Scorio opened his wings just wide enough to steer clear.
Down, the effulgence in the depths growing bright, a subtle emerald green, a heart of rich and wondrous blue, hints of crimson.
Evelyn screamed in rage and flung out her hair, great lassos of coiling caramel that whipped about them.
Her range was impressive; a braided rope lashed around a crane, went taut and slammed them to a stop. The web of hair around Scorio flexed tight, almost cutting into his scales, and he heard Evelyn scream in pain—then the crane shattered and its arm fell with them, still held by her length of hair.
Bronze. It was rich and glorious, and Scorio immediately set about replacing his Iron. He sensed Evelyn doing the same, her hair strengthening its grip about him.
The chasm was merely four or five hundred yards across here, half that in width, pocked with caverns and ledges. They plunged past the great ledge on which he’d spent those frantic two weeks meditating with Jova, still going deeper.
“Scorio!” Evelyn’s cry was furious, imperial. “Damn your eyes! Enough… is… enough!”
He didn’t see what she did, but again he slammed to a halt, the web of hair constricting him like a fist. Blood rushed into his head, made his face swell, his eyes bulge. Her grunt was pained. They swung like the base of a pendulum, his wings beating futilely as he pounded her with his aura, commanding her to release him, to stop, but then they slammed into the façade of an ancient edifice and all was exploding boards, dust, and chaos.
Scorio had the wherewithal to pull his wings back into his body. They flew into the darkness together, twisting, turning at the end of her massive rope of hair, through a thin partition, and then she released him, the cocoon suddenly gone, and he tumbled onto a warped wooden floor, rolled through a table and set of chairs so desiccated they exploded into splinters, and fetched up against a stone wall.
Scorio hopped up into a crouch. The floor groaned and cracked beneath him. The air was filled with dust. Where was she? What was this place? Multiple floors. He could see another floor directly above, gaps in the floorboards, another floor below, maybe more. But shallow. Affixed to the Chasm wall, fifteen yards deep, long abandoned, some impossibly ancient construction.
Hair began to whisper through the darkness, connecting to walls, ceiling, furniture, the floor.
“Oh, Scorio.” Evelyn’s whisper was husky. “I applaud your attempt. But you should have never dared raise your hand against me.”
Scorio remained still, calculating. His mental aura was of limited use against her. Perhaps because she was a Dread Blaze? He’d stunned Davelos but that had to have been Moira’s help. That left his Gold-tempered body and talons. If he could get out into the Chasm he could fly free and keep her trapped like a spider in a crevasse.
But right now?
Worst case scenario.
“Did you really think your little ploy would work? It was clever, I’ll give you that.” He tried to track her voice, but it echoed around him, its vague source sliding about. He recalled how she could travel through her hair, shifting to anywhere it touched with ease.
Even worse was her immunity. He couldn’t attack her. He had to get out.
The broad, low-ceilinged, broad room was filling with more hair. A veritable tangle.
Still, flying The Sloop had opened him to new possibilities.
Scorio leaped up, brought his knees to his chest, and when he dropped, he hammered his feet through the old boards.
They shattered and he dropped into the room below. He hit the boards running, but his scaled form weighed too much; boards buckled beneath him and he foundered. He thought of bursting his wings out, flinging himself through the gloom, but there were too many hairs down here already.
Evelyn shuttled down into view, her cocoon of hair withdrawing to reveal her form at the very far edge of the chamber.
“Where do you think you’re going, honey?” She canted her head to one side as he pulled himself free of the ruined boards. “You think I’m going to end this so quickly? Oh, no. Do you know how long it took your friends to die? They had a lot of fight in them.”
Scorio’s upper lip writhed back from his fangs.
“Oh, you look upset. We gave them a chance, you know. If they could beat any one Flame Vault in combat. Over and over again they lost. They broke too quickly, you see. They both had incredible resolve, but their bodies? Too weak.”
Scorio flung himself forward, slashing with his talons as he went, opening a way. He flung his Shroud before him, trying to use it as a battering ram, but it merely caught against the webs till he dismissed it. Evelyn laughed and moved to the side. “You wish to leave? Go right ahead.”
Scorio tore a path to the far wall. A window, his only chance. He dove through it, arms crossed before his face, wild hope surging within him as he emerged over the chasm—but before he could even begin to extrude his wings Evelyn’s mane shot out after him, enmeshed his legs and yanked him back.
He slammed into the window sill, shattered it, fell against the boards, was dragged across them then hauled up by his feet to hang upside down from the ceiling.
“You little piece of filth,” hissed Evelyn, flowing right up to him, leaning down so that she could glare into his face. “Threaten me? Your death is going to be horrific. I’ll make you beg like your friends did, make you—”
Scorio roared and jackknifed up, slashed through the rope of hair binding his ankles and fell, twisting like a cat as he dropped and lashing out at Evelyn’s face.
She didn’t even flinch as his talons came to a stop an inch from her cheek, his entire arm quivering with effort.
“Pathetic.” She flowed back, carried by flowing coils of hair. “But oh, this is going to be fun. You’re so easy to provoke. Just as you were to manipulate. To lead by the nose. Do you know how much we laughed as you and that stupid cow shattered rocks? Those endless months of wasting your time? But you tried so hard.” She pouted sympathetically. “Yes you did. You really worked, didn’t you? But for what? Nothing.”
Scorio slammed his heel against the floorboard, shattering it, only to discover a matt of caramel hair right beneath it, thick and springy like the forest moss. He crouched to slash at it but was then slammed back by a blast of hair that hit him like a geyser, lifting him and pinning him to the wall.
“Hmm, I’m impressed.” Evelyn considered him. “Your Heart is… impressive. You’ve used your time wisely. The old Scorio would be gasping for breath by now. What a waste.”
Scorio strained but thick coils of hair bound his wrists and ankles, pinning him to the wall. He snarled and flexed, writhed and fought, but the hair was intractable, resilient.
His gasps began to emerge as pants of fog. The air had suddenly grown chill. Scorio stilled, confused. This wasn’t part of Evelyn’s power set. Was it?
The darkness began to congeal. Even his dark vision began to have difficulty penetrating the rising shadows.
Evelyn froze, gaze flicking back and forth, and then snarled and looked up as if through the ceiling.
“Damn it,” she hissed. “How did she find us so quickly?”
Scorio hit Evelyn with his aura: RELEASE ME.
Evelyn flinched but was otherwise unbothered. “Looks like we’ll have to make this quick after all.” A coil of hair wrapped around his throat and began to squeeze with horrific strength while more hair spread across his face, sliding into his nostrils, mouth, under his eyelids and into his ears.
Scorio’s scream became a gargling choke.
Chapter 54
Pain.
It lanced into his head from every direction. A thick rope forced its way down his throat, tendrils worked their way behind his eyes, more bunched in his ears and sent agony shooting into his mind.