“Damn you,” hissed Scorio. There was no mana left in the cavern, but his Heart yet held great reserves. With great deliberation he cast around, seeking some opportunity, some weakness, a first target, a means to escape.
But everywhere he saw hard eyes, Great Souls ready to take him down the moment he moved.
Fury beat at his temples like a deranged smith working an anvil. His muscles writhed beneath his scales, his shoulders hunching with tension. Ydrielle, then, he’d at least take her head—
“Enough,” said Octavia, her voice ringing out with absolute authority, and Scorio found his body subsiding, the tension leaving his frame before the Pyre Lady’s power. “This need be no bloodier than it already is.”
The white-haired man was kneeling beside the flayed Spark who was gasping and convulsing with the shock of her trauma. His pale palms were vivid red from where he’d touched her. Galvon, the heavily bearded man, was moving to their side, a flask of potent mana drawn from his belt.
Everywhere lay his friends, Naomi. Defeated with terrible ease.
The Shadow Petal tilted her blade and Nissa slid off it to the ground. Before she could react the Dread Blaze kicked her across the brow with enough force to cause her head to snap back.
Nissa collapsed, released Spark’s form, and lay still, herself once more.
Octavia held Scorio in place with her bright eyes. “You have lost, Scorio. You lost the moment you returned to Bastion. There’s no glory in stupidity. No honor in reckless violence. Calm down. Relax. Let events proceed as they must.”
Scorio wrestled with the Pyre Lady’s power. Her will was a giant cloak laid across his shoulders, overwhelming him, neutering his fury, compelling his obedience. He raged against her power, but it availed him not.
“Good.” She turned to the others. “Collect the fallen. We’ll take them all with us. How is Spark?”
“She’ll recover,” said Galvon, his voice rich with distaste. “In time.”
“I’ll take care of her,” said the white-haired youth quietly, and gathered her bloody form in his arms. She’d passed out from the pain. “I’ll take her back to our quarters.”
“Good. All in all, this went as smoothly as it could.” Octavia glanced at Ravenna and Ydrielle. “You both declare yourselves content?”
“Nicely done, Autocrator,” said Ravenna. “But could you have accomplished this plan so neatly without Manticore’s help? Doubtful.”
Octavia smiled. “We Great Souls fulfill our greatest potential when we work together.”
“Indeed.”
“Bastards,” whispered Scorio hoarsely. With great effort, he took a step toward Ravenna and Ydrielle.
“Enough, Scorio,” snapped Octavia, and her will tightened around him like a noose.
Scorio inhaled deeply and summoned his rage. Visions of his immurement in the Crucible danced before his eyes. Leonis and Lianshi’s grave. His rage was a conflagration that even Spark couldn’t match.
He took another step forward.
Octavia pursed her lips as Ydrielle laughed. “Losing your touch, Autocrator?”
A deep, bestial snarl tore itself from Scorio’s depths. It rose and became a roar as he abruptly flung himself at the pair, his burning talons from his remaining good arm swinging at Ydrielle’s head.
Who ducked neatly under the clumsy blow and touched his scaled side. Scorio immediately froze as a prism of white light formed around him.
“I don’t know how you escaped the last time,” Ydrielle whispered. “But we’re going to have ample opportunity to find out.”
Scorio wanted to howl, but once more he was perfectly held in place. He could only stare straight ahead as the House Kraken Great Souls gathered the fallen and carried them forth. Ydrielle touched the coffin of white light and caused it to adhere to the tip of her finger once more, and thusly carried him out of the cavern as if he were as nothing.
His last sight was of the stone-sunken galleon burning fiercely, its deck collapsing into the hull, furious black smoke billowing out across the cavern’s roof.
* * *
It was a nightmare brought to life.
The House Kraken Great Souls paraded them through the streets of Bastion. The crowds didn’t dare press too close, but every side street, every balcony, every square filled with the curious, the angry, the fearful.
Ydrielle walked at the lead, arm raised, Scorio trapped in her prism in his scaled form, claw frozen forever in his clumsy slash. His face was frozen in a rictus of fury, every line of his body conveying fury and hatred.
He caught glimpses of the streets around them whenever Ydrielle momentarily lowered her arm or caused him to oscillate to one side. At every square, they stopped, and Octavia mounted whichever fountain or pedestal was available to address the crowd.
Always, she gave a similar version of the same speech.
“People of Bastion! We stand before you today, we Great Souls of House Kraken, to demonstrate that we were not in league with Scorio the Red Lister, but rather were the victims of his plot. For two years we have suffered in silence, unable to prove our innocence, but we have at last caught the culprit behind the attack on The Celestial Coffer and the cause of so much grief. Yes! We have caught Scorio, and here he is in all his bestial glory.
“To where do we take him? To House Hydra, of course, and to Autocrator Praximar, who was also wronged by Scorio in his time. We do so with all humility, in the hopes of cleansing our sullied name and proving that we do not deserve the anger that has been leveled at us! We bring the Scourer to justice, and hope that with his punishment and death, the healing process may begin between us all.”
Each time she voiced these words Scorio wanted nothing more than to howl his outrage. Her words were imbued with her power, such that each crowd turned ugly and threw things at his prism, time and again, a fever that spread up the streets so that each subsequent square was packed with those eager to hear the same tale and catch sight of the Red Lister that had betrayed them so.
Scorio could only stare fixedly ahead. His mind spun, his thoughts disordered by emotion.
How had it come to this? Leonis and Lianshi dead. Naomi cut down by the Shadow Petal. And himself now being carried before the entire populace of Bastion whom he’d sought to serve to be laid upon the altar of Praximar and Dameon’s mercy.
He saw again the Shadow Petal missing her swing when he flew over her, and realized now that she’d purposefully held back. That their escape from the market, as clever as it had been, had been useless, that House Kraken had no doubt laughed at their ploys as they’d tightened the garotte.
How had Simeon and Ydrielle returned so quickly from the Fiery Shoals? Dameon must have sent his teleporter to fetch them. Which meant he must have been notified by Moira, did it not? Was that a betrayal, or her simply being forced to act the part?
And now?
His stomach roiled, bile burned his throat, and his whole body clamored for blood. Filth and rotten food were hurled at this prism even as people stepped forth from the sidelines to yell and scream their anger at him.
Scorio the Scourer.
Scorio the Bringer of Ash and Darkness.
Scorio the Abhorred, Quencher of Hope and Unmaker of Joy.
He was paraded slowly through the length of Bastion, ward after ward, Octavia indefatigable, milking this moment for every benefit she could draw for House Kraken.
Did she mention Druanna?
Not even once.
Being trapped within Ydrielle’s prison again came close to breaking Scorio. The impotence, his complete inability to even blink his eyes—if they decided to simply leave him frozen inside this new prism for a couple more years, he knew with absolute certainty that he would go completely insane.
There had to be a way out. No matter that he was surrounded by Pyre Lords and Ladies, Dread Blazes, and more. There had to be a way out. He’d not give up while he yet breathed. He’d be patient. He’d suffer their abuse. And the very second an opportunity presented itself, he’d take it.