Outside the Cycle - Act XVIII

One can never kill too many people.

Act XVIII: A Dirge for the Age of Gods

The barracks crumbled around him as Demon Edge struck down another creep. Abaddon wrenched the blade free in a spray of blood and pressed his heels into his steed. The horse took off at a gallop, clearing the building just as it fell. Invoker was waiting, once again flanked by a pair of forged spirits.

"This is their defence?" the mage said incredulously. "Rubick was too simple to even replicate a single spell of mine, and now they leave creeps here?"

Abaddon gestured towards the Ancient. Shimmering columns of light signified defensive teleports back to the throne.

"We'll have company soon. Hopefully, they hold us off long enough for Arash to contact and coordinate the destruction of the Ancients." He glanced towards the Dire fortress, where the Skywrath army was sieging the final tier of towers. "I hope it will be soon."

What happened to Vanath and Lanaya? he thought. They surely should have found Arash by now! His most fervent wish was that he had not sent them to their deaths. Enough. Vanath is not helpless, and Lanaya is a most accomplished assassin. They will be fine. He knew that she was not convinced about their engagement and could not appear too overprotective, yet the thought of anything happening to her made his heart ache.

When this is over, regardless of what she does, I will make sure that her future is perfect, he promised. Yet the promise was for nothing if Arash could not be found - if the Ancients, on the eleventh hour, seized victory from their certain defeat…
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They made for an odd pair, the titanic marauder and the almost dapper little Shadow Demon. Like Doom, they had subliminally sensed the death of Nevermore, and knew exactly what this entailed. Thought the field was empty of Heroes and creeps, being generally dead as they were, even the carrion and insects surged away as fast as they could from the two demon lords.

The field of the Shadow Fiend's demise was unmistakeable. Both were silent for a long time.

"Do you think he planned this?" Eredar asked.

"I would be extremely surprised. Arash's greatest flaw was not, as he thought, his mortality, but his overconfidence in his own treachery."

"So what now?"

Terrorblade gave a look at his companion, and a smile creased his fractal visage. "Why, we are the insurance, are we not?" The Aegis of the Immortal shone with a dull light in his hand.

Pain erupted around Arash, dragging him back from oblivion. He screamed, but there was no form with which to do so. Confusion raced around his brain, and the Abysm lost its grip.

Not again! He howled, but the receding darkness threw the words back at him.

He dragged in a deep shuddering breath, and the air had never tasted so foul.
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An arrow plummeted from the sky, embedding itself in Abaddon's armour. It was stopped before it reached his flesh, yet the impact still jarred him.

He gazed around for the archer, and found her, mounted on a large white cat. She is the leader here, then, he determined. He urged his steed on, charging through the ranks of Radiant creeps towards the commander. Another arrow flashed towards him, but he swept Demon Edge up and deflected the shot.

The general looked at him admiringly. "Well done. Who are you?" she asked.

"Lord Abaddon d'Avernus, Master of the House and Guardian of the Font. And you?"

"Princess Mirana Nightshade, first among the Moon Goddess' servants."

"To the death, then?"

"There can be no other way."

With those last words Mirana levelled her bow and fired off a volley of arrows. Abaddon's horse reared, the shots deflecting off the armour of both steed and rider. And when the arrows stopped coming, he charged.

The distance between the two closed almost instantly. Mirana cast her bow aside and drew an elegant sword. Nimbly, she slipped away from the cut of Demon Edge and counterattacked, lashing out and placing a dent in Abaddon's armour. Their mounts kicked and bit at each other, making it extremely hard to stay balanced. The cat tore bloody furrows along the horse's flank, and in return was kicked ruthlessly in the chest. It howled, and backed away.

Abaddon flicked his free hand towards Mirana, and ropes of mist whirled towards her. The princess raised her arms to the sky, and tiny stars sparkled down from the heavens, dispelling the mist. Without warning, she leapt forward, and Abaddon seized the reins and urged his flagging steed to meet the charge.

Their blades clashed, and Demon Edge was superior. Mirana's slim longsword fell out of her hand, skittering away. She looked at the weapon descending towards her.

"Well fought," she conceded, lowering her neck.

The strike cut cleanly through the proffered joint, slicing head from body. The corpse jerked, and fell from the saddle. The cat howled, and Abaddon let the beast go, taking the corpse of its mistress with it.

The ground rumbled, and Abaddon looked to the east to see the Dire Ancient under attack.

To hell with the plan, we have to strike now! he thought.

"Destroy that Ancient!" he snarled to his troops.
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"Enough wallowing," Terrorblade growled. "You have things to do. The Ancients are under attack and it's your job to make sure they fall at the same time."

"Why me?" Arash asked bitterly. His rebirth had healed the physical wounds, yet there was much more to be done before he was to accept this development.

"It is synthetic magic. We need a sorcerer who knows both commanders. You are the nearest and most convenient option."

"I don't know the spell," he replied.

"I do," Eredar snapped. "Even you should be able to learn it quickly."

The Shadow Demon placed a shadowy palm on his forehead, and suddenly Arash knew. His head ached from the transplanted knowledge, but the other voices were eerily silent.

"They have left you," the marauder answered, as if reading his thoughts. "You returned from the darkness, but your former kin remained in the afterlife. Welcome to freedom."

Arash let that knowledge wash over him, and he could not but smile. Terrorblade scowled.

"You don't have time for this," he ordered. "Now work."

The Psychomancer reached out, scanning across the battlefield for Dragonus and Abaddon. He found the threads of their minds, and tried to connect them. The strain on his mind was so great his head felt as if it were splitting open.

The spell collapsed, and he rocked back, nose bleeding.

"I can't do it," he gasped.

"Again!" Terrorblade commanded. Arash tried, and this time felt the energies of both demons reinforce his casting. His thoughts projected across the aether, and he felt their minds link.

Both Abaddon and Dragonus seemed surprised.

"Arash?" Abaddon asked. "Thank the Primordials! Did Lanaya find you?"

The Psychomancer felt a surge of guilt race through him at those words and hoped that the lord did not feel it as well.

"Aye, she found me. We don't have long," Arash said, not wanting to talk about it just yet. "We have to destroy the Ancients simultaneously or I don't know what will happen."

The other agreed quickly. The Psychomancer gave his instructions rapidly, knowledge given by Eredar along with the spell.

"In the centre of each Ancient you should see a column of light. This is its 'heart', so to speak. On my command, strike there."

Silence, and then Abaddon replied, "Ready." Dragonus echoed that seconds later.

Arash paused, savouring the moment. It had all led up to this. The pain, the pleasure, the suffering, the laughter. He closed his eyes and smiled. This is for you, Lanaya, and anyone else who's died for a lost cause.

"Now."

Through the psychic link, he felt his compatriots strike at the heart of the Ancients. The ground shook, and a shrieking wail overtook the battlefield, the sound splitting Arash's ears. Jagged fissures raced outwards from the twinned fortresses, mountains collapsing and the river running into hidden ravines.

And then, the world as they knew it ended.