Chapter Text
“There is no escape for thee.”
Recluse collapsed with a cry. Night’s grasping tendrils plucked at her sweat-damp silver hair and mauve skirts. Rooted her to the mossy stone of the ruin’s steps. She was easier prey this way. The Night did not kill. It corroded. It devoured. It would climb upon the Recluse’s shoulders and force her head beneath the surface of the abyss. Then a little more of her would be missing come morning.
“I have her!”
Guardian’s harried declaration clapped Executor’s shoulder as he sprinted past. Executor was closer, but that did not deter the pinionfolk. Guardian needed Recluse, so he had a vested interest in rescuing the witch from Night’s maw- lest it stole from her the knowledge to curb curses. But Executor knew better than to assume their bond was forged from alloy so flimsy as obligation. And if Executor himself had fallen in Recluse’s stead, the Guardian would have rushed to his aid with the same urgency.
Very well. I have you both..
Executor pivoted from his compatriots and drew Suncatcher from its scabbard in time to deflect their assailant’s sword.
The Fell Omen was more than twice Executor’s height. The muscles of his arms were thicker around than the Nightfarer’s waist. Every blow he dealt was bolstered by malicious ferocity. Executor’s bones should have shattered into splinters, but Suncatcher absorbed the brutal force. An auric gleam shone on its cursed steel. Nevertheless, the Omen’s strikes were unrelenting. Executor’s breath caught in his lungs; his arms rattled with every blocked attack.
Two swipes of a conjured dagger made his elbows ache. An overhead strike from the wicked curved sword was enough to compromise his stance. A horizontal follow-up pushed him back onto his heels. He reeled as Suncatcher shuddered with stored power; the ribbon ward that bound the blade rippled with golden thread.
The Fell Omen discarded his dagger for a hammer. Its head could pulp a magma wyrm’s skull. As he drew his arm back, Executor found his footing. He darted forward, unleashing Suncatcher before the hammer could fall. The weapon dissolved in the Fell Omen’s fist as harmless motes.
Executor sheathed Suncatcher into the Omen’s gut. The Fell was brought to his knees. His long exhale was warm on Executor’s upturned face. His subdued sound of pain puffed against the Nightfarer’s lips. A thin stream of blood trickled down Suncatcher’s steel. Dewy drops gathered on the hilt guard’s edge before weeping upon the stone of the ruins. The Omen’s blood was dark with a surreal sheen to it. Like oil spilled across still water.
Is this the corruption of Night?
No, it was not. Executor’s certainty remained even though the memory of this knowledge had been scoured away. The Fell Omen was different from the other monsters captured by the Night.
“Lost thy nerve, Little Pillager?” The Fell taunted.
Pain frayed the edge of his voice, but the steel beneath it was uncompromised. Haughty despite his grievous wound. His features were obscured by a hazy violet veil. But this close, Executor snagged a glimpse of a fanged sneer. Beneath his heavy brow, a golden seed glowed in its hooded setting.
The Omen’s eye was beautiful.
Perhaps the Executor’s nerve did fail him.
His hesitancy was the Fell’s boon. He swatted Executor away, prying Suncatcher from his flesh with a scalding spray of blood. The blow was sharp enough to throw Executor meters away, where he crumpled in an undignified sprawl. He’d maintained his grip on his sword; Suncatcher sparked gold and dripped with inhuman ichor.
Clawed hands grasped his shoulders. Guardian hauled him to his feet as though he weighed nothing.
“Well struck,” he said. He had the permanent glower all raptors wore, but his tone was equal parts admiration and concern. “All well?”
Executor nodded.
“My thanks.” Recluse seemed to drift to his other side. Her soft expression contrasted her disaffected speech.
Before them, the Fell Omen readied himself. His ragged cloak concealed his injury, but the silvery pelt of his legs was soddening with dark blood. The veil hung about his horns masked him again. The flint of his eye was lost. The Executor clung to the memory of it. The color. The radiance. It was perfect. So long as the Night did not rob him of it.
Let me see it once more, he prayed.
The Fell Omen was not obliging.
“...Thy journey is at an end.”