“We need to help,” said Leonis, tone rife with frustration. “There must be something we can do.”
“Let’s head to the ruins,” said Scorio. “Serves both purposes. Brings us closer to the fight, but also gets us out from under Praximar’s eye. If Bastion survives this battle, I’d rather not be tossed through the Final Door again.”
“Yes,” said Lianshi simply. “Let’s get closer. At the very least I want to see how it goes.”
They began hurrying as a group toward the stairs. The other Great Souls had to be Flame Vaults and lower; still far more powerful than their little group, but as nothing compared to the combatants who had taken to the air.
Leonis led the way, his purpose and thunderous mien stilling questions, down and into the Academy, past endless crowds of concerned students, and soon out through a large, guarded doorway into the streets.
“Burn mana,” said Naomi. “It’s time to go fast.”
They raced after her, but she was endlessly fleet of foot; on they ran, coursing like racing hounds down the street, dodging around the milling people and snarls of traffic. Carts had been abandoned here and there, while others had tipped over in their owner’s rush to get them home. People shouted at each other, others shoved and pushed where the crowds grew thickest, and more than one opportunistic soul had leaped up to a high vantage point to declare their thoughts on the end of Bastion.
“…the Great Souls have truly brought calamity to our poor city!” cried one, his voice strident and carrying over the clamor. “First the Empyreal Prophecy proved itself a fraud, a means to yoke innocents to the engine of their appetites, and now they fail to protect us—”
“Look!” shouted Lianshi, grabbing Scorio’s sleeve and pointing toward the Portal. They’d burst out into a large square, the buildings no longer clustered about them and blocking their view, and saw the mass of darkness that filled the far end of the city.
It was hard to make out what was going on, but a bright fleck of crimson fire flashed through the air, a broad sweep that collided with what had to be Imogen floating in all her dark glory; the Imperator waved her arm, and the bright arc of flame flew aside, but it left behind in its trail a permanent wall of burning crimson that hung in its wake. A moment later, some thirty blasts of searing green light flew at Imogen from unseen points in the ruins all around her, but these scattered uselessly as if they’d hit an invisible bubble about the Imperator.
She raised her arm, a scepter of deepest black appearing in her hand, only to be driven back as the White Queen teleported in and dove down at her, golden wings furled, unleashing an endless blast of golden light from her own white scepter which pushed Imogen back into her clouds.
“Wow,” breathed Lianshi as the White Queen teleported away a moment before a lance of black energy flew out from the darkness to spear through where she’d been. Scorio whipped his head about to follow the lance of black fire as it sped across the diameter of the city and impacted the ruins up and to his left; an entire building collapsed upon itself under the brunt of the impact.
“Keep going!” shouted Naomi, already at the far side of the square.
Scorio pulled on Lianshi’s arm, and together they ran on, weaving through the crowd to dive back into the next street.
The crowds thinned out the closer they got to the ruins; either the poorer citizens of Bastion had more sense or were more afraid; perhaps one equaled the other.
Looking up, Scorio would catch glimpses of the battle taking place. A massive boom rolled over the ruins like the crack of thunder, and a pulse of white light flared, momentarily blanking out Scorio’s vision. When he blinked, he saw that a large portion of the black fog had disappeared, and Imogen was floating free once more. She was unharmed, but her attention was directed to the far side of the ruins from whence the attack had come.
There an entire block had been leveled, reduced to a large field of rubble and shattered masonry.
They broke through the last civilized fringe of the city at a steady run and entered the ruins proper. Some part of Scorio relaxed a fraction; this was his turf, a world he knew better than the clean streets and hard stares of the people of Bastion. Old rock crunched underfoot as they ran on, ever deeper, the battle above continuing intermittently until Imogen turned her attention to the Portal once more.
“Wait,” said Leonis, coming to a halt. “We can’t just run around like fools. We need a plan. How can we help?”
Naomi sneered. “Your ego is astounding. Haven’t you grasped the scale at which this battle is being fought?”
Leonis chopped at the air with the ridge of his hand. “I don’t care. We’re Great Souls. We must fight for Bastion. There must be something we can do.”
Scorio fought to catch his breath. “If she remains airborne, we can’t contribute. But perhaps we can help distract her.”
“How so?” Lianshi drew strands of dark hair away from her face.
“She was drawn here by the Archspire, right?” He glanced from one to the next. “Perhaps there’s something we can do to it that will draw her attention again. Give the others a chance to hit her while she’s focusing on us.”
“That just sounds like a terrible idea,” said Naomi. “Draw the attention of an Imperator?”
“I like it,” said Leonis. “Let’s go.”
“You’re mad,” said Naomi. “All of you.”
“There won’t be any city left if they lose,” said Scorio. “Come on, Naomi. How are you going to hide out in these ruins if they’re gone and everyone’s dead?”
For a moment she hesitated, then they all flinched as a hollow boom rolled down the length of Bastion’s cylinder.
“Fine,” snapped Naomi. “Fine! One madness is as good as any other.”
They took off at a fast run, streaming through the ruined streets and casting fearful glances up at the skies. The black fog was alive and constantly moving; burning away here from an assault, reaching there like a forlorn lover for a retreating Great Soul. Imogen faded in and out of view, and Scorio realized that they were following the White Queen’s plan to perfection; bursts of sound and fury would be followed by a minute or two of silence as Bastion’s defenders retreated so as to not upset Imogen too much.
Burning mana intermittently, they crossed the ruins in record time. No threats lurked, no perils forced them into detours. Every creature and fiend had gone to ground.
They pounded across the great bridge toward the Academy. Scorio saw a flicker of darkness within the mound of rubble at the other side and realized that the toad was lurking just out of view.
“Get out of here!” he shouted to it as they ran past. “It’s not safe—get below!”
He saw a flicker of movement, then the toad was gone. Gasping for breath, they ran up the broad steps to the massive bronze doors.
The inky clouds were thickest here, an ocean of blackness that swam around the domes. The air was chill, and a constant breeze blew, something that Scorio had never felt except at dusk when the rains were about to fall.
“Look,” said Leonis, grabbing his arm and pointing to a distant rooftop. Sharess stood there, lowered into a crouch, her face turned skyward, waves of power rolling off her as she slowly turned into a gleaming mass of polished steel. Vaguely humanoid in form, she compressed and elongated into a wicked, human-sized bolt of metal, then with a cry hurled herself into the air with impossible power and speed.
Scorio tried to follow her flashing ascent, almost missed it. Sharess flew straight at where Imogen had emerged from the darkness above them. Almost quicker than Scorio could follow, he saw a black sphere form around Imogen, vaguely translucent, which blocked the attack completely; Sharess ricocheted off, her spike-form spinning into the darkness where he lost sight of it.
“By the hells,” breathed Leonis. “Did the Imperator even notice?”