “How are you holding up Euthy?” Hearing his familial sobriquet part from her lips with a warm smile once more made Euthymius question the earlier dark thoughts. He started making excuses that maybe she always knew how to use mind maghia or that she may have been a member of the Order, just masked it from him. Maybe even from Isocrates.

  “A bit bored, but honestly can’t complain if this night will go down without a hitch.” He answered, but not with the words he wished to.

  A familiar feeling took hold when Luelia opened the door, and the two ducked down.

  “What in the…” Ephialtes exclaimed, leaping out from his chair. The shawl around his thin, fleshless neck swung like a pendulum, whilst his toga wrapped taut around his feeble form rumpled in the sudden motion of fear, reflected in his dry, near shriek.

  “Stay!” Luelia’s voice came out distorted, a second layered atop it, deep and ageless.

  At once the hunched, short truscian stopped in his steps, whilst Shu-Khagor resisted the words, jabbed the jet forwards. A torrent of black winds swept across the room, and led by her instinct, Luelia ducked. Behind her, the wood rotted and shattered at the pressure of condensed air imbued with the temporal facet of Dusk. It even reached beyond, pieces of marble fell upon the hardbound tomes. Surprise and frustration manifested in equal measures in her scarlet eyes, as she continued dodging the barrage, tearing new holes in the floor.

  A bit of relief came, when Euthymius slipped up behind on Shu-Khagor–or at least he thought so. Shadow and stone gathered about his feet, his right hand reached for his own blade. But he strained his mind as much as he could, but failed as the fingers wrapped about the hardened leather grip.

  Still whilst grasping for air, Euthymius ignored the nausea inducing pain, slammed his blackened palms against the hardwood floor. Rocky tendrils jutted forth, grappled around Shu-Khagor’s naked ankles, whilst from the ceiling umbral tendrils tightened about his throat. Their inky black surfaces scintillated in the faint light shining through the interstices of the closed balcony doors, a whispery slurping echoed, muffled by the khimmerian orkh’s groans.

  “Nice work.” Luelia approached, her blade drawn and glinting in the dimly lit room, ready to taste the yellowish flesh of the orkh. But before she could have reached him, the door’s flung open by a wild gust. Luelia tumbled face first to the ground, Euthymius once more found himself against the air, pummeled by an unseen wall also drying his agape mouth. And it broke his focus, cancelling the spell binding and choking Shu-Khagor.

  Shu-Khagor tumbled onto his knees, his grip tightened around the shaft, whilst the other caressed his strained throat as he gulped voraciously the fresh air flooding the office chamber. Though the flood ceased at once, to his surprise, freeing both youths whose daggers came to taste his flesh and blood. He drawn a wide arc with his staff, forming a swirling, bulging wall around himself. Luelia stopped before making contact, whilst Euthymius did not slow his pace, found himself off the ground and hurled against a bookshelf.

  His eyes teared up as he collapsed, though his consciousness remained intact as books began to tumble over the edge, bombarded his face, crotch and stomach.

  Luelia paced back and forth, eyes surveying the orkh, whether he neared towards his limits, though unlike novice magusos, Shu-Khagor maintained a calm expression, once the last vestiges of pain incurred by the choking tendrils vanished. Once or twice, she diverted her attention at Ephialtes who sat still, his elderly eyes beaming from devotion, and Euthymius groaning on the floor.

  Shu-Khagor himself hovered, his crooked long fingers tautened around the shaft of his staff, whilst mana flown in and within his anima veins. Thanks to the staff, he needed not to fear the coming of the Rage, though knew if he hesitates more, the two youngsters will triumph. Then his eyes shot wide, when she threw the dagger, and instead of hurled away, stuck within the condensed air, and ceased it at once. Then she came, in a blink of an eye caught her dagger, its tip drawn across his left cheek, drawing blood.

  With a swipe, Luelia once more slammed against the bookshelf, felt the cold trail of blood flowing from the lower lip her pointed teeth bit onto. It has been a long time, since Luelia last tasted her own blood, and whilst standing back up, realized how she did not miss it.

  “Stay down, it would bring me no joy to end your lives so soon.” Luelia chuckled a little, whilst Euthymius cracked his neck whilst arising onto his feet. Neither reciprocated the kind words, instead shuffled around the orkh who picked up on the faint steps approaching.

  His expression soured as his own comrades burst into the room, their weapons coming to taste his flesh. All four lifted into the air, confined into a sphere of air. Then as it exploded, the retreating air once more targeted Luelia and Euthymius whilst the four fell onto the floor prone. His eyes shifted quick between Luelia and Euthymius, the former unbothered by the forceful wave of air, the latter rolled off from the desk kicking over Ephialtes. Who simply set back the chair, sat down and watched awaiting the next command of his mistress.

  When his gaze moved back onto Luelia, Euthymius slammed his right foot into the floor. The hardwood billowed like waves upon the shores, shot out spikes penetrating through the soles of Shu-Khagor, pinning him down to the floor. Euthymius shrieked at himself, at the cruelty he was forced to carry out.

  Euthymius felt wind breeze around his neck at first, before it tautened into the executioner’s cord lifting him high towards the ceiling, depraving him of its primary building block. Shu-Khagor ignored his own agonies, knelt in his own blood, before forcing himself to roll away from Luelia’s blade. It slashed a meager wound upon his throat, one just an inch away from tearing another hole into his body, one depriving him of his life. He rolled once more, over the prone auxiliaries, then leapt back onto his feet near the door.

  Shu-Khagor held his quarterstaff now with both hands, and struck forward into the empty air once more, a torrent shot from the flat end, carving a hole through book, shelf and wall. But not the intended target, who vanished right before his eyes. Euthymius still flailed around, gasping for air which slowly hung him a few meters just from the ceiling. Shu-Khagor frantically searched whilst lifting himself into the air, but seen not Luelia, who manifested behind him.

  Her blade struck into his clavicle. Shu-Khagor roared, not from the pain of the blade finding its way through flesh and bone, but because of the flames its sharp tip spew into his body. The amber flames quickly spread within his body, his eyes melted, cascaded down his heated cheeks. His roar crackled, sparks and flames sputtered out onto the books as he blindly rushed against the bookshelf across the entrance, then fell onto his back.

  Euthymius fell once the cord of condensed air ceased about his neck. With ragged breaths, relying on the solid wall to get back onto his feet, turned towards Ephialtes who sat patient in his chair, never taking his eyes off Luelia. With the world still blurry, Euthymius stumbled towards Ephialtes, drawn his blade, then confusion adorned his comely face when Luelia caught his wrist, held it with preternatural strength.

  “Is there anything here, that would shed light on our coming operations?” Luelia asked, Ephialtes shook his head.

  “None. Most I passed on Proclus, before visited by the Almodo’s servants.” Both looked confused, but with the answer she sought, ordered him to draw no breath, before turning around and issuing the same orders to the four auxiliaries.

  “Won’t they question who… did that to him?” Luelia simply shrugged at his question, whilst watching Ephialtes quiver from the lack of air gracing his lungs.

  “It doesn’t matter, Euthy.” She answered coldly. “Come, the night is coming to its end.” The two hurried out, whilst Dumath remained with a wide grin across her phantasmal face, watching the four tumble, thrashing as they suffocated themselves, out of devotion.