Mythos: Last Stand

  Chapter 28 — Victory’s Cost

  by Caide Fullerton

  Some time earlier; the northern end of the port…

  Sixty, fifty-nine, fifty-eight, fifty-seven, fifty-six…

  The countdown sounded in Raffica’s head as she zipped through the air. Her jets propelled her in a zig-zag, her bright red hair whipping about in the wind as she dodged the twin maces of her opponent. The Volundr mech stood hip-deep in the water of the bay, facing her in a small, open space between two lengths of pier.

  ...fifty-five, fifty-four, fifty-three…

  With several quick zips she closed the distance between her and the mech, darting to the side to evade a downward-swinging mace. She shot straight up before the other mace could reach her, flying behind the mech. She bent her knees, and that simple shift in posture had her body whipping around in the air. She flipped upside-down, briefly cut off her jets as she straightened her legs, then set them on full blast to rocket down at her foe.

  ...fifty-two, fifty-one, fifty…

  She homed in on the mech in the blink of an eye. One jet cut off, the other leg bent to the side, and she whirled about horizontally, a sweeping motion that drove her heel into the metal plating of the mech’s armor. She felt the force of the impact reverberate through her body, the full brunt of her momentum enough to send her hulking foe staggering back. It remained standing despite her best efforts, the scraping of metal signaling its next move. Raffica darted back just as it whirled around with both maces outstretched.

  ...forty-nine, forty-eight, forty-seven…

  Raffica and the mech were stuck in a stalemate. She was too fast for it to land a hit, but the mech was too armored for her kicks to do any real damage. She was strong enough to bat it around and keep it distracted, but not enough to knock it down or make any real progress.

  She knew that was probably enough. Her job wasn’t to eliminate all the enemies herself, but to prevent them from causing further damage to the pier or their ships. To that end, keeping a mech occupied all by herself was more than enough of a contribution. Even if she couldn’t defeat it, she could handle it until one of the people who could arrived to take over.

  ...forty-two, forty-one, forty…

  She heard a shout from an adjacent battlefield. Whooshing past another mace attack, she stole a glance that way to see Jackie running towards the site where Celeste had just felled a mech. She followed what ensued between her own dodging and attacking. Celeste seemed to say something, a bunch of weapons were thrown her way, and she raced off towards the center of the bay.

  That was why Raffica wasn’t satisfied with just holding out until someone came to her rescue. Celeste was jumpy and softspoken, and she’d clearly been going through a lot recently, but she was still putting her all into this battle. Not only had she taken down a mech herself, she was racing off to another task. Jackie, too—they were just a Human, far too outmatched to face the Volundr in combat, but they’d still found a way to contribute to the battle.

  ...thirty-four, thirty-three, thirty-two...

  Raffica didn’t want to let herself be left behind. She’d wasted so much time in Heapwatch holding herself back. She respected her brother, she didn’t want to cause trouble for Sils, she wasn’t ready for the realities of war; she could come up with many such excuses for her inaction, but it didn’t really matter whether any of those were true. She was here now, and she fully intended to make up for lost time. Just as her friends were giving it their all, she would as well—even if it was painful.

  ...twenty-seven, twenty-six, twenty-five…

  She grit her teeth, doing her best to ignore the pain coursing up her right arm. The searing sensation only intensified as the transformation progressed, but she wouldn’t give up due to something as trivial as a little bit of intense pain.

  ...eighteen, seventeen, sixteen…

  Blood dripped off of her right wrist, whisked away by the wind. The red chitin that guarded her forearm had changed shape, sharp edges piercing into her skin, merging with and remodeling bones and blood vessels. Her four fingers had fused and extended, becoming a curved, chitinous beak. Her thumb had undergone a similar change, its sharpened curve locking perfectly into what had used to be her fingers.

  ...six, five, four…

  With a series of audible, painful snaps, the new shape of her hand settled into place. Only one end of it was pointed, the other a hollow curve. This great claw, dwarfing the size of her other hand by at least double, would be quite useless for grabbing or crushing or striking or piercing. Its size and weight ruined her sense of balance, forcing her to zip away from the mech and land in the shallow water.

  Her opponent took one look at the completed claw and stepped back. Metal creaked as the construct turned to flee into deeper water.

  Raffica unleashed the jets on her heels and knees at full blast, sending her rocketing straight towards the mech. Her hand stretched out, claw agape, and then—

  Snap.

  Several things happened in the course of a single second. Sound was erased from the world. A wave of heat washed over Raffica and the mech. Sight disappeared next, a sphere of searing white stretching out from the tightly-shut claw.

  For a moment, all Raffica could feel were the intense vibrations pulsing through her body in waves. Her muscles tensed beneath the strain of immeasurable force.

  The white faded away into wisps of nothing, dissipating as quickly as it had appeared. The world was still silent, but a small whirlpool had formed in front of Raffica, swirling water rushing to fill the gap left by what had been vaporized. Further ahead, soaring backwards through the air, was the mech.

  Then, sound returned all at once. A crack like lightning. The rush of wind. The crumpling of metal. The snapping of bone. Then, a moment later, the sound of the mech crashing down into the water of the bay.

  Raffica fell, listless, through the air. The shock of cool water reignited her senses, and she jetted backwards, landing on the shoreline. She gazed out at her own handiwork, the sinking form of the mech—and beyond it, a sea of boats and ships of various sizes set loose without sailors, the gentle waves swirling them about like the contents of a particularly buoyant soup. It was a rather surreal sight, even if she understood it was to keep them away from the Volundr.

  Right, the Volundr. Her head snapped to the side, gazing down the port. A few more mechs were still engaged in combat, some having made it up onto the wharf, others fighting on patches of exposed shore or in the shallow water beside the piers. A handful of Avek Tirion’s defenders were locked in combat against them, a few faces she recognized among them.

  She truly was proud of herself for taking out an enemy all on her own, but she also felt like that wasn’t enough. Sils had specifically enlisted her for this important mission; when so much trust was being placed in her, shouldn’t she be able to accomplish more?

  Thinking that was easy, but putting it into action… not so much. The pain in her right hand—er, claw—was starting to win out over her adrenaline. It was all too terrible a reminder of just how much she despised pain. Celeste was still gone, and it seemed like Sils had disappeared somewhere, as well. What could she even do in this state?

  ???: “Raffica!” A voice from behind got her to whirl around. The source, vaulting off of the wharf to run over to her, was Jackie. “You alright!?”

  She forced a smile. “Yeah. Did you find what you were looking for?”

  They nodded. “Celeste’s on it, and I think Sils followed her. We still have enemies to deal with here, though.” There was a kindness to their eyes that Raffica appreciated, but as they voiced the word ‘enemies’, a sharp look superseded it. Their usual expression returned as they looked down at her claw, “Is that how you exploded that guy?”

  Raffica: “Yeah. I’m stuck with it like this for a while, though, and I can’t Snap again.”

  Jackie: “Can all Alphiccae do that?” She could practically see the gears turning in their mind.

  Raffica: “Sort of. It’s part of our racial magic, but it’s hard to learn to use, and it takes a while to charge.”

  Jackie: “That’s good enough. Get us back onto the wharf.” She did as they said, lifting them both with her jets. “I have a plan. Do your best to keep fighting, and…”

  They leaned in to whisper the rest of their idea to her. The gesture seemed unnecessary, given there were no enemies nearby, but she supposed that was part of Jackie’s charm. Her smile widened, genuine, as they pulled away.

  Raffica: “Got it. Don’t get hurt, ‘kay?” She didn’t wait for an answer before launching towards the nearest mech.

  It felt silly now, how she’d been doubting herself. Sils had chosen her for a reason, just as she’d chosen Jackie and each of the others for a reason. Raffica simply needed to return that trust.

  She would trust in it. In herself, in Jackie, in all of her friends. Like that, she somehow knew, anything would be possible.

  Was it really that simple? That if she simply believed hard enough, she could accomplish anything? A part of her knew it wasn’t.

  But believing it was just so… freeing.

  She closed in on a mech. It was facing off against a stout, bearded man wielding dual pistols—one of the few she recognized. She called out his name as she whipped an arm and leg in opposite directions, rotating her body a perfect 180 degrees,

  Raffica: “Hey, Vigor! I’m tagging in!”

  Her cheery voice chimed like a bell, and the ensuing ring came as both of her feet were planted into the front of the mech’s shoulder. The shock reverberated up her body, the bones in her legs shivering, but she held strong. The full weight of her momentum pressed into the mech, sending it teetering off balance in a wild spin.

  Raffica spun out as well as her boots slipped free of the mech’s armor, the wind whipping her hair and clothes about as she careened through the sky. Perhaps that should have been worrying, but she just grinned ear-to-ear. Well-timed bursts of her jets only accelerated her rotation. She somersaulted away from that first mech, carrying herself to the next.

  She stopped barely a foot in front of it, blasting enough air at it from all four of her limbs to cause even the colossus of armor tilt back. Time almost seemed to pause with her hanging there, face to ‘face’ with the mech. Then it swung, and she shot an arm and a leg out to the side, firing both jets to fling herself away.

  Two bursts of air later—first a zig, then a zag—and she was behind the mech, rocketing towards its right leg. She swung her body around and delivered the heel of a kick to its knee. The blow forced the titan to bend, but it wasn’t enough to knock it down. She blasted both jets on her feet, then a moment later stretched her arms back to blast the jets on her wrists. The opposing forces sent ripples through her as she was held in place midair.

  Her leg jets cut off, and she crashed against the same knee once more, this time striking with both feet. The mech staggered, the titan falling before her. Satisfied, she launched herself backwards, landing on the ground in a handstand before having all her jets send her straight up into the sky. Once she was sufficiently high up, she cut them all off and gasped in a deep breath, filling her reserves with as much air as she could. Then, channeling that air up her throat, she shouted as loud as she could,

  If you discover this narrative on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen. Please report the violation.

  Raffica: “Hey, all you Volundr! You saw what I did to your friend, right!?”

  She let the question stand for a moment, echoing off the stone floor of the wharf. Like the Volundr, her people were amphibious, and they often worked as mercenaries; she had no doubt every one of them knew how her powers worked, and that she likely couldn’t Snap a second time. They would understand the implication of what came next, even if it was a bluff.

  Would Jackie be able to make good on their half of the plan? Would it be enough to fool the mercenaries? Such questions didn’t even cross her mind. Raffica had complete faith in her friend.

  And, on cue, they appeared. Carried through the air by the jets protruding from their knees and heels, fellow Alphiccae emerged onto the port, zipping around the mechs. First two, then another, then three more, a whole squadron of Alphiccae flitting about. Some were soldiers, others dock workers. She realized all of them were carrying something in their right hand—scraps of splintered wood, fragments of bricks, anything with an irregular shape.

  Raffica found herself at the center of the swarm of faux warriors. She summoned the haughtiest, cockiest voice she could. “We’ve all charged up our counterattack, so this is your only warning! Surrender, or you’ll all end up like that first mech!”

  She let the words settle amidst the sounds of jets. There was a pause before anyone reacted. Then came the clangs of mechs kneeling down on the wharf. Had they fallen for their ruse, or simply realized they were outnumbered? It didn’t make a difference in the end.

  Raffica landed near the center of the commotion, soon followed by many others. The soldiers kept up positions near the mechs, but the brave workers lined up safely behind her. She placed her hands—er, hand and claw—on her hips, puffing out her chest as she spoke again, “You made the right choice. Our admiral is merciful.”

  She had to hold herself back from letting out a sigh of relief, lest it ruin their ruse. She was glad not only to have ended the battle, but at having managed to do so without further bloodshed. That first mech she’d used her Snap on… just thinking about it made her hands shake. Several of the Volundr inside were probably dead, if not all of them.

  She’d never been a stranger to death—in Alphiccan culture, it was a close neighbor, as her mother liked to put it. She’d attended a number of celebrations honoring her fellows who failed to return at the end of their Vita Sagacia. She’d seen people die during her travels, not to mention the war with Evendel. She’d participated in many battles before where her enemies were killed, even if she hadn’t dealt the killing blow. Was this much different?

  If she’d waited a little longer, been able to hear Jackie’s plan, could she have won this battle without killing anyone? She brushed the thought aside; she was defending her friends’ nation from an invading force. What’s done was done.

  It was almost concerning how easily she dismissed those doubts. Was the sweet, cheerful Raffica her friends knew really capable of being such a cold-blood killer?

  She regretted questioning herself as she was overcome by the urge to puke.

  Northern battlefield — Result: Raffica & Jackie’s victory.

  ? ? ?

  Celeste was suffocating in the golden glow of the bay. Then, the darkness took her hand, as if beckoning her to whatever came next.

  She regretted that she had wasted this life of hers. After living a life of only suffering, the Cycle had blessed her with a second chance. Not only that, the Leys had blessed her with the power to fight, to cleave apart this broken world and piece together something better from the fragments.

  All of it was wasted now. She could have lived a peaceful, happy life; she should have been a warrior without peer. In the end, she realized she had ultimately done neither, stretched too thin between Celeste and her other half.

  What a waste, she thought, allowing the darkness to pull her along, drifting into the warm light of beyond.

  She burst free of the water's surface. Her eyes widened, taking in the searing glow above—not the end of the tunnel, but the rising sun.

  Her survival instincts roared back to life all at once. She hacked up a deluge of seawater with a violent heave, gasping to replace it with air. She wasn't dead—not yet.

  When finally she'd taken in enough air for her senses to return, she found herself slumped on a dingy wooden skiff. Before her stood a tall, grey-skinned figure, reduced nearly to a silhouette by the rising sun. Emerging from his back, its body shaped by flickering shadows that shrank away from the sunlight, was a shadow in the shape of a man. It peered down at Celeste, eyes of white smoke curled in concern.

  Meeting those eyes, she felt her heart sink. “ceogan…” She spoke the Kelpie's name, her voice even frailer than usual. “i-i'm sorry, i—”

  Ceogan: “You can apologize for being a dumbasss later.” The shadow's voice was harsh, raspy.

  The elf to whom the shadow clung clicked his tongue. “In situations like this, it's better to say ‘thank you’.”

  Kyte spread his arms wide, and Ceogan evaporated into a mist of blackness that flowed up his body and coiled its way down either arm. He glanced back at Celeste to speak again,

  Kyte: “You did well, keeping them busy. But you look terrible. Save your strength.” His arms raised, and the sun seemed to dim. “I'd be upset if you died.”

  Celeste could feel the intense pressure of magic radiating from him. Looking back, she saw where all that energy was flowing—the shadow of the boat, cast long by the morning sun, had taken shape as a mass of inky black tendrils, all trailing behind the boat like the limbs of some eldritch monster.

  The tendrils moved as one, surging past either side of the skiff and plunging into the water below. The sounds of the violence they enacted did not breach the surface.

  As if in place of the sounds, two Merfolk warriors burst free of the water in unison, one on either side of the skiff, lunging for Kyte in dolphin arcs with weapons outstretched.

  He clicked his tongue again, reaching for the sword at his hip. As he did, Celeste's shadow crept away from her and slunk up his back, stretching out into Ceogan.

  One of the attackers was faster than the other. Ceogan thrust forth a hand, mass shrinking away from the rest of its form and into that hand. It grew large, glassy, with fingers like jagged shards of obsidian; the hand snapped closed around the blade of the attacker's sword.

  With a twist of Kyte's body and a wrench of Ceogan's arm, the Merfolk was yanked over the skiff and flung into the other attacker, sending both tumbling back into the water. As they fell, Ceogan's mass coiled up Kyte's arm and enveloped his sword, and he sent a slash of rending black void after the pair.

  Celeste almost breathed a sigh of relief. Then the skiff was rocked by an impact from below, a terrible crack ringing out as the vessel was split in two. She was thrown backwards, searing pain flaring up in her side as she hit the deck.

  Her limbs flailed, hands finding the wood beneath her. She gasped for air before her half of the boat was pulled under… but it wasn't. Something held it up on the surface of the water—looking ahead, the half Kyte stood atop was held in place as well. Shadows had crystallized into jagged shapes, jet-black spikes holding up both halves of the boat.

  Between them, a Merfolk was halfway out of the water, their weapon raised to the sky; the same jagged shadows had dug into their waist, holding them still along with the remains of the boat. They struggled for a moment, realized they would only dig the spikes deeper that way, then swung their weapon at Kyte.

  The dark elf flicked his sword into place, his steel meeting the Merfolks's bronze. The blue-skinned serpent was stronger than him, gradually forcing Kyte backwards in their clash, but Kyte was not alone. Ceogan materialized on his back a final time, raising a hand to the sky. Shadows coalesced around it, magnifying their claws to double, triple, quadruple their usual size. Then, Kyte and the Merfolk still locked in a struggle with weapons crossed, Ceogan slammed their hand down, dunking the Merfolk down into the water with the sound of shattering glass. A beat passed, only murky red bubbling up to take the warrior’s place.

  Kyte peered over the edge of the boat, his expression as disinterested as always. “What’s the status down there?” He seemed to speak to nobody, but Sils appeared in a cloud of mist beside him,

  Sils: “All dead or fleein’. The mechs, too.”

  Kyte: “Let them leave. Go back to the wharf, kill any that won’t surrender. I’ll handle Celeste.”

  Sils nodded at the order and zipped back towards the northern tip of the port, leaving Kyte and Celeste on the remains of the boat. The elf made his way to the edge of his half and hopped across; the shadows holding up that part dissipated as he did. Crouching down, he looked at her abdomen and frowned.

  Kyte: “You’re doing worse than I thought. Let’s get to the shore before you bleed out.”

  Central battlefield — Result: Kyte & Celeste’s victory.

  ? ? ?

  Jackie sat on the bottom row of one of the many sets of stairs leading down to the wharf from the next layer of the city. Before them, half a dozen hunks of iron armor lay spread out across the wharf, each surrounded by Avek Tirion’s soldiers and in various stages of being taken apart. Sitting beside them, taking slow, deep breaths, was Raffica.

  Over the few days they’d known her, Jackie had constructed a mental image of a girl who was perpetually cheery, always bold and lively and smiling. The girl beside them now betrayed that image; her hair was tangled, her white shirt scuffed, and her face was pale, almost sickly, her expression pulled taught in an uncharacteristic grimace. Her right hand had turned back into a hand, at least.

  Jackie rubbed her back as they sat together in silence. They weren’t entirely sure how they should react to her condition, but this motion seemed to help her relax, at least a bit. They were truly thankful Sils had returned when she did; they’d much rather comfort their friend than try to organize a bunch of prisoners of war.

  It wasn’t as if they had any real authority over the soldiers, either, so that might’ve turned sour fast. It was a miracle that the people nearby had agreed to their plan in the first place, one likely enabled only by the urgency of the situation. The people here knew and respected Sils; letting her take credit for the plan, and oversee its aftermath, worked out better for everyone.

  They shook those thoughts away, deeming them unnecessary. Right now, they needed to focus on Raffica. Some part of them felt it had to be disrespectful to be thinking of anything else when their friend was suffering right in front of them. Besides, they needed to focus all their brainpower on analyzing her condition—after all, they hadn’t the slightest idea why she’d suddenly gotten sick.

  She’d been fighting perfectly fine until they spoke to her the first time, and she even unleashed that incredible attack. She’d already seemed to be in pain at that point, despite not bearing any obvious wounds, but they’d assumed that was the recoil of that shockwave—the Snap, she’d called it. After that, she sprang right back into battle—and she actually seemed more lively than before.

  Yes, she was perfectly fine until after the fight ended. Jackie had been running over to regroup with her when she got a pale expression out of nowhere, doubled over, and vomited. What had caused such a drastic shift?

  The only real guess Jackie could come up with was that they’d overworked her. She was strong, that was for sure, but they already knew she’d been kept away from active combat during her stay in Heapwatch. Perhaps her body had deteriorated during that period of inactivity; then, she was made to fight several times in a row, first against the Firefly, then the Greater Shade, and now against the Volundr. This final battle, where she’d been forced to give her all—where Jackie had encouraged her to fight at top form—was the last straw; the exertion caught up to her all at once and made her sick.

  The idea that they’d been the one to hurt their friend made Jackie sick, too. After so many years wanting nothing more than friends of their own, here was a girl who’d reached out to them, wanting to be their friend. How could they turn around and betray her like this? They were quite certain that friends weren’t supposed to hurt each other.

  They should’ve known. They knew she hadn’t fought in a long while. They knew she was already in pain. They were supposed to be smart; they had no excuse. Her suffering was their fault. In which case… they needed to apologize, right? That’s what friends did when they made mistakes.

  Jackie: “I’m sorry, Raffica. I shouldn’t have overworked you like that.” They weren’t convinced an apology was enough in this case; they’d find ways to make it up to her more later. “I swear, I’ll—“

  Raffica: “You don’t need to apologize.” She cut them off, then took a deep breath, turning their way with the fakest smile Jackie had ever seen. “I’m fine, see?”

  Jackie: “You don’t look fine.”

  She laughed. “Guess I can’t fool you, huh?” She took another breath and looked out to the bay. “You didn’t do anything wrong. I’m really happy that you relied on me, actually. I’d love if you kept relying on me for things like this.”

  Jackie: “My carelessness got you hurt, though.”

  She cocked her head at them. “I’m not hurt? Well, my hand’s sore, but that’s not your fault.”

  You aren’t? They barely held back from saying it aloud. She seemed genuine. But if she wasn’t physically hurt, why had she gotten sick?

  She continued before they thought of what to say next. “Anyways, I’m the one who got careless. If I’d just waited a little longer for you to arrive…” Staring off into the distance, she assumed a grim smile and broke out laughing. Not her usual hearty laugh, but a fractured, breathy one. “Guess it’s hypocritical for me to act all pitiful when I’m the one who did something bad.”

  This time, Jackie cocked their head. “You didn’t do anything wrong. You were protecting your city.”

  Raffica: “I don’t think those Volundr would care why I did it.” She leaned back, bringing her gaze up to the sky. “Guess I ruined the image of friendly, innocent Raffica now that I’ve killed someone.”

  The gears clicked together in Jackie’s mind, and they let out a loud, impertinent “Huh?” They realized the mistake immediately as Raffica swiveled to face them, her expression puzzled.

  That was why she’d gotten sick? Because she killed someone?

  Was that… how normal people reacted to killing someone?

  Chapter Glossary:

  Ceogan - (Pronounced kyo-gan) The Kelpie who formed a contract with Admiral Kyte.

  Kelpie - A race of shadow Fae. They dislike sunlight and cannot go out in the day on their own. To solve this issue, they form contracts with the Deireadh, granting use of their shadow magic in exchange for the ability to be carried into daylight.