RE: Monarch

"Lieutenant down!" The scream cut through another fading vision as I hauled the bleary-eyed soldier to his feet, forcing his shield back into trembling hands. The stench of sewage and fear mingled in the stale air, making each breath a struggle. Maya gripped my arm tightly as we traversed toward the yelling, her fingers digging into my flesh—half for support, half to keep herself upright. Her pulse hammered visibly in her neck, eyes distant and unfocused like a woman walking through a dream.

"How much longer?" The words came out harder than intended, rough with concern.

"As long as I am needed." Maya slapped herself across the face, forcing her mind to rouse. The impact left another mark among the constellation of red welts already decorating her cheek. It was wishful thinking at best. The long nights we'd spent in study and travel meant I was familiar with her mannerisms, the subtle tells in how she composed herself. She balanced precariously on the edge of sleep now, her eyes half-lidded, the effects of the adrenaline fading every time she slowed down to use her magic.

The battle echoed through the tunnel's curved walls, a cacophony of steel and desperation that somehow meant we were holding our ground—for now. Zinn and Sevran both had revived with a vengeance, attacking the lithid's writhing tendrils and driving the shadow monster back with an uncharacteristic ferocity. To this point, they’d both been the stoic sort of warriors, emotionless until the battle was over. It went without saying that their visions had cut as deeply and as personally as mine had.

But even with their contributions, it was a battle of attrition.

The lithid had abandoned its previously selective strategy for a more scattershot approach. An approach that appeared to be working. For every man that we revived, two surrendered to the dark, dropping where they stood, strewn across the sidings or directly into the sewage. The fetid water swallowed them whole, threatening to drag them beneath its murky surface.

I closed my eyes, accepting the reality of what I was seeing. Even if Maya had the stamina of a goddess we'd be beaten on numbers alone. And once she fell, we were truly lost. "Do we play this out?"

"In lieu of what?" Maya spoke through gritted teeth, her words barely audible over the clash of steel and screams.

"A reset."

"Not exactly something I look forward to."

Her chest heaved as she coughed, lungs rejecting the dour air, and she wiped her mouth with a forearm. The motion left a dark smear across her skin. "Maybe it's terrible of me. Selfish. Making you face the bitter end of this when you're the only one who bears the weight of remembering it." She yelped as a tendril lashed out from a nearby scuffle, carving into her side. The shadow appendage moved like liquid smoke, leaving devastation in its wake. "Bastard. It's... it's my life too. All our lives. If we fail with no recourse, do what you must. But I want to try."

"Okay." My resolve hardened. The wound in her side was deep, flesh flayed too widely to be left alone. Blood mixed with the sewage at our feet, creating swirling patterns in the murk. "Can you even afford to heal that with the mirror?"

Maya did a double-take, reexamining the wound, as if she hadn't registered how deep it was and prodded at it, biting her lip. After a moment she shook her head. "Not without risk. The arch-fiend warned it would drain more mana than before."

You won't make it through another revival.

Instead of saying it out loud, I told her to hold the wound closed and breathe deeply, then sealed it with a spark. The acrid smell of cauterized flesh joined the miasma of the sewers.

A small group of soldiers were protecting Aetherya, their Elven lieutenant trapped and bound by a dozen tendrils of darkness. The shadows writhed around her like living rope, each tendril pulsing with malevolent purpose.

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I delved into her mind. Unlike the others, it never truly became apparent what she was frightened of. I found her taking shelter in a house, the sky a sea of crimson, leering faces above her. The sight was terrifying, but with coaxing, and repeated oaths to several deities that I was in fact who I claimed to be, she woke.

The next man, a soldier frightened for the health of his sickly wife. I was able to identify some of her symptoms, promised she'd receive treatment and care.

Then we moved on to the next.

And the next.

And the next.

And even so, Maya did not fall. Every time she came close, a frantic energy seemed to surge within her, granting another wind. There was a moment I believed that she never would—that through some miracle of stubbornness and willpower and the grace of the gods she would remain conscious, obdurate and unyielding.

She might have. But there was a soldier who all but refused to crawl out of a cupboard, a place I gathered she'd once been locked up during her childhood. She was clever in a way that worked against her, suspecting me from the moment I tried to open the doors and resisting until I finally pointed out enough inconsistencies to fracture the ruse.

It took a great deal of time. Time Maya simply didn't have.

When I roused, there was an undercurrent of terror clawing at my chest. A nearby soldier—one of several escorting us around the battlefield and defending while we were vulnerable—had caught her before she tipped over into the canal. Her breathing was gentle, her brow furrowed, small whimpers of fear escaping tight lips.

The soldier looked to me with dawning horror, his face pale beneath the grime of battle. "What... in the bloody hells do we do now?"

His answer was written in the battle itself. Attrition had taken its toll, and the tide was already turning. The number of soldiers still on the battlefield had been cut down by half. Mari and Zinn had clustered together in an attempt to spearhead the defense and rally the remaining forces. A few arm-spans away, Sera and Aetherya were holding up similarly, though they seemed more frantic in their efforts, each bleeding heavily from the effect of heavy wounds.

Only Sevran stood alone, his spear a cyclone of intentional violence, shredding wide swaths of shadow, its glittering tip carving through tendrils as he danced in the muck. He was the very picture of mastery and elegance, even surrounded by chaos and death.

But one man could not snatch victory from defeat. That was the nature of warfare.

I touched Maya's cheek with my glove, feeling my heart shred as she turned her face into it, seeking comfort while still mired in troubled sleep. "It's about that time, Ni’lend"

It's my life too. All our lives. If we fail with no recourse, do what you must. But I want to try.

It was loud, chaotic. The din of battle and screams of fear bordered on deafening. With that in mind I leaned down to whisper in her ear, as I had in my mother's when she drifted from the mortal plane, praying to the dead gods that she might hear me. "There's no way forward without your help. We need you. I need you."

The shockwave hit before the sound of the explosion. I had long enough to realize that either intentionally or by accident, someone had lit a flame before a chunk of stone the size of my head slammed into my side. I felt my ribs flex, then snap, as the force of the impact sent me careening into the sidewall, landing with a groan.

It was suddenly difficult to breathe, excruciating, a wheezing whistle escaping from me, worsening with every exhale. I crawled my way back towards her, resisting the urge to submit, flood my inscriptions with mana and be done with it.

Mirroring what she'd done for so many others, I removed my glove and gently placed my fingertips on her forehead, speaking to her all the while. "Let me help."

A small groan accompanied the smallest shake of her head.

"It's not my magic, Maya. It's yours. I can't do this alone, you need to make the connection. Let me in."

Another noise of discomfort, another jerk of her head. The ground shuddered, the sewer itself quaked as a plume of dust descended, cutting the already limited visibility down by half. The air grew thick with particles, each breath becoming more labored than the last.

Words spilled from me in a desperate flood, each memory of her story—the Sanctum, Ozra's words, her tears in the castle—tumbling out in a frantic attempt to reach her. "It doesn't matter. Whatever it is, it won't matter. It won't ruin things or change my perception. After this, if you want, we never have to speak of it again. Just let me help. Share the burden."

There was no response. Far as I knew, she probably couldn't even hear me. Around us the shadows grew thicker and more numerous, writhing with malevolent purpose. It wouldn't be long now.

Then all at once, the sewer fell away.