Chapter Text
Sometimes Raven wondered how she did it.
The ‘World Guardian’, as she’s called, had awoken at the crack of dawn. On any other day, Raven wouldn’t bat an eye at this, but yesterday she had fought a god… and won. Most people would sleep in after that, but by Raven’s guess, her mentor had been up for nearly two hours. It was 7 in the morning. Even as ‘Vengeance’, Raven had never purposely awoken at such an ungodly hour.
‘Thaz is probably making breakfast by now, Raven figured.
She was wrong. The demon-butler was decidedly absent when she stepped into the kitchen, though ingredients had been left on the counter, open. A concerning development, but one easily explained when, upon turning the left corner out of the room, she spotted a particularly door-shaped shadow. The back door was open.
The back patio was his favourite place to sit, to watch the flowers and the animals. A good chunk of the yard’s left side was taken up by various flowers and shrubbery, a fountain, and a menagerie. The right side had been reserved for their training, and required far more upkeep.
Sure enough, the butler was sitting in a wooden chair at the table under the patio cover, but he was watching something other than animals: his mistress, Raven’s mentor, running the perimeter.
The perimeter of the property was actually a stone pathway; in the past, Raven had been made to run laps around it. At around 6 square acres, a half-marathon took approximately 34 complete laps around said perimeter. This was about the only guess Raven could make for what was going on here.
Raven took a seat next to him.
“Ah, good morning, miss Revn-- forgive me, miss Raven,” he stammered, still struggling with her new name. Putting names to faces was important in his line of work, so putting a new name to an old face was an ordeal.
“Morning ‘thaz,” she responded, too busy gawking at the form running in the distance. “Please tell me she’s not doing what I think she’s doing?”
“Yes, the mistress is quite energetic this morning,” he said with a nod. “She’s actually just begun her final lap.” He brought his hand up from his lap, revealing the timepiece he’d been holding.
A stopwatch? I’ve never seen her time herself before, Raven commented privately.
“Are you sure this is a good idea, ‘thaz?” She asked, turning to him now that her mentor had run out of sight. “She’s been under near-endless stress for an entire year. She should be resting.”
This time, the butler shook his head. “Believe you me, Miss Raven, I too felt this was hardly the time for such strenuous activity. Yet, there is a spark of passion within her that has been absent nearly a decade.”
Alathazdrar rose from his seat. “We had best make our way to the finish, lest the timing be inaccurate.”
Only a minute or so passed before they found themselves at the marked line along the pathway. Neither had time to speak a word before both caught sight of the familiar figure racing down the track. They hadn’t beaten her here by much.
Raven had never seen Sepulchre dressed like this before. It was always Pernix’s leather or Virtus’s enchanted robes – ready for action at a moment's notice. The plain black crop top, the black shorts, and the odd trainers on her feet seemed a new wardrobe, but were quite clearly well-worn.
‘Out of breath’ was a good way to describe the state of her, but even still, she closed in on their position at an amazing pace. Seeing them, she focused in on the finish line and kicked that pace up higher, dashing now at full speed.
‘Thaz locked his eyes to that same line, and mere seconds later, his mistress’s foot thudded against the ground on top of it. His reflexes on the stopwatch were immediate. Raven looked to the time, and her mouth hung open.
“New personal record!” their butler bellowed, “44 minutes, 53 seconds!”
Breathing with much effort, the World Guardian approached the two of them. Alathazdrar promptly handed her a towel and a cup of water, which she took with a thank-you. The water was gone in seconds. Raven barely noticed this, lost in her own thoughts.
She wasn’t sure what to think. 45 minutes?? She ran that a whole five minutes faster than me? This thought brought another, and Raven looked her mentor in the eyes, expecting red. There was only green. She had run that entire time, not even tapping the vampyrism for stamina?
“What are you doing up?” Sepulchre asked her pupil. “We both nearly killed ourselves in the invasion yesterday. You should be resting.”
“That’s funny, coming from the one who fought a god,” Raven countered, still not entirely over her previous thoughts. “You’re the one who should be resting.”
“Are you kidding? I feel great!” Was the response. “In fact, ‘Thaz, reset that thing.” As she said this, the green in her eyes shifted to that red Raven expected. “I’m doing the 200-meter.”
Though Raven felt the urge to protest, she was silenced by the drive known as ‘curiosity’. Just how fast was she really?
Her curious streak earned her the right to carry the starting blocks to the designated starting line along the curve.
She positioned the blocks as instructed, about one foot apart, and was then handed something that vaguely resembled an eastern pistol. The ‘starting pistol’, it was called.
Sepulchre crouched down on her knees, her left foot pressed against the front block at a 45-degree angle. Her focus zeroed in on the finish down the track, Raven could tell even from where he was standing.
“Get set…” Raven instructed, bringing her hand up into the air. Sepulchre immediately rose to a four-point start position. Raven pulled the trigger.
Echoing across the field, the crack from the gun going off hadn’t even reached its crescendo before the World Guardian’s body shot off the blocks down the track, like an arrow from the string. The gust of wind left in her wake caused Raven’s long black hair to flutter about.
To the onlookers, it seemed a streak of black and red lightning was bolting down the track, far too fast for any living creature. Raven did not even realize when she had crossed the finish line, though Alathazdrar was unerring in his button-pressing reflexes.
Once again the demonic voice boomed across the field, “Another new record! 7.74 seconds!”
Raven merely shook her head, making a brisk walk to the endpoint. Under eight seconds, she repeated to herself. That’s faster than the world record for a trained race unicorn, and she wasn’t even using magic.
Sepulchre was winded, to say the least. Raven got an ‘I told you so’ out of it, but her friend was insistent that this felt great. She was also insistent that it was time for breakfast; she hadn’t even eaten yet.
~~~
Demonic pancakes. The two words shouldn’t go together, but Alathazdrar is a unique kind of miracle-worker.
The two women enjoyed them thoroughly, though only one of them without distraction. Raven had not yet gotten over the amazement at her mentor’s feats, nor the impossible stamina it took to accomplish them today.
“I’m still not sure how you’ve done it,” she admitted. “You’ve been fighting almost non-stop for over a year, what’s your secret?”
Pausing from her indulgence in the meal, Sepulchre shook her head. “It wasn’t non-stop,” she corrected, “I had plenty of breaks, and plenty of rest … sometimes against my own will. You were there for one of them, remember?”
Straight-faced she remained, but a twinge of displeasure poked at her thoughts. Indeed, Raven had gone to Het’s Oasis when word of its collapse reached her. She was surprised to find her mentor there, but that was nothing compared to the shock of being denied her request to go help in Senntisten.
Sepulchre wanted a hero on the surface. She had trained Raven specifically as her understudy, so she could act in her stead. Raven knew this, but it didn’t stop her from being frustrated. She felt shut out, as if her mentor was purposely keeping her in the dark, like she didn’t even trust her. Raven often wondered if Sepulchre ever gave thought to what she wanted, to how she felt… to how many times she’d wonder if they’d ever see each other again.
“I remember,” she said, pushing those feelings aside. “But I was down there long enough to know the shape you were in.” Raven turned in her chair to face the occupied chair next to her. “The shape everyone was in, actually.”
The World Guardian paused, eyeing her student, suspicious. “Where are you going with this?” she questioned, clearly knowing the answer.
“You never answered my question about that day, the day all hell broke loose. I’ve never seen you like that before. What happened?”
A moment of strained silence passed.
Then, with a nod, Sepulchre placed her utensils on the table.
Zuk, Ful’s champion, had been surprisingly cooperative. When he arrived, I went to confront him on his Igneous throne, but was instead met with a proposal. Neither Zuk nor his TzekHaar would assault the cathedral, on one condition: we were to provide them with worthy opponents. Should he find us unworthy, he would march upon the gods themselves.
I was happy to oblige. He knew of me, the ‘World Guardian’ who kept the TokHaar from the Codex, and who had humbled his ‘jailor’, Bandos. These feats made me worthy to die by his blade. I very nearly did, each time I fought him.
We had been fortunate enough to be joined that same day by the vampyres – some of them, anyway. Lord Mischa and Lord Jovkai had brought the few battle-ready trueborns from Darkmeyer to assist. They had originally been split among the fronts, but were all turned towards the TzekHaar less than a week later.
With timing that couldn’t have been staged more perfectly, one ally after another began to pile in when things began to look hopeless. Kuradal and the Slayer Masters, Sakirth and the remaining Syrtes, and all the guilds I had contacted in response to Croesus showed up within hours of each other.
I actually began to feel hope when he came. Kerapac was essentially immortal, and aside from myself, who could face something like that? Well, only another who was essentially immortal. Oreb was our saving grace against the Nodon assault.
It had been three weeks since… since the gods numbered only three. This was my fourth, and final, earth-shaking bout with Zuk, Champion of the Flame.
I had been pushing myself too hard, and doing it for far too long; it catching up to me was inevitable. Under the weight of the Worldbreaker Blade – Ek-ZekKil, he called it – I was brought to the ground. I waited for the enormous obsidian blade to rend me in two.
When it did not, I brought my gaze to its wielder. “I thought… you said… I was a… worthy kill?” I huffed between long breaths.
He scoffed. “To what end, ‘Guardian’, would I take your life now?” Zuk asked me, mildly insulted. “Do you think me blind to your condition upon entering my arena? I have not been mortal for many centuries, but I do remember how it feels.”
“You,” Ful’s champion called over to the sewers that bordered his arena, “Myrmel! Come remove this ‘warrior’ from my battlefield.” As he spoke, he turned and stepped to his seat, signaling the end of combat.
Immediately, Lord Mischa flew out to the center of the arena. He glanced only briefly at me as his right hand wrapped around my left arm, yanking me to my feet.
Zuk took his place upon the throne. “In recognition of her ill-advised bravery, and a display of stamina surpassing even my own, I declare this contest a stalemate.” He did not sound nearly as impressed as his wording implied.
My ‘father’ merely nodded as he draped my arm across his shoulders. However, as his vampyric wings spread, ready to take off for the cathedral, Zuk’s voice rang out.
“Even so, I did not find this a worthy challenge, nor a challenge at all.” He slammed his obsidian weapon into the ground beside him, decreeing, “your alliance has 24 hours to provide me with an opponent worth my time… or your cathedral falls.
“You have been warned. Now, away with you!”
By the time we got back to the cathedral, I was barely conscious, Lord Mischa was essentially carrying me. I could feel pieces of obsidian still digging into my arms and sides, and the blood running down from them. Each movement agitated them, as well as the scorch marks that lined my back and legs.
I barely caught sight of Hazeel and the Twin Furies on the way in, but I think they acknowledged me. One with concern, the others with indifference.
“World Guardian, are you alright?” Was the first thing I coherently heard in a while, coming from the Aviansie god of Justice.
“We felt the tremors from your battle with Zuk. I trust he is satisfied, for now?” Came next, from the Lord of Order. I was too tired to respond.
Lord Mischa walked past them. He dropped me into one of the pews near the doorway to Croesus, the quietest battle, and turned back to face them. Even the hard wood felt comfortable after so long on my feet.
“He said we have 24 hours,” the vyrelord informed them with a grave tone. “And this one won’t be ready by then, thanks to her recklessness.” He motioned towards me.
“Come now, don’t be so harsh,” Armadyl remarked, “she’s doing all she can to keep us all alive.”
At this point, I found the strength to grab on to the back of the pew in front of me, tugging to bring myself upright. Lord Mischa noticed this, and batted my hand away. “Don’t even think about it. You can barely move,” he chided.
“These coming days will be the most arduous yet, and you’re putting us all in danger by failing to keep yourself battle-ready.”
I fell back to the pew with a light thud. Lord Mischa was right – I’d be in no condition to fight Zuk tomorrow.
“You will stay here and rest, and with a not-so-small miracle, perhaps a deep repose will have you healed enough to stop Zuk from ending the entire universe. I will return to the sewers and lead the charge in your stead.”
Before I could protest, my ‘father’ walked off. I didn’t have the energy to even think about following him… all I could do was fade out of consciousness.
~~~
The first thing I heard upon waking was my apprentice’s voice, in a panic. “About half a dozen of them,” she panted, hunched over to catch her breath. She was standing opposite Saradomin, hidden behind the eggs – for good reason.
“This is troubling,” the Lord of Order replied shakily from across the room. “We must send someone, and quickly! The TzekHaar would have free rein on the surface.”
“Have we the troops to spare?” Armadyl asked, equally shaken. “The retreat is barely being covered as it is!”
Concerned, I sat up and quickly surveyed the cathedral. It was as Armadyl said; each doorway was constantly welcoming new faces back into the cathedral’s refuge, including many injured being wheeled or carried by their fellow warriors. Supplies, weaponry, and various constructed defenses hurriedly being dropped off in the pews nearest each door.
One poor white knight was frozen and shattered mere steps from the lintel, causing a panic, though it was short-lived. Many soldiers barely made it, catching their breath as one danger or another was narrowly avoided.
“Enough of this!” Saradomin growled. “I will not stand by while my people-”
“I’ll take care of it.” I spoke up, finally coherent enough to speak.
“World Guardian!” Armadyl chirped, “just who we needed. Your apprentice here was just reporting that a group of TzekHaar have been spotted sneaking up the lift to the surface.”
“What else is going on? Why are the doors shut?” I asked.
“The four fronts are under heavy attack. While you slept, the last of the Zamorakians abandoned us,” Saradomin sneered, growing less patient by the moment. “We have been attempting to coordinate a response.”
“I’ll handle the TzekHaar. Raven,” I said, looking over to her as I stood, “you lead the rest of the evacuations, I’ll trust your judgment on who to leave guarding the doors.”
With a nod, the two of us took off to the north, one climbing down the chains to the sewers below, the other up the lift.
They couldn’t have gotten far, I reasoned to myself on the way up. If I had to guess, their target will be the Codex.
The thought finished, and the lift reached the top. Immediately, my ears picked up on the muffled sounds of struggle from behind the door. Throwing the enormous doors open, I was greeted by several obsidian humanoid forms at once – but they collapsed at my feet immediately.
Looking up past them, I couldn’t help but smile.
“It would seem I’ve arrived just in time.” It was a female voice, one carrying just a hint of something beyond human. “Just in time to clean up your mess, that is.”
“And to put an end to this war,” I added, my spirit reinvigorated – my sister in Chaos was all the morale boost I needed. “Good to see you, Moia.”
In my joy, I had barely noticed the figure standing with her. Adrasteia, though she introduced herself by a different name, had arrived at the same time as Moia. Saradomin was not happy to see her on the battlefield, but dire straits demanded he accept it, for now.
While she tended to the injured, Moia was directed to assist in countering the Nodon cannons raining hell upon the west wall of the cathedral. Meanwhile, I led Gorvek, Hannibus and Shakorexis, and the Syrtes in cleansing the east streets with dragonfire. Assured that they could handle it, I was quickly called to the Glacor front, where Azzanadra had been left alone…
“What happened to the mages?!” I shouted immediately upon arrival. I had to, else the flurries and gusts whipped up by the Arch-Glacor would carry the words away.
Unable to look away from the barrier he was holding, he shouted back, “Enakhra, the coward, deserted us!”
My heart sank, though just a little. I had been certain she and Hazeel would not leave us to die. Azzanadra must’ve foreseen or sensed this, though.
“Just before leaving, she began to stare out into space,” he continued. “I sensed conflicting feelings within her. She turned to me and said ‘I’m sorry’ before she teleported away. I believe Hazeel did something similar.”
“Zamorak must’ve ordered them away directly,” I concluded, aggravated. He couldn’t just leave well enough alone, could he?
“Likely so,” the Mahjarrat agreed. “I ordered the rest to retreat, though Akthanakos stayed until the Arch-Glacor nearly froze him.”
Hand straying to the weapon at my belt, I readied myself for battle. “Drop the barrier. Time to make this thing angrier.”
It seemed stronger than it ever had, but there are few things in any universe Azzanadra and I couldn’t overpower together. My synergy with him was second only to the teamwork between Moia and I, which made laughably-short work of the Nodon cannons. This was in spite of Oreb leaving Kerapac unattended, though only because his soul required it.
When Zuk came knocking, Seren took off with the eggs in some misguided attempt to protect them. A blessing in disguise, perhaps – Saradomin and Armadyl made short work of Zuk, Croesus, and the Arch-Glacor. The rest… does not need to be discussed.