The soundless dark was suddenly ripped apart, a curtain of swirling purple energy spreading in an arch before the catwalk. Nephthys stepped through, followed by Moirenea, who immediately covered her face with chitinous hands.
Nephthys briefly wondered what she was doing before she was assailed by a veritable wall of stink. Even her disconnected body nearly retched, and she instantly surrounded the two in a bubble, pulling the fresh, untainted air through the gate as it closed behind her.
She waved her hand, and a soft purple light attached itself to the ceiling of the domed room, immediately revealing the destruction she had wrought.
The hole in the center of the dome was jagged and sharp, as if a giant had reached in and ripped it asunder. Beyond that, the only other change in the room was the lack of sticky blue mana clinging to the walls and ceiling.
Lying at the end of the catwalk was Jace’s body, the obvious source of the stench.
Nephthys approached and crouched down, examining his corpse. The decay was advanced, though she was not skilled in forensics. There was no indication she could detect for how long he had been dead, but the stink was enough to deduce that it had been a while, at least. Or maybe that was just the voided bowels?
How did this happen? When she told him he would need her permission to breathe, she was mostly being hyperbolic. Though it was a brand new spell and hastily cast, she was confident her soul chains would merely render him paralyzed. He would appear vegetative, but he would be fully conscious. A horror, to be sure, but they would not outright kill him.
Nor should he have starved to death so quickly. Perhaps he died of dehydration? Probably not. He would have been, again, completely paralyzed. Even a couple of days without water should not kill him if he spent them completely immobile.
His body appeared uninjured, and he lay exactly as she remembered leaving him. No rocks fell from the ceiling to crush him. No unforeseen monster or deep-dwelling denizen had stumbled upon him and made him its meal. He seemed to have just…died.
Nephthys felt a pang of frustration with herself. This was a pre-Skyfade entity! He would have had so much useful and interesting information!
She shook such thoughts from her head. She left because Tara was in trouble, and if she could go back in time to the instant she felt Aka unsummon, she would do it exactly the same. She had no regrets abandoning him for her.
Still, how did he die? A small naggle at the back of her mind said she was missing something. She felt she should recognize something about this situation. She furrowed her brow, annoyed at the mind’s ability to recognize that she was missing something, but not what.
“This was not what I wished to show you, Mythmaker,” Moirenea said, seemingly floating above the catwalk. “The real sight is up here.”
Nephthys rose, floating in pursuit. Though Moirenea appeared to ascend through the hole in the ceiling on unseen currents, Nephthys' eyes caught the razor-thin threads of black silk. They positively glowed in her eyes, an almost unbelievable concentration of mana coursing through each of them.
She briefly wondered if Moirenea had such excess mana to waste so much of it, but when the threads retracted and vanished into her body, Nephthys understood. She decided she should not be watching, though she could not specifically say why. It was just…the threads were retracting into her body…it felt like something she should not be witnessing.
Breaching the surface, Nephthys stared out once again at the towering buildings with a feeling of corrupted nostalgia. It was so very close to feeling like her home city, yet there were constant reminders that the environment was not her home, closer to an alien planet. No, wait, literally an alien planet.
“There,” Moirenea declared, pointing upward, toward the center of the city.
Nephthys squinted her eyes, failing to understand what she was looking at. Before her was simply the obsidian-like ceiling, a colossal dome covering the entire city. Apparently, it was created from molten debris covering a mana shield—
“Oh,” Nephthys said simply. “Oh no.”
The ceiling, previously covered by a nearly imperceptible mana field, was now dark. The Well, it seemed, had been supplying the barest trickle of mana to maintain the shield, its function reduced to preventing the cavern’s collapse only.
Nephthys had, of course, destroyed the Well.
Now, the ceiling was completely dark, held in place only by the glass-like rock. Fortunately, there were no obvious signs of impending collapse. There were no large cracks, falling debris, or even rumblings to indicate the structure would fail. Still—
“This is a rather large void in the ground directly beneath Promise City,” Moirenea said, perfectly summarizing Nephthys’ own thoughts.
Several possibilities ran through her mind, viable long-term solutions, temporary stabilizing measures, but she eventually sighed, resigned.
Moirenea glanced at Nephthys, noting her exhale.
“We will have to bring Eirene down here,” she declared, frowning.
“This is…a bad thing?” Moirenea asked.
“Yes and no. I have no doubt she can rig up a short-term solution and plan a long-term one that would make my own thoughts look like children’s drawings. However, this is an ancient, abandoned city from a civilization renowned specifically for its magical prowess and sophisticated magical infrastructure.
“If we bring her down here, we might have to physically drag her back to Nemesis once she is finished,” Nephthys explained, her frown deepening.
——————————————
A golden goblet encrusted with gleaming gems went sailing through a flickering projection of Lyron, who kneeled, his head down. The clang as it hit the wall reverberated through the room, piercing the silence with the shrill ring of metal on stone.
“How?” Vitrimis growled through clenched teeth.
Lyron did not reply, maintaining his kneel and not moving his gaze from the ground beneath him.
“How did this happen?! You’re the Titan! You’re the arm of our kingdom! How have both the rulers of the most important territories in Ashreach perished under your watch?! How?!” Vitrimis screeched, spittle flying.
“It is as I have explained, your highness,” he replied simply.
Vitrimis heaved, breathing so quickly and heavily that he was becoming lightheaded. He threw himself down in his chair, which made not so much as a squeak, and leaned his head against his hand.
“I severely overestimated you, Titan. Not only have you failed, but your brief time on another continent seems to have robbed you of even your wits,” Vitrimis sighed, his anger pulling back into a simmer.
“Your highness, I beg your pardon, but I am not mad,” Lyron responded, not raising his head, but minor heat entering his voice.
“Yes, you are right. I should take your report at face value. You detected some ‘aura’ from the woman so frightening that you were unable to attack her, didn’t even try, and then the God of Death himself descended on the square. A rather reasonable report, now that I consider it,” Vitrimis spat.
“Your highness, the presence I felt could not have been mistaken for anything—” Lyron started, raising his head.
“Cast your gaze down, fool! I have not given you permission to rise!” Vitrimis bellowed, clenching his hands repeatedly as he failed to find anything nearby to throw.
Lyron went silent, resuming his kneeling pose. Vitrimis breathed deeply, calming himself so that he could think.
How could things have gone so wrong? His dreams of an Ashreach unified under the Sardvend banner were vanishing before his very eyes, in real time. Not only had little progress been made on the push deeper into Ashreach, but they had lost territory to feckless rebels! This was an outrage!
Incompetence! That is what he is surrounded by: incompetence. This is the exact reason the crown must go to him! Imagine the mess his stacked-meat brother would have made of this situation, had he been leading the operation!
No, he could not give up. The fate of the kingdom depended on him! If his idiot brother took the crown, it would surely fall due to his reckless inadquacy! No, Vitrimis needed to remain calm and consider the situation. There was surely some way to recover from this. He could still take over Ashreach, and when he did, his own succession would be assured.
He just needed to think. What pieces did he still have on the board? Where were they? How could he play them?
A calm determination settled over him as he thought through his options. Yes, there were still plays he could make. Perhaps this setback would even be the catalyst to a quicker, more assured conquest. With Radaar’s leadership out of the way…
He looked up, pleased to find Lyron’s flickering form maintaining his kneel.
“Fall back to the Sardvend Straight, Titan. Wait there for my orders. Do not move without explicit permission,” he ordered, rising and walking toward the door. “Wait for our forces to arrive, then fall in with them.
“A commander will be on-site to give you further orders. It will be very simple: just do as you are told. Surely even you can handle that, yes?” he finished, pocketing the artifact as Lyron’s wobbly form disappeared.
He stalked down the hall, doing his best to resist rubbing his hands together. Yes, this could work. This is exactly why the succession must go to him. Imagine his brick-wall brother in this situation! What would he even be able to do? Nothing!
He knocked on a polished wooden door, its gold-engraved panels depicting griffons in various action poses.
“Enter,” called the king.
Vitrimis closed the door behind him, standing with his hands clasped behind his back. His father sat hunched over his desk, likely signing this-or-that decree, perhaps viewing reports the chamberlain had left. He set his quill down, turning a warm smile on his son.
“What can I do for you?” he asked.
“Father, I am sorry you have to hear it this way, but my agents in Ashreach have informed me of grave tidings,” Vitrimis said, bowing slightly.
The king’s smile faded, replaced by his kingly visage, as he recognized official business and shifted immediately.
“Report,” he ordered.
“Radaar is in active rebellion, Father. The count of Gloamview and the marquis himself have perished, and the most valuable territories are in chaos as rebels take control,” Vitrimis explained, head bowed.
The king leaned back in his chair, looking up toward the sky and closing his eyes. He seemed to be calm in thought, but Vitrimis recognized the lines in his forehead. He could tell how distressed his father was, even beneath his official facade.
“Father, if I may?” he asked, raising his head.
The king returned his gaze to Vitrimis and nodded, crossing his arms before him.
“Although my original purpose was merely to obtain information on the Crater and its inhabitants, I took extra precautions and sent the Titan over to Ashreach. Even now, he resides on the other end of the Straight and stands ready to intervene.
“Please allow me to handle this matter. Give me a portion of Rodward’s military resources, and I believe we can turn this unprecedented situation into an unprecedented advantage,” he declared with a smile.
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