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arius rose up before the sun did, a residual behaviour of a time long past for him. During training it was common practice for an occasso warrior to learn to sleep lightly; to rouse himself in preparation for a battle in spite of repose.

So he woke himself up in increments, first bodily with all the reflexive instincts of his muscles engaged, further unwound with a stretch. Then the mind which he coaxed open with an ice cold shower, herbal tisane and incense smoke.

After that, it was time to prepare.

He sealed himself inside his leather armour, the suit slipping on with the familiarity of a second skin. Then on his back he strapped two falcatas: one of obsidian for killing enemies and one of bone for killing comrades.

The latter an occasso kept in higher esteem than the former, always sheathed in fine sharkskin and silk with an engraved silver hilt. Killing one’s fellow occassi was not a decision to be made on a whim and Calante had designed them purposefully so that it was not a pursuit easily undertaken.

Past the speed, strength, claws and fangs there was also the problem of their hearts: impenetrable as stone with all the smooth, flexible properties of regular muscle. Metal would not pierce them, stone would not scrape them. Only weapons forged from materials once connected to the cycle of life were capable of doing them harm: a wooden stake, a claw, a sharpened bone.

Darius withdrew his bone falcata to admire its fine ivory hue. The blade was pristine; untouched by the black blood it was about to shed. He remembered all he had done and experienced just to hold it. How in Mortos, training to be a warrior was all but ritualised torture. He remembered all the bouts of starvation, the exposure to elements, the beatings and forced viewings of executions—all for it to culminate in his First Rite where one was sent to fend for oneself in the wilderness. No magic, no weapons, nothing but their own body.

Darius remembered his First Rite well, all the ways he’d survived where others did not.

It was the same reason he knew he was destined to survive what was to come.

It wasn’t strength, wasn’t speed, wasn’t superiority, it wasn’t even the breadth of his smarts.

It was adaptability.

“Are you ready?”

Behind him, Ser Léandre stood poised at the door.

“Yes,” Darius replied, sheathing his sword behind his back. He followed him out of the tower.

The crew Amira assembled together was a small, elite faction prized mainly for their skill at stealth. She wanted this to be a clean extraction, near surgical precision. They were to sneak in and attack the Citadel covertly to capture his father without resistance.

To reach Mortos she had provided them with access to one of her starships. Darius glanced up at the silver behemoth stretched out before him with the awe of a child. It would be his first time within touching distance of one of Vysteria’s famous airships and, in spite of the dire circumstances, he was as giddy as a schoolboy.

He met with the rest of the soldiers inside the main deck where they seated themselves at a table to wait for the crew leader. There was no doubt in Darius’ mind that the Lightshields did not desire his presence and trusted it even less so, but by now he had surpassed the mood to charm and convince those who dwell here.

The hushed speculations on his loyalties soon ceased when the door opened once more to reveal the one who would lead the charge on this mission: Lyra De Lis.

“Welcome all.” Lyra strided in full-armoured glory and deposited a rolled parchment onto the table. “I’d like to thank you for being so brave as to offer yourselves to this mission.” Her eyes drifted along all of them with a smile, hardening when they eventually fell upon Darius. “Under the orders of Lady Cassia I have been advised to seek guidance from Darius Calantis on how best to breach this fortress. So, if you would like to take over, Monsieur. I have a map here of the Citadel and surrounding territories.”

Darius unfurled the map and gave it a quick glance over. “This map won’t do,” he said and then he picked up a pencil and sketched out all the hidden entrances and exits; the elusive scrambled passageways he’d memorised all throughout his youth. Never before had he considered they would come in such handy.

“Now if you’d pay close attention to the places I’ve marked, I believe the cathedral—” he set a marker down onto the map “—will be the best place to enter. There is a tunnel that connects to the Citadel from where we escort our dead rexes to the catacombs. It is unlikely he will have too many guards posted in this area, so we will be able to slip in almost entirely unnoticed. The real trouble comes when we enter the Citadel proper. The castle structure is full of traps and secret rooms which my father will no doubt use to his advantage. Fortunately, I know the landscape of the castle like the back of my hand and so I am unlikely to be surprised by its offerings. I would, however, recommend caution and for you to follow my lead.”

“How convenient for you,” Lyra quipped dryly.

Darius’ jaw twitched in amusement. “I mean you are rather welcome to try your luck at it on your own terms, Ser Lyra. Though it would be quite upsetting for me to see you as an unfortunate smear on the wall when we’ve only begun to be such good acquaintances.”

“Ser?” The Lightshields looked to Lyra, seeking her approval.

Lyra glanced down at the map, chin in hand, before nodding. “I approve of Calantis’ strategy. We know our orders. Lanius Rex is to be detained at all costs. Everyone else, we aim to kill.” She reached into her belt and retrieved a glowing vial of a mystical substance.

Darius’ stomach roiled and his blood vessels shrivelled in its presence. “What is that?”

“It’s amaranthum,” Lyra said, “an undiluted strain that is especially potent. I want you to use it to pacify Lanius when you eventually face him. A dosage of that strength would be lethal to anyone else. As Lanius is deathless, however, it should have him incapacitated for quite long while.”

Darius reached for the vial but as he did so the hammering pressure in his temples intensified.

“Is something wrong?” Lyra asked, though there was glibness behind it. “Let me help you with that.” She placed the vial in a sleeve of material and at once the oppressive migraine lifted. Lyra handed the vial to him. “Keep it safe.”

Darius nodded and slipped the vial onto his person.

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The airship flew over a world torn asunder.

The first solarite assault arrived as a dark, portentous overcast along the coastlines of Mortos. Those with eyes as keen as occassi could just about catch a glimpse of one of the ships as a faint silhouette of scintillating silver—a skybound leviathan armed with vaporising bombs of pure light.

Darius observed the devastation wrought as the starship’s blinding beams disintegrated the bodies of his comrades into a shadow of charred ash. Those who had managed to survive the initial exposure could be found steaming and delirious as they burned from the inside out, their flesh liquefying off their bones.

He knew then that there was more to light than simply glamour or glitz; there was horror to behold from it too.

Chaos had engulfed the haunted city of Gravissia, gobbled it down between its serrated jaws and spat it back out deformed. The ground was eating itself beneath them, shattered into a splintering web of fissures, opening into new mouths steaming with furious plumes of volcanic smoke.

But this ruined landscape and its many perils was only half the horror that awaited as the streets became illuminated beneath the ship’s watchful eyes. The world was empty. The solarites had left the imprint of their boot upon this anthill and exterminated them with a pointed twist of their ankle. Nothing but the charred black skeletons and shadow-tattooed remnants of its inhabitants remained. The streets wailed in mourning of their vacancy.

Darius couldn’t help but take a hard swallow at the sheer magnitude of the devastation before him. He had seen occassi raze cities to the ground and exterminate villages by the dozen. He had seen them suffuse the air in so much blood one could almost swim in it, string up entrails in festive display, kick skulls around like balls. But never before had he seen this—this erasure. All the more seemingly merciless for how it left nothing behind but ash and absence.

Was this what I am to be the king of then? He dared himself to wonder.

Lyra approached his side before handing him a parachute. “Time to go.”

Darius accepted it and strapped it onto him before the exit door was pushed open and they jumped down towards the city.

They descended to an empty greeting, not that Darius was expecting much of an ambush. His father would likely have given strict orders for everyone to remain inside the fortress where they would be safe from attack. The castle was built almost entirely of sangrestone, a hybridisation of abyssal, red-tinged metallic stone no longer known to monsterkind. The walls were, therefore, impenetrable to any breach, from explosives to ramming logs.

Darius led the way towards the cathedral as the bulbous onion domes floated into view from a distance. The steps were littered with the remains of those too unfortunate to reach sanctuary before they met their radiant end.

Darius heard his boot crunch the tibia of one skeleton and watched it disintegrate into black powder the moment he touched it. He made a conscious decision to tread more lightly from that moment, careful not to disturb the rest.

They opened the doors to the cathedral with a hefty tug and a groan of weary wood, walking the aisle up towards the altar where Darius knew the tunnel entrance lay. He pushed the table aside and lifted up the hatch, peering deep into the stomach of the dimly lit cavern.

“Everyone, light your torches,” Lyra ordered and she ignited her own amaranthum light before she descended first into the cavern.

The rest followed after her.

Deeper and deeper they went into the tunnels, hearing nothing but the loud, wet drips of moisture until Darius paused in alert.

“We have to stop.”

“What?” Léandre asked, “why?”

“Do you not hear it?”

Léandre paused and strained his ears. “It just sounds like wind.”

“Listen closer.”

The air rolled noisily around them like a yawn. He watched the other Lightshields glance around them, weapons ready for attack.

“Is someone else here?”

“Turn off your lights,” Darius said, “and move very slowly.”

The words had scarcely left his lips before a pair of hands with gnarled fingers lunged out from the walls.

Darius snatched Léandre by the arm, hauling him out of the way of its clutches. The fingers lashed at the air in spite before withdrawing back into the walls.

“What on earth—?” Léandre’s voice faltered and then he swallowed, “thank you.”

Darius nodded back. “We’ve reached the Citadel now. The castle is full to the brim with trapped souls and they’re hungry but they never feed. If they grab you they’re not letting go until they bring you into the walls.”

“But we’re solid,” said Lyra, “so how do they intend to get us in there?”

“They don’t,” Darius replied, “but that doesn’t mean they won’t stop trying. Do you understand?”

Lyra shivered in response. “How do we evade them?”

“You hold your breath. And you don’t stop moving until I tell you you’re safe.”

He heard the Lightshields take a deep breath, indulging in their last fresh gulp of air, before they crossed over the threshold of the Citadel.

More hands sprouted out from the walls, wandering, groping, relentless in their pursuit; for they had been left for so long without shelter and sustenance, receiving only the cruel indifference of their sovereign when they sought the Citadel for aid. The closer they edged to escape, the louder the wails of anguish grew, until one came to realise it was not wind or draft but the beggars’ cries that chorused through the tunnel with their pleas.

Please…

Have mercy…

Hungry…

So hungry…

We beg of you….

Please…

We’ve been waiting so long…

Darius could feel his lungs straining for his next exhale, forcing him to clamp down even harder until the voices fell away with a resigned moan. Another day left unsated.

“We’re safe,” he said in his exhale, sucking in his next breath like it was something to savour.

“They sounded so sad,” Lyra said, her voice clogged. Darius was astonished to see how forlorn she looked. “So alone.” She glanced at him and her face hardened. “How long have they been left there? Why don’t you let them out?”

“It’s not up to me,” Darius said, “it’s been a practice of rexes of the past for a long time now to trap the souls of thieves and beggars for their trespasses.”

“So your people came to you because they were hungry and desperate and this is how you treat them?” Lyra exhaled a bitter laugh. “You creatures never fail to disgust me.” She walked past him, shoving him hard on the shoulder. Then her foot triggered a slab of stone more loose than the others that opened into a trap door.

“Lyra!” Léandre called out as his niece stumbled into the opening fissure.

Only through sheer reflexes alone did Lyra catch hold of the edge for grip, clinging to it as though it was life itself.

Darius moved even quicker. “Give me your hand.”

Lyra glanced down into the pit, the molten fiery death that awaited her below with its belches of sulphuric air, then up at the hand before she clasped it.

Darius hauled her out to safety and sealed the door shut. When he turned, she was already in Léandre’s arms.

“Are you alright?” Léandre asked.

“Yes, I’m fine,” she affirmed, removing her arms from him to look over at Darius, her eyes no softer than before. “I’m fine.”

“As I said before, tread cautiously,” Darius said, “and follow my lead.”

He led them through to the catacombs where they met the first of the occassi guards. Darius drew his sword as Lightshield and occassi dominator alike were engaged in an intense flirtation of blades. The numbers of the occassi were few but theirs were even fewer. However, Darius did not let that perturb him; did not let fear tip the balance of his mind’s equanimity.

He’d never approached combat like a brawler after all, he approached it like a mathematician. Always with his silent calculations of speed, force and velocity behind his every strike and swing, balancing for variables in his opponent’s weight and skill. So he advanced calmly, his mind scribbling the equations needed to make his first strike into the heart of one warrior before he struck off the head of the next.

He maximised his surroundings to his advantage, disguising into the tenebrous sludge of a shadow before he emerged in full again, only to vanish behind the next. Then at once he materialised to pierce his falcata through the back of another occassi, a vibrant dispersion of blood and arterial matter exploding in the air.

The more Darius crossed blades with those who were not his father the more aggressively he succumbed to his bloodlust, trading greater and more deadly blows that camouflaged spatters of black ichor into his leathers until he drew nearer and nearer to what he sought.

He opened the door into a secret passageway leading to the Portrait Hall where an even more gruesome vignette awaited him. The walls had been freshly painted a lustrous black, the glass frames spattered with streaks and handprints. The portrait’s eyes were sorrowful.

Darius could hear a snuffling sound in the distance and readied his falcata. The whine sounded bestial, but he knew they kept no pets here. He sought the source of the sound. Then he leapt out, sword at the ready to slay this undisclosed mutt and found only Dominus instead.

His hulking figure was bent over in anguish as he continued to weep his undignified sounds.

Darius knew he wouldn’t get a better chance than now to dispense with his brother. But no matter how his hand clenched at his sword to strike—he just couldn’t make his arm move to follow it. He exhaled in defeat, curiosity and hesitation overruling his need to do what he knew he had to and instead he stepped nearer.

Extending out from his brother’s large frame was a slightly smaller, shapelier figure that didn’t move of its own accord. Only with the tremours of his brother’s sobs.

“Oh, no,” Darius couldn’t help but sigh out.

Dominus darted at once to the sound like a reptile, eyes landing briefly on him before his neck fell back towards the dead figure of his mother, like it pained him too much to hold it upwards. “She told me to run.” He sniffled, sliding his hand down her blood-smeared cheek. “She tried to stop him.”

Darius moved towards his grieving brother and crouched down low.

“Don’t touch her,” Dominus snarled as he held her even tighter to him. “Just don’t. I don’t want you to touch her. I don’t want you to take her. I just—I just want to sit here with her. Alright?”

“Alright.” Darius held up his hands. “I’m not going to touch her, Doma. And I’m not going to take her. You have my word.” So he sat down next to his little brother as he snivelled and cradled his poor mother to him. And for a long moment he just closed his eyes.

Vasilisa had not been his mother but he had held nothing but quiet respect for her. She did not deserve to be slaughtered in a misdirected attempt to claim Dominus. But such was the curse of reginas, they lived and they died by whatever face the coin of their rex happened to fall regardless of their choosing.

“Where is he, Dominus?” Darius asked.

“He’s killing his guards.” Dominus wiped his nose with the back of his hand. “He’s killing everyone.” He slid his hand down his mother’s eyes, the same green as his own, and closed them. “I’m next.”

“Help me stop him.” Darius put his hand on his shoulder. “It doesn’t have to be this way, Doma. You don’t have to die. Help me stop him and we can go back to Soleterea. Together. I can broker you a deal with the impératrice and we can bury your mother. This can all end. Tonight. What do you say?”

Dominus swallowed thickly. “Do you think Laila would ever forgive me for what I’ve done?”

He didn’t realise it was possible to feel such a chill in him than when he heard her name on his brother’s lips. Come back to me, her voice echoed in his mind. “I don’t know, Doma.”

Dominus lay his mother down to rest on the floor and crossed her arms over her chest. “Alright.” He rose to his feet and looked at Darius, holding out his hand. “Let’s destroy the miserable bastard.”

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They searched high and low for him, following the bloodied trail of carnage he had left in his wake. Outside the sky was raging with a storm and the lightning stuttered like a candle flame dwindling in and out of existence. Dominus trampled over body after body with little care for their dying gasps for release, a warrior on the warpath.

Darius had never seen such black anger in his brother like the one that possessed him at that very moment. He leapt at shadows with his bone falcata drawn, ready to fight with the very Citadel walls itself.

He brought out the vial of amaranthum and traced it with his thumb. A full dosage of it would be lethal according to Lyra. But what of a granule or so? He considered the logistics of how much an occassi would need to ingest before succumbing to its poison and carefully lifted the lid.

“Come out, you coward,” Dominus seethed between his gritted teeth. Then he upturned a row of bone porcelain he knew had belonged to their father’s mother and let it burst into fragments against the nearby wall.

“Doma, calm down,” Darius censured, hiding the vial once he’d taken what he needed. He wiped the corner of his mouth. “The more of a racket you make, the more he’ll hear us coming.”

“I want him to hear me,” Dominus growled back. “I want him trembling and fearful and in pain the way she was. I want him to know his moments are numbered. I want him to know I’m coming for him. And when I do—” he swung his sword and swiped off the bronzed head from a trophy. “Do you understand, Darius?”

“Yes, I understand. Do you think I’m not angry? Why in oblivion do you think I’m here in the first place? But we have to play this smart. We can’t afford to go barrelling in like—look out.”

The lightning ignited in a flash and revealed his father’s silhouette poised behind Dominus, falcata raised to strike.

Darius raised his blade to deflect. Their blades met with a hollow clank as they exchanged forceful blows before his father pressed his foot into the centre of Darius’ chest and kicked him off-balance.

Darius fell back like a ragdoll, slowly rising himself back on foot.

Lanius chuckled. “Should’ve gotten your head out of those books a little more, boy.”

“Then it’s a good thing I’m here, isn’t it?” Dominus interjected as he darted with quickness to swing at Lanius.

Lanius was prepared, however, and they engaged in a deadly swordplay. Darius took advantage of his distraction to leap into the fray but Lanius managed to counter both of their attacks with diabolical precision.

He struck the falcata from Dominus’ hand in one clean blow. “You’re a good fighter, Dominus. One of the finest I know. But you’re not better than me.” He stabbed Dominus in the chest and twisted the blade.

“No!” Darius stabbed his father in the gut.

Lanius grunted as he descended to one knee but Darius knew the injury wouldn’t have him down for long. He tore himself free of the blade with near indifference before pivoting sharply on his ankle to attack.

They engaged once more in a deadly swordplay before Lanius struck the falcata from Darius’ hand in one clean blow.

Darius had only moments to panic before his father’s blade struck down with one brutal overhead sweep. He caught the falcata between his palms, wrestling it from his grip until that too was sent spiralling away with a clatter.

“Well, well, fisticuffs it is then,” Lanius observed, curling his fists into balls. “This ought to feel more familiar to you.”

He went for a strike to the face.

Darius dodged his punch, grabbing his attacking fist to snap his forearm.

Lanius growled out in pain, furtively glancing at his mangled bone as he cast a hex to mend it.

Darius barely left a millisecond for him to recover before he went for another strike. Lanius was prepared, however, and managed to counter to land a blow so hard it knocked the colour from Darius’ sight. Then he came down on him with a cavalcade of even fiercer blows, flipping him onto his back with a leg sweep.

Darius rolled out of the way as Lanius’ foot came down to stomp him before he got up again. They exchanged fists, dodging and weaving each other’s impending strikes at unfathomable speed until Lanius managed to halt the procession with another well-aimed strike.

The blow landed like a sledgehammer, cracking Darius’ skull. He attempted to counter his father’s next blows with lower punches but Lanius was better at deflecting and breaking his guard, finishing Darius off with a knee to the liver.

Then he pulled him close to bite him, sinking his teeth in deep to poison him with venom.

“Any last words before I kill you?” Lanius asked, his teeth stained as he smiled. Any sense of victory in his face soon dissolved as his veins alighted with a divine glow that exuded coils of steam. “What—”

Lanius clutched his throat, coughing up congealed lumps of black blood.

“It’s amaranthum,” Darius explained, stepping close to him. “The crystal of the solarites. I thought there was a sort of poetry in that. It’s lethal for chaotic beings to ingest, typically. At least all in one go. But I helped myself to a granule or so.”

Certain he was incapacitated, Darius pulled out the vial of amaranthum and shoved the rest forcefully down his throat. Lanius’ face darkened as he collapsed to the floor in a pathetic scramble of limbs.

“If only you’d paid more attention to your books,” Darius whispered mockingly, “perhaps then you might not have fallen for one of the oldest tricks in it.”

“I should’ve—” Lanius coughed up another clot “—I should’ve gutted you for the snivelling little whelps you were over two hundred years ago. You’re nothing but failures to me, the pair of you.” His throat gurgled. “Think you’ve won this? The greatest pleasure of all will be watching you tear each other to pieces.” His breaths hitched as he exhaled his last before surrendering to unconsciousness.

“It’s all over,” Darius said. He allowed himself to feel the brunt of the sickness he’d been stifling as he bowed over in agony. But he’d become accustomed to tolerating toxicity. He could outlast this.

“Is it?” Dominus removed his hand from his chest to reveal the seeping rivulet of his blood. He descended to his knees.

“Let me look at it,” Darius urged, reaching out for him in spite of it all. After so many centuries, the one thing he thought he’d always wanted was to see Dominus take the hit for him for once. Until it happened.

“No,” Dominus said, with a dry chuckle. “I guess this makes it all easier for you in the end, doesn’t it?”

“I never wanted to kill you, Dominus.”

“Yes, you did,” Dominus said, throat bobbling with a swallow. “All over that stupid fucking throne. I hope it was worth it for you in the end, Dara. I hope it gives you peace. That you don’t turn out like him. All twisted and paranoid and bitter—” He started to cough.

“Doma.” Darius swallowed, his eyes misting over.

“I was dead the minute you came here, Darius. You don’t have to lie to me anymore. I know you’re good at it. I almost wanted to believe you, you know? You’ve always been so good at telling people exactly what they want to hear from you.” Dominus swallowed once more, his chest hitching with a sob. “So tell Laila—tell her I’m sorry. Tell her something really pretty for me, alright?”

Darius closed his eyes, a hot tear sliding down his cheek. “I will.”

Dominus nodded back. “Now kill me.”

“I can’t.” Darius shook his head.

“Yes, you can.” Dominus nodded towards their father’s sword. “Don’t let me die like this.”

Darius took a deep, shaky breath as he picked up their father’s sword. And it was funny how even after two centuries worth of battles and bloodshed he had to hold it in both hands just to keep it steady. He looked down into his brother’s eyes for a final time before closing his own. “I’m so sorry, Doma.”

He brought down the blade.