The Isterica

Malinace entered the High Captain’s chambers first, that heady mixture of fear and anticipation lending a kind of manic urgency to his step. By his count, he had killed or been involved in the killing of 12 Lightborn Officers. Those experiences had done nothing to ease his fear, he could scarcely call them successfully when each encounter had either left him with dead subordinates or a new scar. Malinace, if he was honest, could hardly call anything a success that left so much Bloodmist in the air—Prosperian, Striferan, or any other.

Then why did he even try?

He stepped to the side and took a stance with his blade, giving room for the others. Malinace had somewhat been expecting the High Captain to be absent. It would not have been the first time compromised intelligence or simple happenstance had led him astray. But there he was: High Captain Ornael of the Fourth Army, white wings extended so wide they spanned half the large chamber, hand-and-a-half sword held ready.  Two big Laelites stood on either side armed with flanged maces and exuding menace, their own wings fully Unleashed, but tucked as much as they could manage. The edge of the Lightborn’s sword flared to life with radiant energy—Prosperium.

Malinace wasted no time. He stepped smoothly forward, feinting a slash towards the leftmost Laelite while simultaneously sweeping his empty hand in a wide arc, exerting his Will. Plumes of dark orange swept out, spraying into the faces of the Prosperians and causing them to cough and sputter— a Technique he’d learned from the best. The smoke was designed to be briefly noxious, just long enough to burn and disorient as Malinace broke off his slash and instead burst straight forward, he was here to kill the Lightborn, and was ready to get it over with. Smoke swirled around him, and he beat his wings as he slipped between the Laelites, knocking them off-balance as—at the same time— he slashed with his blade.

Ornael hastily deflected with the flat of his sword, then parried Malinace’s two follow up strikes before narrowly dodging the Blast of Will Malinace tried to slip in. Now it was the Lightborn’s turn, and Ornael’s burning blade sent Malinace’s hazy smoke swirling and twisting in odd ways as he cut and jabbed at him. The Prosperium blade scored and gashed Malinace’s own sword when the edge made strong contact as Malinance furiously defended, all the while tucking his wings close and circling around so he could keep his eyes on his squad and the Laelites. 

He spied one Laelite nearly forced to their knees as they narrowly caught a shuddering, Spirit strengthened blow from the Darkblood Talicel’s beaked warhammer on their own weapon. A harsh type, that Talicel, but in Malinace’s experience plenty reliable. 

Malinace sprung to the side with Sprit enhanced legs as Ornael let loose a wide wave of force. It caught the edge of his wing and made him stumble, he recovered just in time to catch a lightning fast slash that would have split his head, and Malinace felt the scalding heat of the Pristrum edge as he pushed it away. 

Malinace brought forth his own Will and lit the very air aflame in front of him, the Lightborn yelped and stumbled, and did not see Malinace’s fist—aflame with orange Will— snake forward and smash directly into his shoulder. The burning fist erupted, taking off Ornael’s entire left arm at the shoulder in torrential spray of Bloodmist. The Lightborn stumbled backward—a vaguely confused expression on his handsome face— then suddenly slipped as Rolinel grabbed him by the wing and tossed him to the floor.

Rolinel stabbed High Captain Ornael through the heart, and that was that. That Rolinel wasn’t the best fighter, but in Malinace’s experience, he was a gracious and amiable sort. His gracious nature clearly did not extend to the Lightborn, nor to the other Prosperians he’d killed today. 

Malinace sighed around the room—-which was quickly getting cloudy with Bloodmist. Their mission was complete, and the target was dead. He took no pleasure that the dead Laelites, who were all probably normal folk dragged along by the Prosperian machine, they certainly hadn’t ordered Talamis taken and Strife occupied all those years ago. That mattered little though, they had to be stopped, or Prosperity would grind away all of Strife and remake it how they saw fit. 

None of his squad were seriously hurt: A gash on Samila’s cheek she’d all but healed, a crumpled bit of armor on Talicel that probably looked nasty underneath, and Rolinel with a slight limp he could probably heal up soon. Their Presence revealed relief at the end of the worst part of the job.

“Fine work, all of you.” He took a sharp breath, “Now, to rendezvous with the others. With me!” He said, partially Restraining his wings as he strode back into the corridor, the others trailing behind him.

…

Samila touched down on the roof of a warehouse, watched Malinace slap a few of the other Striferans amicably on the back. Quite a crowd was gathering, several were injured, but no one seemed critically hurt. By her count almost everyone in their rendezvous unit was here. Malinace looked visibly relieved. For a revered warrior, it pained him when people died in war: Striferan, Prosperian, or otherwise. Samila could understand that first one, but the Prosperians had sealed their fate when they followed their Lightborn to Strife. Laelite, Paelen, Heartlander, Minder otherwise. If they stood with Virtue, Order, and the Lightborn, Samila wouldn’t shed a tear at their deaths. 

Samila went to stand by Malinace, who was conversing with a Darkblood Marked as a squad leader, “Istus is dead. From what I’ve heard, everyone on this rooftop managed their targets without too much trouble.” The Darkblood said. 

“Good, that’s good.” Malinace said distractedly, “Anything from The Nightmare’s unit?” 

The Nightmare’s unit was tasked with diverting any force the Lightborn managed to organize. They’d staged some big show in a market square in the middle of the city. An Angel could say a lot of things about The Nightmare, but anyone could tell you their Commandant Designee could put on a hell of a show when it suited him. 

An Ariasti—just like Samila— turned towards them, “One of mine spotted a Lightborn impaled on one of those big stones he makes. I reckon he has their attention.” 

“I bet he does at that,” Malinace muttered, “In my experience he never could resist a bit of theater.”

One final squad of Angels landed on the cluttered rooftop.

“That’s everyone?” Malinace asked.

A chorus of “Aye.”, “Yes, sir.” “It is.” 

“We had best be going, then. May the Black Wing lift your wings!” He shouted.

They all repeated the chant and several began shooting off towards the huge wall in the distance. 

Samila moved to—

A deafening BOOOM! 

Samila fell, smacked hard into a pile of boxes, coughing and sputtering. Something stung.

She shook herself and opened her eyes to a hole in the ceiling above. Wait, ceiling? She had fallen into the warehouse. It was then that she registered the screaming and sounds of battle above. Bloodmist streamed from her right flank, light armor scorched away. She healed and felt the familiar drain on her Spirit. She quickly took in her surroundings. Several other Angels were in the warehouse with her, a few were obviously dead, though several others were clambering to their feet. 

Samila hopped up, grateful she hadn’t ended up like some of those others. She channeled her Spirit and beat her wings as she leapt into the air and out through the decimated roof. 

She saw the blur of a gray face—Malinace— who slammed into her, throwing her to the ground. She screamed and was about to ask what in the Spheres he was doing when another blur, this one so fast she scarcely registered it, shot right through where she’d been standing in a blast of rushing wind, a glowing trail in its wake. She rolled to her side and—
There was a head there, a severed head: The Darkblood squad leader Malinace had been talking to just a few moments before. His body, still standing, sprayed Bloodmist from the stump of his neck as it fell lifeless.

Samila screamed. 

She managed to turn her head at a noise behind her.. Hovering proudly not so far away was an Angel with white wings with a full, visored helm topped with a bright blue plume. Centered on the helmet was an emblem: A fist with an Archonic ring of light behind it. 

A Lightborn, and not just any lightborn. An Officer of Virtue’s Fist, the personal army of Simiel, The Left hand of Virtue. 

They’d been hoping The Fist would stay gone.

“KILL THEM ALL! LET NOT ONE AMONG THEM ESCAPE.” The Lightborn roared, His Presence flared with his words, they seemed to ring in Samila’s skull. 

“Go, Samila!” Malinace’s voice as he swept overhead towards the Lightborn. The Lightborn took a stance midair, then vanished… no… not vanished, moved. He’d moved so fast Samila hadn’t even seen a blur. A Blitzer.

Malinace’s blade swept the empty air.

She was yanked to her feet and found a Darkblood roaring inches from her face, Talicel.

“LET’S GO, ARIASTI!” He screamed.

It was them she realized she’d just been laying there. Laelites, Paelens, and more Lightborn ripped across the roofs and through the air, plumed helmets whipping. 

She ran. Leapt into the air and felt her Spirit weaken as she shot full speed through the air, wings whooshing with each beat. Rolinel was to her right, Talicel her left. She glanced behind her and saw a Laelite of Virtue’s Fist in hot pursuit. He wasn’t too fast, but they were all tired.

Samila flipped onto her back midair and fired a Bolt of Will with a jab of her open hand. It streamed through the air and the Laelite dodged. Samila focused on her Bolt, still within her Presence, closed her fist and ripped it backwards like she was drawing a bow. The Bolt pivoted suddenly backwards and slammed into the Laelite, who flipped uncontrollably through the air before smashing into a building.

Her foot caught something as she turned back around, and flipped and rolled across a rooftop and came to a stop in a heap. Her rose, befuddled. Rolinel was just up ahead on another roof, he turned to glance at her, opened his—

She felt a Presence like no other. It was like an iron hand suddenly squeezed her neck, her face, everywhere. It made her want to fall to her knees and surrender, it emanated command, poise, and utter control. She had never sensed a Presence so powerful.

Rolinel’s building exploded, and her squadmate was ripped in half by a multicolored beam of Will. Something came swirling over the dust to hover midair. An Angel.

He was easily a good three or 4 heads taller than the tallest Darkbloods she’d seen: A veritable giant. His golden wings were affected with a multicolored shimmer. He wore full plate armor that gleamed gold and sliver, golden hair streaming somewhere from the open-visored helm. His face was ridiculously handsome, but equally cruel. He held a staff taller than he was, a radiant spear of multicolored light atop it. 

Then she saw his gauntlet, where his right was a steely silver, the left was the purest gold. He clenched it into a crushing fist.

Simiel: The Left Hand of Virtue, feared Commander of Virtue’s Fist, wielder of one of the Demonic weapons of old, and one of the Archon of Virtue’s two infamous Pristarum.

The Left Hand slammed his visor down.

She jumped to the streets below and Restrained her wings, hiding her Presence. Even without her wings, she could still feel the oppressive aura of the Pristarum.

With an almost casual movement of his staff, the air erupted in a rainbow starburst where a still fleeing Talicel flew high above her. His mangled body tumbled down and smashed to the street below, a trail of Bloodmist hanging in the path of his fall. Through cracks in the buildings, she saw huge winged beasts— Strigal, mounts suited for long flight— fleeing the city, squads of Resistance members along their backs. Some of them would make it out, at least. The Left Hand shot off towards the gate, obliterating fleeing Striferans with ease. If he got to the main body before they could mount up…

Samila Unleashed her wings. She wanted to stop the Pristarum, but what could she possibly do? Pristarum were unmatched in both power and skill, she would be swatted aside like a doll. 

A gray figure pursued the Pristarum at a breakneck pace. Was that…

Malinace!

Her squad leader shot a flurry of Bolts at The Left Hand, who turned and casually blocked them with a Barrier formed by his staff. Malinace was going to try to buy time.

Samila leapt up and began burning her Spirit in a desperate bid to escape. She growled against the sickly pain of the exertion. She could still make it if…

If Malinace held the Pristarum long enough.

Malinace had saved her life on several occasions, he’d always been kind, caring, and compassionate—even towards the enemy. Perhaps she didn’t agree with the soft treatment of the Prosperians, but he was a good Angel. He was a damned hero, trying to hold off a Pristarum alone, a Pristarum! He embodied the kind of devotion her tutors always tried to instill in her back at Heart. Most would have fled and hoped someone else was cut down instead of them.

Not Malinace.

Samila fluttered down to a rooftop. Malinace was giving a show of Aerial acrobatics like Samila had never seen, evading the Pristarum’s huge slashes of Willpower. He tried to strike at The Left Hand, once, twice. No effect. One of the Pristarum’s Blasts slammed Malinace brutally against a building. He recovered and only just flopped aside in time to escape the annihilation of the building behind him. 

Samila rushed towards them, stuffing her terror away, feeling the Pristarum’s terrible Presence more strongly with each step and wingbeat. The Pristarum pointed the staff at a scrambling Malinace on the street below.

Samila slammed her fist, alight with all the Will and strengthened with all the Spirit she could muster. 

Her fist shattered against his helm, the Pristarum reeled backwards, but only for a moment. The resulting Blast of energy smashed her through a wall. When she glanced dazedly at herself, her left arm was…

Gone, just gone. 

Outside the new hole in the wall, The Left Hand swivelled his gaze about, then raised his staff when he found Malinace. 

Samila felt a strange sense of acceptance. She was going to die here. Her yellowish Bloodmist was sticking to her face. Healing herself would do nothing, she would just fall unconscious.

“Damn…” She whispered.

…

Damn that girl! Malinace thought. She’d gotten herself killed for nothing. It was for people like her he’d done this. At least this way, he’d thought, he might do some good with this last bit of violence, but she’d gone and gotten herself killed along with him! That Samila had always been overzealous, but she’d been a dedicated sort, a good sort. The whole squad had been a good sort, and now they were all dead. 

The Pristarum had found him. Damned bastard. If there was something Malinace did hate, it was the Pristarum. But what could be done? It was over. 

The staff flashed.

And Samila zipped into it, left arm missing and bleeding at the stump. The beam was turned aside and ripped through a wall. The Pristarum growled and swept at her with impossible speed.  

Samila was obliterated in an instant.

She’d saved him. 

Malinace ran.