Lord of the Night

'No!' Sahaal roared, adrenaline burning his brain, raising him to his feet, spinning him towards Chianni. He snatched her up in one gauntleted fist with a feral snarl, ready to sink his claws through her face, red fires burning in his guts. 'You killed him!' he cried. 'You killed him, warp take you!'

'L-lord! lord, he was going to kill you!'

'I needed him! I needed the name of his master! You killed him!'

The claws of his free hand ripped forth, light motes scattering across them. He pulled them back from Chianni's shrieking face, preparing to punch through her wide eyes and shred her pitiful brain, exploding bone and gore across the burning swamplands. No matter that she had acted in his interests. No matter that she had spared his life.

The Corona Nox. That was all that mattered. And she had taken it from him once more!

'I know his master!' she screamed, eyes rolling, spittle flecking her lips. 'I know his master!'

Sahaal paused, eyes narrowing. He wondered how he must look without his helm, how his sallow countenance must horrify her, and indeed her bugging stare roved across his face with disgusted fascination.

Look upon your so-called 'angel', little human...

'You lie,' he hissed, unimpressed. 'You lie to save your life.'

'No! No, look at him! Look at the robes!'

'What of them?'

'The crest! The coat of arms!'

'Explain!'

'My lord... it's the heraldry of the hive itself! The Noble House Zagrif! This man was in the employ of the governor!'

Mita Ashyn

The elevator seemed to ascend forever. Mita settled herself into a corner, cross-legged with her back pressed against the bronzed interior. It could hardly be likened to the comfort of her old meditation cell on Safaur-Inquis, nor even to the ascetic simplicity of the chamber the governor had granted her here on Equixus, but she was too exhausted to crave the comfort of fine things. The ability merely to sit, to close her eyes, to not spend her life glancing over her shoulder, that was enough.

As the minutes dragged on and a modicum of her energy returned, she found her mind wandering, rising on wings of thought, and a strange sense of prescient pressure — like a slowly building mass of water filling the spaces of her head — came over her. She recognised it, of course. It was the preamble to the furor arcanum: her senses' crude way of letting her know that a prophesying trance was forthcoming, should she choose to indulge it.

At first she resisted, choosing to take the time to settle her mind, to restore her strength, to prepare herself for whatever tests and feats awaited her at the apex of the elevator shaft. But the uncertainties that clouded her thoughts could not be so easily placated, heir exhaustion had become a curious constant that required no salving nor assuagement, and how could she prepare herself for the unknown? Indeed, only by accepting the visions that the trance offered could she have any hope of anticipating what lay before her.

She surrendered to the pressure with a quiet sigh, closing her eyes and clearing her mind, and the visions of future madness poured into the cavity of her skull like a plague descending upon unwary heads.

First, there is... altitude.

The same old vision, then. Just as before. Always the same.

Coldness assails her, and though she is unsure whether she is truly a part of this vision at all, or simply watching events from some remote 'beyond', she feels nonetheless that she is naked: that ice is forming on her skin, and hot vapour arises from her mouth with every breath.

To every side the world is an abyss. She stands on a monolith of metal, a great cactus-spire that threatens to cast her off, to send her tumbling along its steepening flanks with whichever tawdry zephyr seizes her. She cries out, afraid, nauseous, although she has seen all of this before.

This is the fourth time she has witnessed this vision.

And then there seems to be something in the clouds before her, some unseen presence that breaks the squalling ice, that shifts like a shadow upon a pearl, drawing near.