Tokalauths slammed into Scorio’s Shroud, felt around the edges, raked their pincers across its curvature.
“How did you get such a massive shield?” asked Merideva. “It’s inches thick.”
“Oh, by the ten hells,” laughed a guy off to one side. “Did she really just say that?”
“It’s a long story.” Scorio focused on keeping the Shroud whole. “Best hurry.”
Nyrix opened the portal between them, and together they all stepped through.
But rather than join them, Scorio simply backed away from his Shroud, dismissed it at the last second, then flung himself out into the air. For a few thrilling seconds he just dove toward the ground, falling ever faster, and then he extended his wings, caught the warm rising air, and swept out over the Telurian Band, leaving the Wall and its hissing fiends behind.
Scorio traced a lazy curve around and down to join the clustering Great Souls below. He studied their number, searching for familiar faces, and felt a pang of horror as he abruptly remembered that Kelona had died inside the Wall. He saw her head lopped off by the closing pincers, her blood spurting, and clenched his eyes against the vision, his stomach knotting up again.
“Damn it,” he hissed. Wesyd, Juna, and Kelona. His three charges, and all dead. He knew it was madness to blame himself, but dull anger mixed with bitter guilt, and it took real effort to not cast his mind back and review every step, to wonder what he might have done differently.
Allowing his Heart to gutter, he dropped the last couple of yards to land beside Naomi, who crouched, head hung low, shoulders heaving.
No words. He just dropped to his knees and wrapped his arms around her. She leaned into him, head on his shoulder, and they remained thus while others spoke, gathered up, oriented around Plassus and the Blood Barons.
Naomi finally pulled back. “You alright?”
“Physically? Sure.” He stretched, testing the area where he’d been punctured, but found the wound already healed over. “Spending so much time ignited works wonders for healing. And all that Bronze.”
“In here,” she said, touching his chest.
The best he could manage was a crooked smile. “You know, I’ll answer that later, maybe. When this is all over.”
She searched his face, a single vertical line marring her brow. “You really think this will ever end?”
“Nothing lasts forever.” He sat back on the rough rock. “At least, that’s what I’ve been told.”
“Fair enough.” Naomi wrapped her arms around her knees and looked about them. “Looks like we’ve lost all the Tomb Sparks and Flame Vaults.” Then she winced and glanced back at him. “Sorry.”
“Yeah.” He closed his eyes, saw Kelona leap again. “No wonder we never won this war if the fiends can throw so many thousands against us.”
“Quantity beats quality.” Naomi didn’t sound upset. “Course, that won’t hold true against the Blood Ox.”
Fyrona staggered over and sat heavily, leaning back on outstretched arms as she raised her face to the bleak skies. The heavy eyeliner had run in ragged trails down her cheeks, making her striking looks all the more dramatic. “Are we done? Tell me we’re done.”
“Catch your breath!” called Plassus, his tone burning with some perverse satisfaction. “We’re not done yet!”
“By the gods, he must have heard me.”
Scorio went to ask the same question Naomi had posed but caught himself in time. You didn’t ask people in the middle of a running tragedy how they were doing. You already knew. “Hey, I meant to ask you.”
Fyrona lolled her head to one shoulder and cracked open one eye. “Hmm?”
“You have a boyfriend?”
Fyrona blinked, sat up. “What?”
Naomi immediately tensed.
“No, a friend wants to know.” Scorio grinned. “He’s seen you around and is… socially inept? He thought he’d make a mess of it if he asked you himself.”
“Oh. Who?” And Fyrona glanced around the sparse crowd of survivors.
“A Flame Vault called Alain.”
“You’re kidding me,” deadpanned Naomi. “You’re trying to introduce Alain to people now?”
“What’s wrong with him?” asked Fyrona.
“He’s a disgusting pervert with no understanding of privacy or morality,” snapped Naomi.
“He’s not that bad,” said Scorio. “His power makes it nearly impossible for people who aren’t much higher ranked than he is to notice him. So he gets bored easily.”
“Uh huh,” said Naomi.
“Well.” Fyrona seemed taken aback. “No. I’m not seeing anyone. My last relationship was… a complete disaster.”
“Really?” Naomi perked up. “How so?”
Fyrona smirked. “Suffice it to say my idea of fun didn’t align with his. Though he kept insisting he enjoyed it, even when I knew he was dying on the inside. Sometimes stamina and emotional fortitude can push you in the wrong direction, you know?”
“No, not really,” said Naomi, fascinated. “What were you getting him to do?”
“Maybe I’ll tell you some other time.” Fyrona closed her eyes. “But you can tell this Alain that I’m not really interested in testing his boundaries.”
“Sure, I’ll let him know.” Scorio grinned.
Nyrix walked over and sat heavily. “Looks like Plassus is going to establish dominion.”
The Charnel Duke had stepped away from the Blood Barons, who were watching in respectful silence. Everyone else picked up on the sudden tension, and soon Plassus was the center of attention.
Scorio wasn’t sure as to what to expect, but something more dramatic than the Charnel Duke simply frowning and allowing his eyes to grow heavy-lidded. A moment later the man’s will washed over him, as quick and irrefutable as sunlight, and Scorio felt the mana high overhead grow still.
“What’s he doing, exactly?” whispered Scorio.
“Dominion.” Fyrona’s own tone was hushed. “He’s establishing primacy over the area. It allows him to control all the mana, but also sense what lies within the radius of his power. He’ll be able to sense the Gold-fiends and possibly even the Blood Ox if the True Fiend isn’t in his Sanctum.”
“Yeah, so what is that, exactly?”
Fyrona glanced at him askance. “His personal realm? Like how Imperators create their own worlds within themselves?”
“Maybe another time,” allowed Scorio. “How far can…” But he trailed off, remembering how the White Queen had extended her dominion over all of the Rascor Plains. Or much of it, at least; it was her dominion that had allowed her to sense the Ixithilions that had attacked their group. “I mean, how long does it take for him to establish dominion?”
“Depends on who contests him,” whispered Nyrix, tone soft. “If it’s just Bronze-ranked fiends, then no time at all. But the Blood Ox could shatter his focus, or even his Gold-ranked elites could slow him down. Though that is what we’re hoping for - that’d allow Plassus to know which direction we need to go.”
Fyrona spoke with more confidence. “It’s also a question of his will and the distance he’s trying to claim. The farther out he pushes, the harder it becomes. The first mile or so is nearly instantaneous. If the fiends are ten, twenty, fifty miles away, we may be here for some time.”
“Suits me.” Scorio unshouldered his pack, closed his eyes, and lay back on the rocks. The sharp ridges were uncomfortable, but he was tired enough to not care. “Someone wake me when it’s time to kill things again.”
He could hear the amusement in Naomi’s tone. “You sound like an old veteran already.”
“Just a tired and unimportant part of this operation.” He slid his arm under his head and wriggled into a slightly more comfortable position. “I’ll make the most of being just a Dread Blaze for a little bit more.”
Though he didn’t quite sleep, he did manage to drift in and out of a dozing dream, where the voices around him interwove into a blurred tapestry of impressions and half-understood meaning.