InTheDragonsBelly[continued from Grabbing the Dragons Tail] "SEABHAC!" Gillian screamed. "NOOO!" She wheeled on Joao, the last one through. "Where were you?" she demanded, her face desperate. <Do you know where we were? Is there anything we might tell her?> [Cynwyd] asked Osric. A desperate stand flashed through his mind - a memory not his own. He should have stayed. Secured the rear. <We can't just leave him... Dying alone is still just death. But the hopelessness at the end...> "We were underneath Castle Amber," Temnal answered Gillian's question. "We were headed for the Pattern Room, but we didn't make it that far." "Da. We were attacked by numerous Shadows and creatures of Tarterus," Joao said, Gillian's reaction causing him to step back a pace. "We defended him with spell," he nodded to Temnal, "and blade," he nodded to Cynwyd. "The lure of battle was strong, I remained to defend him until the rest had gone through. And then I came through. It was Seabhac's turn..." He stopped. "I am sorry," Joao added. "Not your fault," Gillian replied to Joao, her mouth a thin line. "He had to be last--he was the anchor. If anyone's to blame, it's me for not creating an independent portal." She turned to Temnal and held out her hand. "Join with me and show me where you were. We're going back to rescue him." Temnal immediately took her outstretched hand and called to mind the place where he'd just been. At least he didn't easily lose his sense of direction underground. He tried to recall the ... essence ... of the place as well, just before they'd stepped out of it. The interference from the Pattern clouded their perceptions much beyond the room they were in. If it could be called that. If anything, it seemed more like a mausoleum. Beyond its thick walls, they could see dark sky with swirling clouds. Gillian recalled it immediately. The top of the Tower. Where the Great Shadow had been attacking, now what seemed like a dozen lifetimes ago. Before they could consider further, a Trump contact began to itch at the back of Gillian’s head. Gillian, still in contact with Temnal, answered the trump call eagerly. <Seabhac?> The contact opened – flooding their minds with moonlight and shadows. Their bodies became heavy, lethargic, as if they were falling asleep after a long evening. The image flickered, strengthened, forming into Raina’s dispassionate visage. Behind her, they could see the vague outlines and shapes of an ancient moon-temple. And yet, they realized it was something. . . more. The connection transcended Shadow, originating from somewhere outside Creation. A realm of mind more than matter. <Gillian. I am here with Cole and Malachi. They bid that I contact you to proceed with the next stage of your plan.> Gillian could not hide her disappointment. She choked on a sob as she looked up at Raina. <Rusalka is with you, I presume? It is the Dark Hour here, and we're being attacked at the Primal Pattern. Please help, if you can.> Cynwyd – and Joao – felt a tremor in their souls. The subtle, sensual call of the Serpent. It seemed an impossible thing here, considering the proximity to the Pattern. Yet, there it was. Building, swelling. An intoxicating rush. Across the room, they saw a pool of insects, vermin, and rot forming, as if bubbling up like oil. Cynwyd - and Binah - recognized the living filth for the abomination it was. . . Primal Cancer. An ancient ShapeShifter held together by hate and desire. The Pattern's proximity was like static to his mind. Joao squinted and shook his head as he turned to look across the room at what was here. What should not be here. "Abomination," Joao said aloud, softly. "It should not be here." Possibly the most dangerous thing Joao had yet met in Tarterus, except for the Crawling Chaos itself. Seabhac was not here to recognize it, Cynwyd, Joao thought, would. Or should. "That it is," Cynwyd said, looking askance at Joao. "And no, it shouldn't be." He positioned himself between it and Gillian and the Pattern. "But it is a direct move against the Pattern. But by what enemy?" he asked idly, wishing that Gillian would end the contact so they could do something coordinated. <What's the best way to handle this?> he thought, hoping that this time Osric would respond. Osric replied evenly. <Keep the Pattern between us and it. No matter how powerful, it will be unable to approach. Weapons will be virtually useless. Its Primal form will heal far too quickly. However, mental and elemental spells should be effective. But do not cast them over the Pattern. That could open a Pattern Conduit to you. That amount of energy would light us up like a wildfire.> On the other side of the room, the crawling mass began to rise from the floor solidifying into a humanoid shape – a hooded man. Worms, bile, and wet chitin coalesced into a rudimentary face – pitted eyes burning. Joao recognized the figure immediately; the man he’d encountered during his misfortunate journey into Tartarus. It took Cynwyd longer to discern the features. Suhuy. Master of the Logrus. Both men felt the rush of reverence from their respective Others. "Oh crap," Cynwyd said. He stared at Joao – his cold rage radiating in waves. “So disappointing, Joao of Rebma. I’d had such high hopes for you.” Joao shuddered. Conflict warred in his mind. Binah's deference to Suhuy. The previous encounter. His own worth of self. If he had taken Suhuy's offer, then, he would not be here. Binah, really, would not be here, either. Joao shook his head. It was unlikely Binah would want to oppose Suhuy with spells and might not aid him. So he would have to do it with words. <I chose you, Mother> he sent, recalling his bold crawling into Binah's belly to be reborn. That was a rebirth still in progress, still molding him, still changing him. <If I had chosen his offer, we would never had met.> "Nyet, Gospodin Suhuy," Joao said. "I made a choice, da, and not the choice others would have made. But I made my choice with my eyes wide open, and stand by it. I stand by it, and defend it, if necessary. You know the choice I made, da? Was it," he smiled, "something even you could have anticipated?" Keep him talking, Joao thought. His tongue was his best weapon here. Suhuy shrugged his shoulders - a shower of filth and flesh falling from his ever-crumbling body. "An intriguing choice to be certain. I wonder if you shall question its wisdom at the End." Raina remained calm, collected. <Of course. Cole and Malachi will join you now, accompanied by my pets. I will send Rusalka to you the moment she arrives. Be strong, Gillian. Temnal. Assist her as I open the Gate.> The card flickered – the air ripping open before them to reveal a ghostly Trump Gate. Neither Gillian and Temnal – nor their Others – recognized this form Gate. It shimmered like sea mist – fog and moonlight given substance. Nevertheless, Temnal reached toward it and laid hold of it with his mind, strengthening the connection. It reminded him somehow of his vanished Lady. Malachi stepped through the contact, releasing Gillian's hand swiftly to allow Cole to take it. "We got her," he whispered. Seeing the horrid evil pooling up across the floor, but not having heard Osric's warning, Malachi advanced, spear held low. Some instinct slowed him as he noticed Joao and Temnal keeping their distance. Rather than attack, the big man moved into position to guard the sorcerers from physical harm, warning the wolves to do likewise with a low growl. "You," he spat, looking at the figure he knew as the Man of Worms. "Mister, you should leave while you still can." Suhuy’s head turned at the voice – a rudimentary mouth smiling, broken roach-wings flashing like teeth. “Ah, yes. The one who got away. How is my brother, I wonder?” A number of enormous wolves followed Malachi through the gate, followed by Cole, with his blood-red sword drawn. He didn't step far from the gate, but stood before it, preparing to escort whomever came through next. His eyes darted around the Pattern, taking in his surroundings, noting the Man of Worms, the wolves, his friends. Gillian's distraught face. The absence of Seabhac. He swore under his breath. Suhuy’s alien eyes briefly passed over the wolves, but he remained unimpressed. He briefly glimpsed at portal; the slash of a mouth frowning. The Night Wolves fanned out, positioning themselves to flank their enemy from either side. In the light of the Pattern, they appeared larger and more muscular – their shadowy forms darkening. Through the Trump contact, Gillian and Temnal heard Raina’s voice. <Hold this contact. Rusalka is coming.> <Holding,> Gillian replied grimly. She gripped Temnal's hand tighter. Temnal returned a confirmatory grip, and held on to the gate. Cole plotted an escort path from the gate to the start of the Pattern. A quick coded hand signal conveyed his intentions to Cynwyd. A quick shake of his head was Cynwyd's response. He patted his chest to make sure that the Jewel was still there. He flicked his hands quickly, intoning words, but nothing came out of his mouth, and the pattern of his hands was nothing that Cole recognized. He did notice him moving towards Gillian, however. As Cynwyd, patted his chest, Gillian heard his voice in her head. Two words only; ‘Jewel’ and ‘Pattern.’ Because of their mental connection, Temnal heard this as well. And, most likely, so did Raina. Gillian startled. Did Cynwyd have the Jewel here? She wanted to turn and look at him, but the need to keep the gate open was more pressing. She could see Temnal, across from her, blink once in astonishment. Joao tried not to let his head turn, his gaze shift, or give away to Suhuy that he was aware that Cole and Cynwyd were plotting something. With Mother seemingly reverently silent, there was but one thing he could and do effectively. Binah’s emotions were conflicted. On one hand, it had been – and always would be – her sworn duty to serve and protect the Mystagogue. But, on the other side, she could smell his corruption – the Primal Cancer eating his flesh and soul. <He has Fallen from grace> she whispered. <Be cautious. He already summons the Logrus. Even here.> <Fallen>? Joao was unsure but he had to keep Suhuy's attention. He took a steo forward toward Suhuy. "Da. You have the right of it." Keep him talking, keep him focused on him. Besides, the dark matriarchial aspect of the Serpent that the Fedorovs worshipped meant that direct action against Suhuy was something was loath to do. Mother's influence. "I may question the wisdom of it, but such is the nature of life and reality. But I choose to swim forward. The offer you made to me was something the Duchess would have made. Keep me ignorant, weak, contained. Take me off of the board entirely. I conveyed your message, as you asked, but I could not in good conscience return to the koi pond." Suhuy chuckled darkly, “This is not a pond, boy. And you swim with sharks. You’d do well to remember that little carp.” His eyes – the myriad of them – shifted as Malachi, Cole, and the wolves moved. Black tendrils dripped from the folds of his cloak, testing the air like a nest of snakes. “A demonstration may be in order.” The Gate shimmered and a pink-haired woman and two more Night Wolves stepped through. Rusalka. She appeared no worse for wear. However, her left eye flared like a minor sun – twining the glow of the Primal Pattern. She smiled vacantly at everyone. Cynwyd started. Did they actually have both incarnations of the Jewel? Was everyone successful? Would wonders never cease... maybe they could pull this off. Then a cunning plan began to form- especially seeing Rusalka's vacant stare. <There's something wrong with her,> he thought sadly. <This isn't the woman that I knew.> Temnal, glancing at Rusalka as she stepped through the Gate, was having similar thoughts. Rusalka cocked her head, regarding the scene. Her eyes blinked, not vacant – but all-aware. This omniscience provided her with an alien manner; her perception ‘seeing’ her friends, but not recognizing them. At least, not in the ‘human’ sense. Suhuy hissed, “Oh, you have been very busy. Very busy, indeed.” Raina’s voice echoed in Gillian and Temnal’s mind. <I’m closing the link. If you need a sanctuary, contact us immediately and we will pull you out of there.> The silvery gate flickered, weakened, and died. "I hope you know how to contact Raina quickly if it comes to that, because I'm not sure I do," Gillian said to Temnal. She let go of his hand and looked around, spending an extra second or two on Cynwyd. Was there a bulge under his shirt? "I still have the drawing materials the Baroness gave me," Temnal assured her. "I should be able to make a sketch when we need it." Seeing Gillian looking at him, Cynwyd nodded, and patted his shirt again, mouthing the word, 'You'. Then he looked towards the Pattern. Whatever other problems they may have had, Cynwyd knew that Gillian was the more powerful of them. And right now, he trusted her more with the fate of the world than Rusalka, or himself. He hadn't merely been saying words in the Library, he realized. <I love you,> Malachi thought to Mirelle. Only that and no more. His mind was already entering a quiet, animalistic place as a deep growl started in his throat. Spear held low, he stalked forward, seeking to distract Suhuy and keep him away from the start of the great primal Pattern. This is why he and the others had been given restored life. Whether he meant to or not, Dworkin had given Malachi time to learn who and what he really was, had given him time with Mirelle. And now Malachi paid the price, dutifully if not eagerly. All that mattered was that Rusalka reach the Pattern and walk it safely. Malachi stepped forward in the knowledge that Suhuy was his death. "Hey, ugly," he said to the Man of Worms, remembering with an involuntary shiver the foul taste of the man's spit in his mouth as he lay dying just before Dworkin and Mirelle rescued him.. "Forget her. You have a date with me, you son of a bitch!" Suhuy’s face rippled like mud, shaping a knowing smile. The Logrus tendrils rose and swayed, capturing the light and swallowing it whole. The Night Wolves padded forwarded, undeterred, and encouraged by Malachi’s audacity. "I may be a carp," Joao said to Suhuy, surprised by Malachi's boldness. "but it seems a shark has entered the tidal pool." Keep him distracted, busy and occupied. Cautiously and carefully, as Mother suggested. <How do we fight a logrus tendril, if he makes a grab for Rusalka?> he asked Mother. Binah’s thoughts had turned cold and calculating – the predator surfacing. <They are an extension of the mind, as sharp as a blade and strong as hardened steel. You may fight them with weapons of any type, but they will be as powerful as the mind guiding them. In this case, any direct action will likely end in failure. You must work with the others, and strike when he is distracted.> Cole didn't know what Cynwyd was planning, but he was sure Cynwyd knew more about what to do than he did himself. He took up an escort position next to Rusalka, ready to follow wherever she led, watching for tendrils from all directions. He felt a moment's brief distraction, wondering if Rhea had escaped from Tir or if she was still a statue in the sky city, waiting for the accursed hour to end: it seemed it had started months ago. He put the distracting thought from his mind, realizing that if he and his friends failed, Rhea and everyone else he cared for was lost. He focused fully on the moment,drawing on Finndo's centuries of training and experience, aware of nothing but Rusalka and anything that might threaten her. Finndo’s analytical mind began to assess the battleground. Initially, he surmised that combined numerical advantage and flanking maneuvers would allow Cole, Malachi, and the Night Wolves to easily overwhelm the Chaosian – even with Suhuy’s obvious skill at the Logrus. He’d fought numerous such Master’s before, and knew they could twist reality itself to create living nightmares – creating an army out of nothingness. However, the split forces would divide Suhuy’s concentration, thus weakening him. Yet, something was wrong. Finndo had known Suhuy. The Crawling Chaos would have recognized this disadvantage. But he was not retreating. Somehow, he had the advantage, but Finndo could not determine how. With the others preoccupying Suhuy for the moment, Gillian took the opportunity to ask Rusalka in a low voice, "Are you coherent? Do you know what you're supposed to do here?" Rusalka smiled at his distantly, nodding. “The Jewel, yes? It has taught me much.” She turned her head back toward Suhuy, flexing her painted nails. She cocked her head again, blinking. Frowning. “He has outplayed us.” It happened very fast. Suhuy flexed his left hand, whipping his tendrils like a cat-o-nine tails. One Night Wolf’s head came apart; it twitching body flying back into its companions. They retreated and stumbled, nearly colliding with Cole – and temporarily blocking him from moving forward without getting too close to the indistinct edges of the Primal Pattern. Suhuy’s other hand moved like he was conducting an unheard symphony. Or a puppeteer. Malachi’s guts twisted and knotted as something horribly ~alive~ awoke inside him. His lungs burned, as squirm mass flooded his throat and nose and mouth, robbing him of precious air. Bile, rotten flesh, and wiggling worms poured over his lips; an impossible torrent of corruption, which went on and on. His limbs move of their own accord – but did not suffer in speed and skill. His spear flashed, killing two Wolves before they even recognized the threat. His body turned and rushed toward Rusalka with murderous intent. Vaguely, Malachi remembered Suhuy’s words from that night long ago… “But even this empty flesh may be of service to me yet…” Malachi put all his will into resisting whatever was happening to him, but it was no more use than a toddler trying to hold back an angry bull. Even as the thoughts of resistance formed, Malachi felt his body turn, his grip twist on the spear, reversing it with a spin even as he pivoted on his heels. His motions, jerky at first, were soon nearly as smooth as when the big man had been under his own volition. He lowered his shoulders and charged straight at Rusalka, intending to spit her on his spear like a fish in the rivers of Arden. Temnal moved immediately to counter the most immediate threat -- Malachi. He didn't wish to hurt his companion, but fortunately Chains of Loki should only immobilize and hopefully neutralize his attack in time. With his Other's help he put a little Pattern 'oomph' into the spell ... with the Primal Pattern right there, the energy was ambient. It wasn't the first time Finndo had seen a trusted ally turn into a traitor on the battlefield. And he knew that there was no assassin more deadly than one with no regard for his own life, as what-had-been-Malachi surely did not. Cole was going to have to kill this friend to save the others. "Oh well," he thought, "this is the one who keeps reminding us that we're all dead already." "I have Malachi," Cole hissed at the others, "Watch Suhuy!" Cole attacked Malachi, giving no mercy and expecting none in return, with no regard to his own safety: only Rusalka's. Only one nagging thought came to him: ''He will turn on Gillian at some point, especially if I keep him from Rusalka. Watch for it and be ready. He's probably going to throw that damned spear, and one way or another, Finndo, you and I will catch it.'' Well-accustomed to spear-fighting, Joao recognized the threat and gave it wide-berth. Using the slight delay provided him as the ‘puppet’ grew accustomed to its ‘strings,’ he dodged in under Malachi’s swing. Fortunately, this offered him Malachi back. Unfortunately, it brought him skidding right into the Night Wolves who were trying to determine which threat to deal with. Still skittish, they bared their teeth at him – not sure if he was friend or foe. The hiss of Malachi’s spear slicing the air – nearly cleaving Joao’s throat – helped their determination. They turned back on Suhuy and the daemons birthing from his corrupted flesh. [Pretty fishy. Sad Fishy. Why Not Play With Us?] The sensually-mad voice trickled through his thoughts like ice water. In his skull prison, beyond the pain and sickness, Malachi could vaguely hear Mirelle’s voice – her scream, raw and wet and choking. She was fighting this control as well, desperate to find him through the haze of agony. Even with the ichor and squirming creatures voiding from his orifices, Malachi moved with fluid and deadly speed. The long reach of the spear provided him with impressive strike power, as well as blocking ability. Wide, arching swings and brutal stabs allowed him to keep a significant arc of defense around him – entering it would be like putting one’s head into a band-saw. If he wasn’t bleeding his life onto the floor, he might have been impressed by his newly-discovered skill. Cole found himself taxed by the assault – equally matched, if not outmatched. For every attack, Malachi had a counter. Fortunately, the same was true in reverse. Blade and spear touched over and over, neither gaining a true advantage. And after a few exchanges, both men were bleeding from minor cuts. <It’s Suhuy.> Finndo stated. <We’re fighting him through the boy. And he was a thousand years old before I was born. Delay until Malachi’s body is used up. It wasn’t designed to take this sort of stress.> Indeed, the fluidity and speed Malachi had gained would likely tear muscles, break bones. Gillian, meanwhile, busied herself summoning the Pattern into being – utilizing her training with Pattern Lenses, she formed a barrier of energy between Suhuy and Rusalka. The manifestation didn’t shape entirely as she wished, but effectively closed any approach the Logrus-Master had. It took much of her concentration – and kept her in place long enough for Cynwyd to make his move. He was at her side, guiding her toward the Primal Pattern. Somehow, he slipped a cool, smooth stone into her hand. It took her a second to recognize it – the Jewel of Judgment. "I have the Jewel, and Suhuy doesn't know it,” he told her in a low voice. “He's concentrated on Rusalka - but that's not her. We need to get you on the Pattern with the Jewel. He can't approach it. That's the only way we can win this situation and save Seabhac. Once you're to the center, you can go to him. And you'll have the Jewel." Temnal summoned his Pattern-enhanced spell, sending it arching toward Malachi. His own body hummed like a tuning-fork; the Primal Pattern’s immense power scorching through his every fiber like a white sun. It should have crippled Malachi – and more than likely broken the mental connection with Suhuy. Instead, it fizzled and sparked in the air and then dissipated. Someone – or something – had cast a counter-spell. He felt a soft kiss on his cheek… then his entire body froze up as the Chains of Loki wrapped around him like a vise. Suhuy's summoned daemons struggled with the Night Wolves on the other flank, pushing them back. And yet,the Crawling Chaos did not press his advantage. He didn’t need to. Trump gates flashed behind the group. Rusalka – who had been summoning some inner power – gave a sharp gasp, then screamed. Anthony chuckled, his clawed hands wrapped around her face as he yanked her toward the open gate behind him. “Hey, Cole. You really just can’t protect your women, can you?” Rusalka's scream crescendoed as he tore her eye from its socket. Although Gillian had HUGE misgivings about stepping on the Primal Pattern with the Jewel around her neck, she couldn't refute Cynwyd's logic that once she was on there she should be nicely protected from Suhuy, his oozing ichors, and his squirming Logrus worms. Projectile weapons, however, were another matter... Cynwyd's thought that she could transport from the center to Seabhac and save him was a nice fiction--the chances of her surviving this to the end were not worth pig spit, and Seabhac was likely already gone. Gillian allowed Cynwyd to drag her to the Pattern's beginning anyway—this would just bring closure. Besides, annihilation on the Primal Pattern was almost certainly preferable to facing Mandor and explaining to him that she'd let Seabhac die. <We're up, Cybele. I hope you know something, anything about the Jewel, because we're about to attune to it and use it to fix the Primal Pattern and succeed where Oberon failed. Yeah. Right.> <It would have been nice to have Rusalka’s Jewel, considering this one is probably broken.> Cybele sighed. <But looks like that eye flew the coop. Ah well. Forward and onward.> Gillian’s head filled with images of the Jewel – its history, its uses, its construction. The long, checkered past of the Jewel, as it passed from hand to hand – Dworkin to Oberon. Ever hunted by the Serpent – and the Logrus. For the Jewel was of them, changed by the trickster Unicorn into a thing of Order. Used to obliterate entire Shadows and create them anew. To walk through Creation and change it at will. However, as Gillian rolled the Jewel in her hand, Cybele noticed the same subtle changes in the Pattern within the Jewel. The damage caused by Eric’s blood, presumably. <I will need to draw on my memories for this. . . the Jewel as it was when Grandfather and I used it.> She paused, thinking. Then chuckled. <Of course. The Temperance Trump. Invoke it when you get to the center. It is a reflection of Harmony. Perfect Balance. We can use it to empower us as we heal the Patterns.> Cynwyd succeeded in getting Gillian to the beginning of the Pattern. He could feel his skin tingle with its proximity. And yet, like a man standing beside a vast height, he felt that unconscious urge to step forward into the infinite. Osric rememebered his first journey upon the Pattern. How it burned and invigorated, his natures in conflict and unified at the same time. He could that the tide was turning back in their favor. Gillian would be able to make it onto the Pattern. And yet, something… nagged at him. Temnal’s collapse for no apparent reason seemed too. . . odd to be dismissed. Malachi felt no pain, but knew he was badly injured. Part of him urged Cole on, wanting him to stop Malachi from doing something that would doom them all, while part of him coldly intuited the swordsman's moves and moved to counter them, expertly, even viciously jabbing and slicing at every opening Cole gave him. When Anthony appeared and assaulted Rusalka, Malachi knew it was his chance. Cole's distraction would be enough, he knew, to slow him just that precious instant too long to stop Malachi's heavy ash spear from slicing into the other man's throat. His arm began to shoot forward toward Cole's startled face, steel and wood a lance of death. <Mirelle!> he screamed in his own mind. <Do it again! Do it now! You've got to stop this.> Once before she had dragged Malachi back from his own darkest self, the atavistic creature of hatred and destruction that had seduced and overwhelmed him in the Harrowing. Then, she had been like an angel of fire, dragging him kicking and screaming back into conscious awareness of his own terrible deeds. How he had at first hated, then loved her for it. Then, she joined the two of them together. Now, he begged her to do it again even though it would almost certainly part them forever. But, Malachi reflected, they would be together in death. At first, Malachi felt alone – overwhelmed by Suhuy’s oppressive influence. He could almost sense the Choasian’s egotistical assurance. Cole turned his head, and the opportunity to finish the man off revealed itself. But where Mirelle had utilized power and violence previously, this time she used subtlety to break their bonds. As the spear thrust forward, Malachi’s body shifted slightly during its movement – arching his elbow out over the Pattern. His arm sparked brightly, numbing the entire limb up to the shoulder. His body followed, dropping like a puppet with its string cut. The worms and ichor burned off in an acrid smoke, the Pattern’s essence cleansing him of the Logrus’s corruptive hold. His body was his once again. Across the room, Suhuy howled in rage and pain. <Get up, Malachi. This is far from over.> Mirelle said, her voice clear and crystalline. <Protect Gillian. She holds the true Jewel of Judgment.> His eyes flickered, and the room shifted through a dozen spectrums until Malachi could see the Pattern’s radiance in Gillian’s hands. He could also see the crazed woman who’d killed him drawing a blade and moving to intercept her. He realized no one could see this threat; a cloaking spell of some kind. Temnal realized that the spell begin reflected into his body remained of his personal design. Like a locksmith discovering his handiwork, he easily discovered the various arcane releases for the Chains. He probed for them, dispelling them... but he resolved not to actually move until he'd had a chance to scope out the situation a little better. Let the foe think Temnal was hors de combat for the moment. This illusion of helplessness must have been accepted, as no further hostile actions were directed his way. Like Malachi, Temnal’s enhanced vision now allowed him to ‘see’ through Medea’s Illusion. The witch drew her poisoned blade and moved on the unknowing Cynwyd and Gillian. Cole didn't think. He forgot that Malachi was before him, trying to spit him upon his spear. He forgot that Rusalka was there. He forgot that all of his friends were under attack from the Master of the Logrus, and they were trying to save the universe. If he was being generous with himself, he would have said that he knew that Anthony couldn't be allowed to get away with the Jewel. But that's not really what he was thinking. He wasn't thinking at all. He was acting purely on instinct. With, perhaps, a bit of unreasoning rage thrown in. He hurled his sword at Anthony like a scarlet thunderbolt. The massive blade sliced through the air in a perfect arch. Anthony’s bravado disappeared from his face. He tried to retreat, even though the narrow trump gate prevented him from moving out of the sword’s path. For an instant, he may have escaped a killing wound. . . But Rusalka – blood streaming down her face – grabbed him. The sword slammed into her back – its blade passing through her and impaling Anthony, pinning them together. They tumbled through the gate, conjoined like some obscene Siamese twin. Until she began to dissolve – flesh sloughing off like cuddled cream. Joao realized that the Wolves couldn't beat the Daemons alone. That was clear. Malachi was carried behind him no, and it was up to Cole to outmatch him. "Your offer is acceptable," he said aloud, trying to block their mental influence even as joined the Wolves in facing the horrors birthed from Suhuy, dagger flashing, letting Mother take control, and do what she could and would. And he had to watch for the main chance, the opportunity for Suhuy to be distracted, and strike... Suhuy reeled as Malachi broke free of his mental bonds. This hesitation allowed Joao the opportunity to strike. Dagger in hand, he allowed the Mother to take control of his boby. With each step, he felt himself shift and flow like water – becoming increasingly feminine and deadly. A hell-maiden – the living weapons of Chaos. He leapt over the Night Wolves in a single bound – unwilling to let them steal their prey. She understood her opponent well. Suhuy’s body would be virtually immune to every form of attack – blade and claw would be useless against the man’s syrupy flesh. When Joao’s fist struck Suhuy, its flesh and bone had ignited and turned molten. His sensual form burned like a firestorm – Binah’s elemental form. The impact staggered Suhuy, his ruined face boiling and smoking. He fell back, amazed both from being injured… and the fact that someone had possessed the audacity to attack him. The Crawling Chaos had long forgotten pain, but now he remembered all too well. But his shock would not last long. The Night Wolves turned their attentions to the daemons – ripping into them like a hurricane of fur and fang. With their leader now distracted, the daemons had little chance against Sand’s deadly creations. Cole gaped, for just a moment, at what he had done, and Rusalka's--was it really Rusalka?--dissolving body. He spared a glance at Malachi, swallowed, and muttered, "Thanks for not killing me. I'd better get my sword back." With that, he charged the portal, bracered arms crossed before him like a battering ram. Temnal couldn't be sure, though, that any spell he cast wouldn't again be reflected on him. On the other hand, he was stationary already. Quickly, he cast Hands of Orcus. If it didn't immobilize the witch, it might at least distract her ... and if the hands of earth grasped him instead, it wouldn't matter very much. In the next second he cast Hermes' Whisper and told Cynwyd, " 'Ware foe! Invisible, poisoned blade..." and gave Medea's location relative to Cynwyd and Gillian. He realized Gillian was distracted by her Other. . . Cynwyd, however, got the message loud and clear. Memories flooded through Cynwyd as time stood still. Darkness surrounded him as he was stalked by someone better though younger than he. As adept with a blade as he was, his brother was a virtuoso, putting aside Osric's experience in favor of some sense of the ebb and flow of the deadly arts that was preternatural. Once he was able to realize that, and put aside himself, he found his own level of expertise taken to a different level. One where vision became meaningless. <My skin is not my own> The thought came unbidden, even as the same instinct that allowed Cynwyd to spar with Benedict at full speed and live came forth again when he needed him, taking hold of his reflexes and at the last minute parry where Medea was, spinning with the intent of taking her arm off as the blade sped towards her foul heart. His timing could not have been more perfect. Two earthen hands ruptured from the ground, gripping around something – more than likely Medea’s ankles, he realized. If only for that, he would have had her. But fate – or irony – was even crueler to the mad witch. Malachi stepped back; he knew Cole was still a deadly opponent, disarmed or not. He wanted to gape at the spectacle of the thrown sword, but didn't have time. The woman who had killed him was now hunting the last hope of Amber. He had to stop her from getting to Gillian. Malachi sprinted silently across the room, moving with impressive speed to intercept Medea. Briefly, he considered hurling his spear across the battlefield, but restrained himself. He might need it. Instead, he ran with it held in his left hand, freeing his right to grab the woman and wrench away her sword. Malachi thought that it might be important to take someone alive if Suhuy were to flee the battle. If he were to get one large hand around her wrist and immobilize her other arm, she would not escape. Briefly, he envisioned her biting him with some weird chaos-toxin and shifted his aim to seize her from behind, immobilizing her by dropping his spear as he arrived and pinning her arms behind her back. Malachi easily grabbed the woman’s arm – her small frame struggling against manacles of stone, which had inexplicably appeared around her ankles. Her limbs were stringy, but possessed serpentine strength. Like a boa constrictor, her weapon arm twisted and struck back at him; the curved blade arching for his throat. It never reached its target. Twice immobilized, Medea remained firmly in the path of Cynwyd’s deft swing. While it missed her heart, her hand was not so lucky. It came off at the wrist, taking flight like some hideous bird. She shrieked in agony… her body solidifying, as her illusion shattered. Shock took her quickly, allowing Malachi to restrain her completely – blood spritzing over the floor from her stump. Behind them, the Trump Gate flickered and faded. Cole and the space beyond disappeared. Across the room, Joao fought the strong desire and temptation to lose herself in battle. She exulted in her success, the fiery elemental form managing briefly to do what was impossible...injure Suhuy himself. The more tactically minded part of him, in conjunction with Binah, realized this could not last. Suhuy would quickly recover, and his fury would be terrible to behold. The daughter of Binah struck a few more times. Quickly, brutally, before falling back, quickly, blowing backward and away from the Crawling Chaos. Flying back over the line of battle between Wolves and Daemons, she took position. Suhuy could turn the tide quickly if not managed. Her eyes burned like twin golden suns, her hair a corona of yellow flame that could be called blond, a tall, slender shimmering form, ready for Suhuy's fury and response. Joao didn’t have to wait long. Suhuy’s wounds began to heal almost as soon as they were inflicted. He rolled his neck on his shoulders – reptilian scales hardening over the muddy flesh like a crust. “My turn,” he hissed. He shimmered, and then flickered out of existence. Only to reappear behind Joao. “Volie!” he invoked. The Power Word ignited a wildfire of pain that coursed through Joao, causing her limbs to spasm – and leaving her defenseless. She barely felt her arm wrenched back, bending to the point of breaking. . . followed by a flurry of sharp blows to the center of her back. Vertebrae popped and cracked like egg-shells, her legs going out from under her – powerless, distant. As her consciousness began to waver, she felt herself lifted by the trapped arm and then slammed down onto the cold ground; the limb tore free from its moorings… attached solely by skin and sinew. A dismissive kick to the chest launched her prone body across the room like a broken toy. If not for Joao’s Combat Shifting, she would have expired before striking the chamber wall. Even with it, continued life was… tenuous. Suhuy slowly turned on the others, his rotting hands igniting with blue-white lightning. “Very well. Enough of the cat and mouse shite.” Joao had nothing left. She remained still, trying to find the energyto heal, the energy to repair the wounds and injuries Suhuy had inflicted in mere moments. Her brief, exultant victory seemed so hollow now. Only the determination and desire not to disappoint Mother, and herself, kept despair at bay. She had done what she could, and now had to concentrate on healing and survival. And so did so. Malachi drew Medea's arms tight and restrained her. "Sister," he told her, "I'd like to say I'm sorry about this. I'd like to, but I'm not." Malachi put her into a sleeper hold and squeezed just tight enough to both restrain her and make sure she passed out. He wa careful not to squeeze too hard and kill her. Considering her weakened state, this wasn’t difficult. For an instant, she tried to mouth a Power Word – but another squeeze ended the attempt. She slumped in Malachi’s arms, unconscious. The flow of blood from her wrist began to ebb – the flesh sealing over. This close to the pattern, divested of his normal fill of the Logrus, facing the incarnation of that same Serpent, Cynwyd knew he had to shift to a different tack. <One more second is all we need. Just to get Gillian on the Pattern. Then, it doesn't matter,> he thought gripping the hilt of his blade harder. <We won't let him down this time.> Suffusing himself with the power of the Pattern, its nearness was a sublime sort of pain. Playing a song that touched his soul, or that he could see the suffering of others in. He grabbed hold of that as the power rushed into him. He felt the burning as his natures warred within... and stabilized. <I'm going to need your help with this,> he thought. At that moment, Cynwyd took one of the biggest risks of his life. He summoned Osric’s true Power – his complete mastery over Shape and Form. As his perceptions shifted, the world slowed down for Cywwyd. He could ‘see’ Suhuy’s vastly superior strength – both physical and psychic. Between the both, none of the group stood a chance against the Chaos Lord on an individual level. Even a combined effort would tax them to the limits. Cynwyd pushed the Shift – his body rippled and flowed, the Twin Personas surfacing both mentally and physically to create an amalgamation of the three. Instinctively, Cynw…Bened… Osric… blocked a near-invisible Logrus tendril, and then another – sparks leaping off his blade. Suhuy frowned and pressed the attack, taxing the Trio with each rapid strike. They felt pain as needle teeth sank into their shoulder – the tendril tearing out a sizeable chunk of flesh, gulping it down. The pain grew distant… for Cynwyd. He felt very small, his vision darkening as the domineering personalities pushed him out. Unfortunately, even with the combination of Personas, he could not maneuver Suhuy toward the Pattern, as he’d hoped. The Crawling Chaos simply outmatched them; pushing him further would likely invite disaster for Cynwyd. But the Personas succeeded in holding Suhuy back… and, more importantly, distracted him too much to invoke his High Magick. Taken aback by Joao's transformation -- Where did that come from? -- Temnal nevertheless felt a strong urge to go to the aid of his wounded comrade. But at the moment, that would probably get them both killed in short order. Nor did he want to move directly to protect Gillian, for the same reason ... it would only get her noticed by Suhuy. Instead... He recalled how he'd been able to manipulate the Persephone's Tears spell when they'd fought the dragon-creature, raising huge, jagged crystalline spikes from the ground. This time... a cage. He visualized a ring of stalagmites around the Crawling Chaos, arching over its head and weaving themselves together ... and infused them with Pattern energy, crackling and sparking to match that electrical glow Suhuy wielded. And while he was at it, he extended the cage underground, too, making it a full sphere around Suhuy. Suhuy must have sensed the Working, because Temnal immediately felt a psychic backlash – some type of protective aura around the Lord. But between Brand’s influence and Cynwyd’s assault, he formed the spell and completed its complex weaving. The ground and roof erupted – jagged spires of rock closing around Suhuy like an earthen maw. Cynwyd used the opportunity to inflict another wound, before deftly leaping out of the way. Almost immediately, the sphere of stone began to crumble and crack like an egg. Gillian was busy ‘talking’ with Cybele. <I've looked at all the trumps in your deck in detail, but I'm not exactly sure which one you're referring to. Can you give me an image?> Gillian pictured an angelic human of indeterminate sex – its androgynous beauty both alluring and terrifying in its majesty. It held two cups – one white, one black – with liquid passing between them; the ‘water’ filled with stars. Gillian slipped the Jewel over her neck, but paused before stepping onto the Pattern. <Cybele, can Ginger come with us? I don't want to leave her alone.> "Ginger!" she shouted, looking around for her familiar. Cybele flinched for a moment. She didn’t enjoy not knowing something. <Haven’t the foggiest.> Her admission was almost sulky. <Doesn't matter. I'm taking her anyway.> The somewhat brave feline had been busying herself slashing at the ankles and heels of Suhuy’s daemons – weaving in and out of the Night Wolves like an orange blur. Hearing her name, she sprinted back across the chamber and leapt into Gillian’s arms. She panted heavily, her fur sticky with blood – most of it someone else’s. “Whatever you’re going to do, do it fast.” Gillian gave her familiar a hug. "Doing fast," she whispered. "Remember that I love you, you stupid furball." “Love you too, Meatsack,” Ginger whimpered, clenching on with her claws. She transferred Ginger to her shoulder with an admonishment to "hang on for dear life" and stepped out onto the Pattern. The Pattern shimmered and sparked, appearing beneath her foot. She stepped forwarded and disappeared into an angle – as if she’d never been. [Gillian continued in The Long Walk] |
