He saw a single rotating bead of rain before him, floating and spinning as it slowly drifted to his visor. All around him were droplets, a frozen cloud of millions of gleaming jewels against the backdrop of endless red and blue clouds. The drop ahead of him had a faint red glow as it connected with his face plate, splattering on his visor. The liquid glass then froze and cracked into a thousand shards. Corvayne sighed into his face-mask as he saw the four thousand mile an hour winds of L'Tideru-1 shift speed, shattering the illusion of calm as he returned to skydiving through a dark nightmare storm of glass.

It was the only way home.

His means of piloting was to make small changes in his gravity, and he shifted it a little forward, his focus on keeping himself in a band of twilight between being melted with the glass by daylight ahead, or falling behind into a night of endless frozen razor shards behind him. If he missed his target, a mere mile wide glowing dome hidden in the flying shards, he'd fall thousands and thousands of miles while being burned and crushed by the gas planet below him, if he hadn't been ripped to shreds by then.

He felt a cooling bead of glass hit his suit, still a thousand degrees but turning lumpy. He was close to his target, and he was going to land, but it was going to get ugly as the read out on his visor told him the air was falling under the freezing point of glass. He started to feel bumps on his suit and around his helmet and the heat in spots blossomed, the shards of glass cleaving open his suit and exposing his skin to a mix of gasses hotter than any oven.

If he was a normal human he'd be dead in moments after the first breach, just a cooking body tumbling into the razor sharp cloud, but he'd long ago left normal behind. He could feel the rends in his suit exposing his skin to frying gasses and he felt the first needle of horrific pain as a piece of glass connected and buried itself in his side, but it wasn't going to kill him. There was no point to screaming, so he didn't. There was no point to crying, so his eyes stayed dry and clear. Tensing up and curling into a ball would spoil his aim, and none of it would change how the next few moments would go. So he instead smiled as the second burning needle hit him.

As he was, pain was just an old friend. A spear moved forward, and he was going four thousand miles an hour.

He spotted the green of a shield, a little patch of daylight and hope, lighting up a cloud of green glass through his cracking visor, and breathed one last full breath, then closed his eyes as his suit fell completely apart and his falling body was baptized in magmatic glass shards. The pain flared everywhere over and over as each part of him was battered by glass and fire. Even without breathing he caught a whiff of the chemical smell of the atmosphere before glass plugged his nostrils. He hoped his eyelids held up, as he did not need his eyes to know he was on target, but he would need them later to land.

Blind, in pain, and hurtling to what might be his death, Corvayne resisted the lure of blacking out. His mind and body protested the burning agony of being cooked and sliced apart, screaming for him to breath and pass out and open his eyes. Even naked, with glass encrusting his cooked skin, he ignored the torture he had put himself into to keep his posture straight and use his gravity power to stabilize his weight, letting him like an arrow. He wasn't sure his lungs or skin would hold out, but this was the last way home, the only way he could get back to Cascadia. Better to die trying than live like a beaten dog.

He opened his eyes the moment he felt the ping of shards gathering on his eyelids lessen. The passing island had left a wake in the tempest. He still got cuts on his eyes from nearly invisible glass fog but it would heal and it was worth the view as he drifted past other green orbs, the shields of huge escort ships clustered around the titanic floating island. They were looking for other ships, listening with deep fingers into the gravity and dimensional waves to catch someone trying to teleport in. They were not looking out for naked idiots sky diving sideways through hell to reach Chateau L'Tideru.

He was headed right for the barrier, and closed his eyes with a small crunch and held his hand forward, thinking of it as a knife aimed at the grounds past the barrier, then activated a skill, twisting reality to use his hand to slice through space. Reality gave way as his hand slashed out.

[Cross Skill: Shadow Step]

Everything went black and silent as he tunneled through shadows past the shield, appearing and falling into a garden pathway with a sicking crunch, hitting so hard he bounced. He was going a little faster than the island, falling, and had ignited the moment he hit oxygen, so his vision was bright with fire and the scene spinning, then the ground hit him again a little less hard bouncing him airborne again for three seconds before he dropped into water that flash boiled all around him in an explosion of steam. His cooked muscles protested as he forced himself to stand up from the bubbling steaming pond he was in and exhale and take a gasping ragged breath of air that felt frozen compared to his seared body. He looked with his less-cut eye at the back of his hand, vision interrupted by blurry gaps where glass was stuck in his eyeball. Too much glass in his hands too, and blood seeping from it.

All and all, he gave the landing four out of five stars. A tentative voice in his head whispered to him. “Are you alive? Is he... close? Is he... here?”

He ignored The Bride for now, looking around at part of the curated grounds he landed in. It was a garden, intimately lit by lanterns and beautifully cared for, excepting for a smoldering patch of turf he had bounced off of. He saw light above with buildings, blurry, behind him, and the shields ahead of him, clear enough on this side to let him watch the glass storm and designed to let someone wandering the garden hear faintly the sounds of wind and glass rain and perhaps sit on a bench and marvel at how deadly it was four feet away. No guards, so he sat back down in the now steaming pool of water.

He was alive, in agony, and probably had triggered some alarm when he started a fire and smashed into the grounds but he took the moment to grin, the motion again cracking shards jammed into his face. The pain meant he was alive, and that he was now the first person to ever break into Chateau L'Tideru 'on foot'. Probably would be the last too.

Corvayne used his second ability to summon shadowy limbs his body, slithering like black snakes from his side, wiggling their fingers before getting to work, pulling out glass. He had the sensation from their fingers, sharp but not painful. His mouth had blood in it so he spit, then started with the worst task for clearing the glass, biting down on his lip to suppress screaming as he forced his eyes open and willed the precise hands to pull shards out. His face was wrecked further by the cool fingers of darkness plucking fragments from it next. He closed both eyes, feeling a shard that had been under his eyelid scrape his eyeball and crack further, and his hands moved across his face, pulling shards free as his own regrowing skin helped push them out. He felt the hands tossing them away grow damp with his blood. The worst areas clear enough, the hands moved more briskly over the rest of his body, starting with pulling shards of glass out of his physical hands. The second worst section was, of course, between his legs. He thought of a carrot peeler and smiled at that too. The one time it would help, and it was nowhere to be found. Then of course came more pain.

His eyes were already healed by the time the shadowy limbs had worked their way down to his knees. He hurt like crazy and what was left of his lacerated skin was bubbling from blisters. But at the same time, fresh flesh was growing under it. He had one of his shadow limbs stretch twenty feet to break off a fence post. He delivered it to his real hand and thought of it as a staff, then swept it before him, imagining a circle of green plants.

[Cross Skill: Circle of Life] activated, boosted by all the shrubs around him as well as having a stick that resembled, sort of, a wizard's stave. The grass responded first, springing up, patches racing over to shrubs and trellised vines. The effect spread over the water and algae began budding between floating shards of glass. It swept over his skin, and the pain faded to a itching tightness. His old skin burst and fell away in bloody tatters that dried up as new flesh grew out of him. He crouched and picked up a few black crystals that had been inside his flesh from before, also grabbing one that had been trying to burrow out of him mid-fall and plucking it from his knee, bones and muscle shifting back into place as it slid like a knife from his skin.

The voice he heard before was insistent this time. “Corvayne... are we close?”

He spoke aloud to himself as he rubbed the black crystals on the grass, leaving sooty trails where bits of his own burnt fat stuck to them. “Easy. I know. Soon.”

It was enough to quell the voice, even though it probably knew he wasn't sure. He felt it drip back into his mind. A blessing and a curse, another reason he couldn't have just given up.

As he stood he heard the sound of someone running and Corvayne saw from the black suit that man coming was likely some sort of servant, so he smiled and snapped his fingers to draw the man over.

“The Baron told me-” Corvayne started to say then stopped, and spit some glass out, as a few shards must have just went right through his lips into his teeth. Again. “The Baron said to supply a robe after testing powers.” A black vine in his soul tugged, but it lost traction after only a scrape, as he had heard the Baron say all those words, just in a different life.

He stepped up to the confused servant and pushed the black fragments he had pulled from his own skin into the mans hand, and the man beamed and pocketed the high density essence, then ran off to find Corvayne a robe. A group of ladies in summer dresses came down a path, no doubt to investigate the noise as well, and Corvayne nodded to them and then turned back to looking off at the glass storm, chin held high even though he was naked and holding a fence post. In most places, there was zero chance he could get away with it. But the Baron's private fortress was a junction between people who seek pleasure and people who sought power, so seeing him look confident and maybe even bored at standing out in a charred garden naked, they just tittered, eyed him up and down over their fans, and strolled by.

The man with the robe returned and Corvayne set his pole down, dressed, then grabbed it and excused himself from the garden and walked confidently past white marble buildings along the brick path and down some steps to a pool where attractive men and women were sunbathing in swimsuits, Corvayne just strolling past and smiling and waving and letting his shadow hands snag a pair of sunglasses off a table to put on, oh drinks? Sure, cheers to the waiter, past the pool house, along a covered walkway to the main manor, sipping the drink and stepping aside as two staff wielding guards ran down the path, one stumbling to stop near Corvayne.

“Did you see som-”

Corvayne nodded and pointed, schooling himself to act annoyed. “He had a skin suit and a spear, nearly knocked me over! I expect the clothes his stunt ruined to-”

The guard was already gone so Corvayne waved and kept walking. He did miss his own spear, truth be told. He walked past the front doors and two steel golems (or regular old robots) that would probably recognize he wasn't on the guest list, instead heading around the side of the huge building, following the wall around and back to where the main house connected with a wing, looking for the right spot then smiling when he spotted a window open to let fresh air in. He lightened his body and leapt the seven feet or so to hop through the window.

The interior of the Chateau was opulent, of course. The floors were cool marble mixed with carpets as soft as velvet. The walls were gold and silver, gleaming with details and arches and flourishes and lined with tables propping up priceless vases and classic works of art that no doubt were worth at least millions of credits, one after another lining the walls... Corvayne didn't need any of it.

He walked down the hall, past open doors where all kinds of chancellors and dignitaries and other movers and shakers were visiting, but Corvayne wasn't here to kidnap or kill them. Other doors held women and men to serve whatever needs those VIPs could want, which didn't tempt Corvayne away from his mission.

He paused for a moment at the kitchen he passed, the aroma of grilled monster meat first making him hungry, then making him miss the old Monk Mister I, and finally the smell of tomato sauce made him think of Pulcura and he felt his mood blacken and the temptation to steal a meal left him.

He strode past the rest of the doors to the central entry hall, a three story tall room with arches supporting airy glass work that gave anyone inside a view of the dark storm swirling outside the bubble, as well as the fake sun. The center piece of the room was a glass case with four huge steel humanoid constructs around it, guarding the Baron's most prized possession. Corvayne stayed on the outside of the room, avoiding the case even though the mask within was a sign of who he was after.

The Magus, a wizard of unimaginable power.

He was near one of the curved stairs to the second floor and the Baron's private chambers, but passed them as well. The Baron himself deserved to be blown apart but it wouldn't do anything for Corvayne goals, and his sense of where to go was telling him there was nothing important there. Instead he moved towards the huge door under those stairs, leading to the royal guest's quarters, which was flanked by two ten foot tall chrome golems.

Corvayne walked right up to them as they shifted into alert and he swung the wood post one handed, his mind overlapping it with a blade as he used a sword technique with it. [Cross Skill: Sundering Blade] destroyed the wood but also caused the golem to crumple and fall apart along with the stick. Bare handed, Corvayne turned to the next golem, making his non-drink hand a blade and once more using [Cross Skill: Sundering Blade], his forearm and pinky blasting through the golem by the door with only a few stinging bruises.

Corvayne didn't bother with the four other metal men guarding the mask and punched the door open then kicked it shut after he slipped in. He finished his bitter and bubbly wine in a single gulp and tossed the glass to the side where it shattered on the black marble floor. He paused when he saw a splinter of the glass tumble in front of him. Given what he went through to get here, he laughed once the brief worry he was going to step barefoot on a shard of regular glass.

He walked down the hall, stopping to pick up a side table holding a vase. The vase shattered as it fell but he ignored it and kept walking, tugging the table legs off until he had 4 makeshift clubs, of which he tucked 3 of into the sash of his robe.

Two more golems stepped out of alcoves ahead of him as he approached the end of the hall, this time armed with longswords. They moved slow, so Corvayne walked towards them, stopping as he got within their reach and leaning back as the first tried to take his head, lightning quick. Corvayne was relaxed as he dove behind the slice, moving to stand next to its off balance leg where he swung the humble table leg at the thick metal limb and used [Cross Skill: Thresh], the little wooden stick becoming a shadowy scythe for a moment and shearing the golem's leg off. Corvayne then bashed his shoulder into the golem, sending it hopping for a few moments before it clattered into the ground.

He felt danger and rolled forward, twisting to face his remaining standing golem. It had jabbed, trying to skewer his back. Corvayne responded with another power, grabbing an extra leg from his belt and using [Cross Skill: Juxtapose] as he caught its metal wrist, then let the skill help him pull and shift until he had swapped with the golem, somehow dancing tons of metal around him as he took his fresh club and used [Cross Skill: Backstab], driving the wood deep into the metal with a satisfying meaty sound that only he could hear. The weapon splintered into sawdust, but did its job punching a hole in the enemy wide enough for Corvayne to squeeze through. As the metal figure dropped Corvayne went around and gently pried its sword from its falling hand then let it slam into the floor.

He looked back and saw a few guards. He raised his sword at them. “Halt or be crushed!”

They did not halt, so he crouched to touch the inert golem, draining its gravity with his powers to reduce its weight to maybe forty pounds, then lifted the metal arm with one hand and swung it like a giant metal frisbee, letting go of his gravity power to have the armor fall twirling onto the oncoming guards and smash them into the floor. He had to brace himself because right as the golem landed on the guards something slammed into him six times, battering his front and back. The Curse of the Lamb manifested for each guard the attack had smashed, paying the damage he did back on Corvayne with a little interest. Unlike the one that lashed him for lying, it was not so easy to fool.

He staggered to his feet, bruises protesting, a tooth cracked, and pushed through the door to the royal guest wing, wiping blood from his mouth while he looked about the dim inner chamber. He felt the compass's internal force, the one he had tasked to find him a way home, pointing forward to something in these halls. Leaving a foyer he moved into to the arranged guest rooms, decorated like a horny thirteen year old's idea of a harem, a hot and humid set of rooms smelling of smoke, rose water, sweat, and other things less savory. He stepped on and broke a cheap three eyed mask, and his lip curled despite himself.

Signs of his quarry.

The rooms in the wing had ornate fabrics hanging between sections which Corvayne crept under, moving around pools covered in rose pedals and through rooms lined with exotic velvet couches no doubt used for coupling, slipping around a room where woman lounged in a daze, religious or medicinal he could not say. He trekked down stairs, past another room with reclining couches around a table for eating, another full of painful toys, pushing forward through each barrier which only added to the haze of smoke.

As he crouched under one drape a burning blade slashed over his head, the glowing red-hot sword narrowly missing him but still flash-frying his neck for the second time that day. Corvayne rolled forward into it, and threw his own sword up to parry a trio of magically enhanced strikes before leaping back, a searing red line swirling languid smoke around it. He felt a start as he saw his enemy.

She looked like an old friend: a tall alien woman with bright red skin that shimmered with other colors as she breathed, silver hair slick with sweat. Was she really the ally he had fought countless battles next to? Corvayne felt sweat pool on his back as he kept his blade up to guard, circling her as she started to circle him. It could be her, or it could be an enemy his senses were projecting as her. Or was it her and was she seeing him as an enemy?

The Curse of the Betrayer, the curse that had ruined him, wouldn't let him know. He couldn't trust his senses, and if it was her, she might not be able to trust hers either.

She charged and he moved up to meet her, their blades locked in a high speed exchange they'd done many times before in practice and once before to try to kill one another, A high blow, a low thrust, Corvayne feinted his usual response of trying to go for her hand then angled his blade for her neck, but of course her huge sword moved like a wolf to snap at his arm, forcing him to twist and cut short, then step around her follow up, their bodies moving closer. Corvayne had mountains more skill, a master beyond master countless weapons, but she had long ago eclipsed him in everything else, levels and her gear evening the playing field and then some. If he had a spear, his spear, he might be favored still.

He took whatever he could, which was that he had a slightly smaller weapon and could get inside her reach, and she saw what he was going to do and ducked and punched his gut. He kneed her right between the legs as he staggered away from her, his own attack hitting him the family jewels. He HATED the curse of the lamb! Thankfully, she seemed less used to pain, staggering as well before her skin turned a furious deep red and she charged, swinging her huge flaming sword in wild arcs, splattering liquid fire onto the walls where they melted gold, knocking over a hooka and splashing lavender scented water everywhere, and blasting apart a bed in the room with an overhand strike, sending feathers and fabric flying and adding the smell of burning cloth to the fragrance of scented smoke and burnt metal. He had a shot at her back from her over-extending on her overhand, but he hesitated even with the blade poised.

He slapped at her using [Cross Skill:Juxtapose] as she turned, their positions switching faster than possible, faster than a snap he turned and she responded as if she had seen the trick a thousand times, because she had. Corvayne backed up, leaping over the trail of lava behind him as he sized Lady Blood Claw up. The real one.

If it was really her, was she going to try to harm The Magus, or join him. He tried to disable her, shooting his shadow hands out and she dove away from the broken bed as the hands slammed into the wreckage and snapped back into Corvayne with elastic vigor. She cast Haste with a single hand gesture and he focused his Gravity on her, removing the advantage. She glared at him, and he nodded, then he used [Cross Skill: Flows Like Shadow] to morph into a wave of darkness, blades striking her and his former friend perfectly meeting the strikes, waiting for him to finish moving before she pressed him with strike after strike he had to bat away, his sword growing hotter and hotter as her better weapon tried to slash through it and turn his head into slag. He tried stomping her boot and she kicked out to avoid it, missing but forcing them both to back off, holding for a moment as they both gasped for air.

“What do you think?” He asked, both to The Bride inside him and Lady Blood Claw, who's visage shifted from red to dark yellow as she wallowed in anger and confusion.

A faint voice in his head called out, “Another bride! Another bride lives!”

The whisper was of no use telling him if it was Lady Blood Claw or a different woman who, possibly rightfully, was trying to kill him, but Corvayne looked down and saw a shadow hand gently rest on his blade hand.

He looked up at Lady Blood Claw, her shifting skin moving to blue even as she was poised to kill, just like last time she had tried with everything she had to kill him, and Corvayne saw the hint of the girl he knew was behind the fearsome alien warrior, a look of fear and loneliness like his own, and Corvayne was tired. He missed her, and Grunt, and everyone else, he missed Cascadia, and he missed Wick.

If it was a fake Lady Blood Claw... Well, he was tired of being ambushed by assassins who looked like his friends. He was tired of killing people who looked and sounded like them, not knowing until they dropped if he had just betrayed the few people who cared about him.

Corvayne looked across to her and dropped his sword.

The weapon tumbled on a discarded pillow as Lady Blood Claw blurred to move right up at him, her blade cooling enough to sting his neck as she held it there, her eyes meeting his as he willed her to see him for who he was, for her to somehow have beat the curse, to have someone else to talk to.

It was a long moment of Corvayne standing there, with his internal compass pointing at Lady Blood Claw, locking his eyes with her opalescent cuttlefish pupils, either as the one he had needed to kill or the solution to his problems, and he saw her start to waver, somehow terrified of his act of surrender.

His gambit, his guess that dropping his weapon would stay her hand... the stalemate dragged on, silent, both perhaps knowing that the curse would feed each other lies. She had her still hot blade at his neck, but he welcomed it. He wrapped himself up in the feeling of being so tired and wanted to move on, to take the next stop into his life or into his death. He looked at Lady Blood Claw and dared her to follow him, to gamble for a better life, to live with him on the razor edge of death.

It brought back feelings he had forgotten of a time long ago...