Chapter Text
Zargothrax was not foolish enough to assume just because the corridor looked short, it was short, but at this point it was getting ridiculous. They had been first running, then walking for what must have been hours, or at least felt like it because he was a sorcerer with very little interest in cardio who was also carrying another sorcerer who was of very little help in anything at all. Zargothrax had already made peace with not feeling his arm again, but his legs had started to tremble some time ago and didn't feel like they would stop anytime soon and his back hurt dreadfully and he overall wished he'd been more thorough with the Questlords when he could.
Ralathor wasn't improving the situation either, on account of not doing much of anything. He mirrored Zargothrax’ steps, sometimes, but the majority of his weight was on his smaller companion and at this point, even an undead rat would have become an elephant.
“I should just leave you to be eaten by the chaos,” Zargothrax panted. “You've been nothing but trouble from day one. Alright, you got me through Introduction to Rune Magic, but after that. Fuck. Gods, why are you so heavy?”
A part of his coat touched the wall and set off a spark that looked like a tiny super nova and felt like one as well. Zargothrax pulled Ralathor up a bit more in the hope of alleviating the pressure on his still sore collar bone. No luck.
“Always keeping me from-” More panting. “-from getting revenge on these useless, thieving nobodies. I even missed graduation trapped in that supercell and it was your idea I take a sabbatical and along comes Dundax and-” He staggered. Sweat was burning in his eyes, he could barely see his own feet. Were the walls coming closer?
“And why do I remember going to school with you and also having you as my lead mechanic on that damn submarine? I know some intertemporal fuckery when I see it, you could have just said something!”
Ralathor did not respond. He didn't even flinch when his hand dragged along the wall in a shower of sparks.
“Shit!”
Zargothrax quickened his steps, though he didn't see how that would help. Running didn't help inside the fabric of the universe. Instead, he stopped and adjusted his grip on the unconscious Ralathor. The nauseating non-colors of chaos were coming closer, dissolving the idea of a corridor around them.
“You never did break away from the academy's thinking,” Zargothrax said. “Always too preoccupied with order and light and whatnot, when that's just humanity's pathetic attempt at controlling reality.”
The corridor was gone, trapping them in a room that was not a room and barely counted as a place at all. If he was wrong, they'd both be lost between worlds forever. But at this point, that seemed like not such a bad fate.
“I reject your pathetic attempt at order. Chaos will reign eternal. As. Will. I.”
He plunged into the inferno, not stopping to think if it would hurt.
It did.
The first contact felt surprisingly much like the plunge into liquid ice, white-hot and infinitely cold at the same time, dissolving his flesh while preserving it in infinite agony.
Then his form stabilized and they fell.
Chaos was not gentle, it tore them this way and that, tossing them around like ragdolls once again. They'd both be violently sick if they came out of this alive. But Zargothrax also felt something else: Power.
The bracelet was masterfully crafted, but it could not withstand pure chaos, unfiltered through a human body. It did not stop it from touching him, flowing into him and finally restoring him to who he was. Just a bit more and he'd be able to shed this pathetic entrapment, to drink fully and reach godhood as he was meant to-
The chaos spat them out in a field. This landing was no less pleasant than the last one. Ralathor followed a second after, dropping onto him like a particularly vicious stickbug.
They didn't stir for quite a while, for a list of reasons too long to even articulate.
Eventually, Ralathor moved, though with the coordination and speed of a dyspraxic sloth.
“What'd you do?”
“Oh, his highness is with us again? Great.”
Zargothrax managed to roll him off of himself and sat up. He was scratched up pretty badly and had the taste of dirt in his mouth, but apparently hadn't broken anything.
He inspected the bracelet, but while it was equally banged up as the man wearing it, the runes were undamaged. When the mechanism had realized it couldn't oppose the raw power, it had stepped aside to avoid being destroyed.
“Who the fuck makes spells like that?”
Ralathor only gave a grunt in reply. He'd managed to sit up, but he still couldn't really focus his eyes, and his beard was drenched in blood from his nose. He did use his limited breath to mutter an insult.
“Oh please, I didn't hit you that hard.” Zargothrax snapped his fingers for emphasis, making Ralathor flinch. “I have a few working theories about what's wrong with you, but we'll have to postpone the academic debates.”
He left Ralathor where he was and walked a few meter uphill to get a better view. The chaos had replenished his strength, but clearly hadn't considered overall soreness a key issue, so by the time he reached his destination, Zargothrax was panting heavily and cursed everything and everyone in the vicinity, the country, and the universe.
He looked out over a stunning landscape. The blood sun - caused by magical remnants in the atmosphere he'd meant to fix at some point - painted the sky in spectacular colors from turquoise to purple to magenta, slowly crawling over the fields and into the valleys as the color shifted to its blood red daytime hues.
To his feet lay the ruins of the farmhouse they'd stayed in. They didn't even have the good sense to smolder for effect.
“We either jumped backwards in time several years or forward by a day or so. Not sure which I like better yet,” he announced the second he was in hearing range again.
“We shouldn't have,” Ralathor said, or sounded like he said.
Zargothrax waved the comment aside and looked both of them over for a moment. If they found some cloaks they could probably pass for peasants or, the thought alone was insulting, vagabonds. Assuming he got his prison guard and only ally back to his feet at all.
He knelt down and used a strip of Ralathor's tunic to wipe blood off his face. Ralathor winced under the touch.
“Why are you still here?”
“Always with the mundane questions. You're the only one who can open this bloody thing, for one.” He shook his arm demonstratively.
“You could figure it out,” Ralathor drawled. “You're smart.”
“Why thank you, I'm well aware of my brilliance. Unfortunately, you also decided, surely against better knowledge, to help me. You should know I do not let debts go unpaid.”
“Ah.”
Ralathor was starting to look more lively. He sat up straighter and pushed Zargothrax’ hand away. Runes began to shine on his skin, intricate patterns that did not look like temporary spellwork spreading blue light over his body. When it faded, he was almost back to his normal self, the furthest away from glamorous a sorcerer could be, but alert and most notably clean.
“I won't pretend I understand your actions,” he said. “But thank you.”
Zargothrax rolled his eyes. “Don't make me hit you again.”
They approached the remains of the farmhouse as the sun was climbing higher and higher, bathing them in ominous red light. The fire had razed the cottage almost to the ground, leaving only charred wood and some piles of stone. Ralathor summoned two small orbs and let them glide over the structure as if he was looking for something. His shoulders dropped in relief when they returned.
“They weren't here,” he said, mostly to himself. “Nobody died here recently. Thank the Gods.”
Zargothrax didn't dignify him with an answer. He was already busy digging up the entrance to the cellar, probably hoping to find something useful there.
Ralathor only had vague memories of events after arriving at the cottage, but he did remember the kind farmers, and the frantic flight into the cellar. He hated that people had been hurt for him - and for Zargothrax, a man who wouldn't think twice about sacrificing the world in his quest for power. Yet here he was, on the run from people he'd considered - not friends, maybe, not yet. But something very close.
“There's nothing particularly useful,” Zargothrax told him, dusting off his soot-covered hands for effect. “Including you.”
“What did you do in that cellar? How did we get out?”
Zargothrax frowned, before a wide grin spread over his face. “Oh, is the great rune wizard doubting himself? Maybe your little toy has a mind of its own.”
Ralathor sighed. “Why do I even bother?” He turned away and began to walk. If he remembered his coordinates, they were about a day's walk from Edinburgh, and there should be some villages on the way, assuming Zargothrax hadn't razed them at some point. No telling if they'd get help there, not after the incident in the tavern. But it was worth a shot.
He wished desperately he could go back to his caves, even just to retrieve a few things, but even if Angus didn't have them under surveillance, he wasn't sure he could handle the sight of what was left after the Hootsman had been through.
“So what's the plan, oh mighty hermit?”
Ralathor flinched, not because he'd forgotten who he was with, but because Zargothrax had popped up on the opposite side he'd been walking the entire time. Because nothing was ever easy with this guy.
“We're walking to the next town.”
They did so, in silence. “And?”
“And then we'll figure something out.”
More silence. Around them, the road became ever more populated, but Ralathor barely needed magic to blend in most days and Zargothrax was, for once, not looking like a peacock at Carnivale. In other words, nobody paid them much attention.
Ralathor stopped when he found the first wanted poster nailed to a tree. Zargothrax was right, they'd gotten Ralathor's eyes down, but not much else, and Zargothrax himself might as well have been a different person entirely, his face angular instead of round, and eyes somewhat comically narrow.
WANTED FOR TREASON , the poster proclaimed. RALATHOR, SORCERER OF COWDENBEATH. DANGEROUS.
20 000 crowns reward
The latter part was much smaller, not wanting to emphasize the money too much. They were probably still scrambling to figure out this world's currency system after Ralathor had triggered the failsafe inside the Hootsforce and made his room and all records within go up in smoke.
“Don't bother with those,” said a voice behind them. Ralathor hid his hands inside his cloak reflexively, worried they'd show his magic like they'd done in the tavern. There was a reason he'd always opted for less flashy disciplines.
“Excuse me?”
The person behind them was tall. Very tall. About as broad as they were tall, which only nominally distinguished them from a brick wall. The man wore armor marked by some creature's claws and a sword so massive it bordered on comical. The face was hidden behind an equally scratched helmet.
“If you're out for the reward, I'm afraid you're a bit late.” The man under the helmet spoke in a calm and educated way, with an accent pointing towards the northern isles. “The Questlords are on the case, and you don't seem the type to go up against them. Bit sensitive, those blokes.”
“Tell me about it,” Zargothrax growled.
“Thank you,” Ralathor said politely. Standing right next to his own wanted poster made him nervous, regardless of how bad the depiction was. “We’re just passing through.”
The man nodded sagely. “Got robbed, eh? Happens a lot lately, I'm afraid. I can walk you to the next town, if you want.”
Ralathor wasn't sure what he dreaded more: Being with someone who could potentially recognize them, or social interaction.
“Feanneagh.”
He held out a massive hand. Ralathor stared at it. It was big enough to crush his head.
“Thereneus,” Zargothrax introduced himself and shook the hand without visible hesitation. “That's my friend Hector.”
“We're not friends,” Ralathor hissed.
Zargothrax let out a long-suffering sigh. “Excuse me, that's my lover Hector.”
Ralathor sputtered.
The warrior chuckled. “I see how it is. Nice to meet you.”
The warrior led them back on the road, where they chatted for a while - that was, Zargothrax and their self-proclaimed bodyguard did, while Ralathor was already running fifty different scenarios through his head how this could go wrong and how he could prevent it from going wrong in a way that didn't cause him a migraine.
His rumination was only broken when Feanneagh insisted they take a little break and offered them some of his own provisions. They sat in silence while they ate, idly observing the road. Nobody approached them.
“Thereneus, is it?” Feanneagh asked suddenly. “No relation to Admiral Thereneus I assume?”
“Named after him,” Zargothrax replied with absolute calm. “My parents lived near the docks.”
“A great man, truly.”
“Did you meet him?”
Feanneagh nodded and a smile flashed under his helmet. “Not personally. My mentor told me about him, but his descriptions were quite something.”
Ralathor wished he could shake Zargothrax, even if his reckless use of the name had brought them new information. There was little love lost between Thereneus and Ralathor for a variety of reasons, but he was a capable sorcerer… and shouldn’t be in this dimension.
The Intergalactic Naval Academy had been a product of the Dundonian empire, established under Angus the 7th. Here, it had been Zargothrax spearheading the arcane-industrial revolution that eventually birthed the DSS Hootsforce, once called HDM Terror. Much like ships of her name in several other dimensions, she was a relic now, having severed her purpose to the point of of destruction.
“Your firm?”, Zargothrax asked. “Are you a lawyer?”
Feanneagh thumped his breastplate with one massive fist. “Lawyer by heart, warrior by hand. I can protect my clients by word and blade.”
Ralathor had to rummage his memory for the concept of a lawyer. It had been a few dimensions since he'd had to do with that particular legal system. He shot Zargothrax a confused and hopefully critical look. As usual, the reply was a smirk.
“So you're on your way to a trial?”
“Indeed I am. The big one is in Edinburgh, but I'll probably stop over in the towns beforehand. They usually have things to do for me.”
“Edinburgh?” Ralathor cut in.
Feanneagh eyed him, as if he'd forgotten Ralathor was there. “The coronation?”
“Of course, we knew that,” Zargothrax intercepted.
“That's my primary reason,” Feanneagh continued. “But I hear they're planning on, uh, staging some examples. Probably those two wizards you saw on the posters, if they catch them in time.” He looked around and rubbed his shoulder under the armour. “Could go this or that way with the Questlords. You know how they are.”
“Indeed we do,” Zargothrax snarled. He clenched his fist, posture curling like a snake about to strike. Oh, he would reign hellfire upon the first Questlords they encountered. Except they were alone, and his rage would only drain his magic, and while his face was obscured by the helmet even during his meal, Ralathor really didn't like the way Feanneagh was looking at them.
“Where are you traveling, if I may ask?”
“To kill the prince, of course.”
For a long, long moment, it was horribly silent. Zargothrax returned the gigantic man's gaze as if he was unaware of the sudden tension.
Feanneagh burst into laughter. “Good one, you almost had me there.” He slapped Zargothrax on the shoulder so hard it rattled Ralathor's bones by proxy. “You’re a funny guy, aren't you. I get being nervous about the system change, but he can hardly be worse than the old guy. What does it matter who trampled your grain and stole your children, am I right?”
They looked upwards at the sound of hoofbeats. Some hundred or so yards above them, two Questlords passed them at full gallop. They didn't pay them any mind.
Zargothrax did.
Ralathor dropped the piece of cheese he was holding, knowing he'd be too slow to prevent Zargothrax from lashing out, draining himself and exposing them.
“Duck.”
Feanneagh slapped the - something - out of the air. It shrieked and tumbled onto the dry grass, hissing and steaming. Ralathor was on his feet before he'd fully computed what he was seeing. Not that one could truly comprehend it. The thing could be considered a bat, if a bat was made of acidic goo and billions of self-replicating shapes. Shapes that now were spreading onto the grass, deforming the plants in a way that was hard to look at.
“Stay back,” Feanneagh growled. He took up his sword and placed himself firmly between the creature - was it even a creature? - and the two men.
Ralathor looked at Zargothrax.
Zargothrax shrugged.
The creature shrieked, exploding into a canopy of lights several feet wide. The air reeked of it, shapes expanding, shifting, creeping closer. The substance it secreted smoked as it touched the earth before morphing into more geometric shapes.
Feanneagh leapt, cleaving the creature in two in one swift motion. One of its wings brushed his shoulder, transforming the armor into something crystalline. The creature dropped to the ground, patterns contracting, drawing into one another, never truly staying still enough to be observed.
“This is the dangerous part. They recover if you don't get them in their small form.”
The creature hissed. It looked like a crystal now, made up on millions of tiny surfaces. Feanneagh adjusted his footing, scanning his opponent for the optimal point strike.
Zargothrax pushed him.
It wasn't a very effective push, all things considered, but it was enough for Feanneagh to stagger and be doomed. The fractals envelopes him completely. Within a second, his skin began to deform, pigments mirroring the dizzying pattern of the creature. The large man roared in pain, and Ralathor saw that his tongue had split into replicating shapes.
“Don't bother, it won't survive much longer.”
As Zargothrax was speaking, Feanneagh dropped to his knees, if they could be considered knees at all. The creature - the phenomenon - followed him. They drained away, until nothing but a patch of malformed, vertigo-inducing grass remained.
Ralathor spun.
“What the fuck did you- Why?!”
Zargothrax blinked at him as if the question surprised him. He hadn't even gotten up.
“... Don't tell me you got attached that quickly.”
Ralathor could have told him that lives had meaning regardless of anyone being attached , but he'd be more likely to succeed in teaching dogs quantum mathematics.
Zargothrax observed him, smiling.
“You’re gorgeous when you're angry.”
That voice. That smug fucking voice with that smug fucking smile. Ralathor wanted to slap it off his pretty face. Instead, he turned away, rage searing him from the inside.
“Come on,” Zargothrax purred. “Show who you really are.”
Ralathor grabbed him by the collar and dragged him to his feet until their faces were inches apart. Zargothrax had to stand on tiptoes, both of them wavering slightly.
“What I am is the only thing between you and being beheaded by the first Questlord we meet,” Ralathor snarled. “Don't forget that.”
Zargothrax grinned. “Of course, Starlight.”
For a long, long moment, Ralathor saw himself yank on the other sorcerer's collar and just toss him into the distortion. Get rid of him, maybe balance out the universe a bit more.
Ralathor pushed Zargothrax away and stalked across the field to an unrelated group of vegetation. He found his hands shining with the magic his anger had drawn upon and made sure to put it back in its place.
Back in the academy, Ren had asked him why he was so insistent on being with Zargothrax (who had not used that name back then).
“He brings out the worst in people. Any darkness, any cruel thought, no matter how hidden. Is that really what you want?”
Ren hadn't known about Ralathor's mission. Nobody knew. So why had he been right?
“Done with anger management therapy, darling?” Zargothrax gave him a sweet smile.
Ralathor ignored him. He let his magic sweep over the area and what was left of the man that had protected them. The distortion lapped up at him, hungry, so hungry.
Ralathor stepped back before it could latch onto him. “What the hell were you doing experimenting with this .” He didn't phrase it as a question.
“What, fractals? Not my style, I'm afraid. You, on the other hand…”
Ralathor had the urge to slap Zargothrax so hard it put his evil, twisted brain back in order. He almost saw the motion in front of him, felt his hand tremble in expectation of a shock. He didn't. He wasn't like Zargothrax. And it probably wouldn't have helped anyway.
“We need to contain this. There has to be a source somewhere, it can't have survived very long once infected.”
Ralathor turned away just so he wouldn't have to see his companion's shit-eating grin. The bat - he was fairly certain it had been a bat at some point - had left very little in terms of magical signature. Fractals were like that - beautiful, but fleeting. Unless they found something to devour.
Ralathor spotted a malformed plant some distance away, its leaves turned into broken, angular shells. He approached, his shield at full power. He'd expected it to lash out, trying to draw in anything that could sustain it, but there was nothing. He gingerly touched the fragile construct, but the little energy that remained was not strong enough to harm him.
Now more than ever Ralathor was glad air was a poor conductor for magic.
“Found anything?”
Ralathor winced and the sharp edge of the fractal cut deep into his palm.
“Shit!”
He jumped back, dragging Zargothrax with him and felling them both. A spectacle of light erupted from the bush, fractals like millions of fingers lunging in all directions and shattering on Ralathor's shield. They got so close it made his skin itch.
The fractals fought and clawed at anything they could reach, but even a sorcerer's blood was not able to sustain them for long. They collapsed back in on themselves, leaving behind nothing but unnatural shapes and a sorcerer with a palm full of dark blood.
“Shut up,” Ralathor said.
Zargothrax just smiled.
Ralathor got to his feet. It took a while to find his balance again.
However this particular specimen had been created, it was too dangerous to just leave out.
The fields around them were empty and the bush was too far away from the road to generate much interest from passers-by, but…
“Wonder what the Admiral would think about your little experiments. Since you two were so cushy.”
Zargothrax had chosen a nearby boulder as his seat, swinging his legs like a bored schoolboy.
“You sound like a jealous child,” Ralathor replied while trying to still the bleeding. He could have used magic, but at this rate he would need everything he had. Best not to chance anything.
“You're right, the Admiral probably wouldn't be interested anyway. Busy man.” Zargothrax pretended to inspect his fingernails, finding himself bothered by the remnants of black nail polish that had somehow survived the ride. “Of course, you've known better than anyone for a few dimensions, Stargazer, such a daring thing is merely a snap of your fingers at this point-”
Ralathor tuned him out. Zargothrax would just keep talking until he ran out of air and probably beyond. His rants could be insightful, or mind-melting, sometimes both.
Ralathor approached the absurd plant, this time allowing the remnant energy to touch his own. It gripped onto it like a hound, viciously trying to squeeze any shred of energy from it. It crept into his magic, into his essence, and Ralathor felt his breath quicken. Fractals were not sentient, he'd proven again and again. They were merely a virus, an extant spark of chaos. They felt sentient anyway.
On the astral plane, Ralathor watched as the even blue shine of his magic began to splinter at the edges, turning into tiny repetitions upon itself. His magic was far weaker than he'd hoped and it was draining rapidly. He just needed a few more seconds.
Draw them away from the environment, and let them consume themselves.
The fractals pounced.
Ralathor staggered backwards, his protective barrier bursting into light. The phenomenon consumed all magic around them, writhing like a Cubist snake, growing, growing, growing. Ralathor's sight was beginning to swim. He was starting to draw on his own life force to keep the shield going and Ralathor knew that wouldn't last him long on the best of days.
The universe had always been more than willing to lend him what he needed, but now there was nothing. The fractals were like a black hole, consuming endlessly. It surrounded him, just waiting for his shield to fail.
Ralathor plunged his hand into the center of the phenomenon, knowing, hoping, praying he wasn't making a huge mistake. The fractals collapsed in on themselves, ready to consume him.
They found nothing. The distorted shapes hissed and shrieked and strained against the sphere they had been trapped in. They settled after a moment, trying to conserve themselves, but in a place completely isolated from even environmental magic, they finally faltered, their erratic movements slowing and then stopping until nothing remained but a multicolored crystal.
Ralathor set it down, isolation sphere and all, and dropped onto the red grass. Sweat was burning in his eyes, so he closed them and just breathed. He felt like someone who had run a marathon, if that person had never run a marathon and was compelled to do it by a pack of rabid owlwolves.
There was no magic to draw on, not the kind he had any use for. Something was badly wrong, with him, with the universe… and Ralathor was voraciously hungry.
“That was both the smartest AND the dumbest thing I've ever seen you do.”
Ralathor opened his eyes. Zargothrax was squatting next to him, chin resting on his hand resting on his knees as if that wasn't the most taxing and uncomfortable position he could have chosen. “I told you, being afraid of the chaos won't save you.”
He picked up Ralathor's hand and inspected it. The touch felt like being scorched. Ralathor's pale skin looked sunburned, the pattern already showing through the redness.
“Spare me the lecture,” Ralathor muttered. He stayed where he was for a bit longer, until the pain got too annoying and he snatched his hand away. Getting up was hard, but more doable than he'd expected. The crystal inside the sphere shimmered in strange colors when he picked it up. No trace of the contagion remained.
Ralathor stashed the crystal in one of his cloak's many pockets. It was harmless, and maybe they could trade it for something useful later.
“Let's go, I don't want to run into whatever else your people let loose over the years.”
Zargothrax didn't respond immediately. He was staring off into the distance with an odd expression. He visibly jolted when the trance broke, stared at the bracelet with an ever-deepening crease between his eyebrows, and started walking.
“We should go, this is hardly the only one of your little pets around.”
Ralathor sighed and followed him.