GLORIAE
She ran, boots kicking snow, as the howls and shadows descended upon King's Forest. Men were running and griffins taking flight around her.
"We need griffins!" she shouted. "Griffins, hear us."
But they were soaring from the ground, shrieking, flying into battle. Gloriae cursed and tried to shift, but could not. Mimics were near.
"Volucris, give us griffins!" Kyrie shouted, running beside her. Snow flurried around him.
Great wings thudded, billowing Gloriae's hair. Volucris landed before them, talons digging into the earth. Dies Irae's old mount. He towered over her and lay down his wing.
"Agnus Dei, ride him!" Gloriae shouted. "He's strong and swift."
Agnus Dei nodded. Clutching her Beam, she ran up Volucris's wing and sat bareback upon him.
"Fly, Volucris!" Agnus Dei cried. The golden skull glowed and hummed in her grasp. His wings blowing snow, his talons digging, Volucris took flight. The griffin king soared into the night, screeching, and drove into a storm of mimic dragons and nightshades. Already Agnus Dei's Beam blazed, shooting a ray that seared the storming nightshades.
Standing beside Gloriae, Kyrie pointed. "There's another griffin."
They ran through the snow. Men ran around them, shouting, swords drawn. Mimics crashed into the battlefield, roaring, their teeth and eyes red in the torchlight. Lightning blazed above them as the salvanae roared and fought the mimic dragons.
"Kyrie, you fly this one," Gloriae said when they reached the griffin. "His name is Malathor; he was one of Lord Molok's griffins. Fly, Kyrie! Fly now!"
Kyrie nodded and leaped onto Malathor. With shrieks and thudding wings, they soared into battle. Fire and light blazed around them. Kyrie's Beam seared through the night, and nightshades screamed and burned.
Gloriae scanned the battlefield, but the griffins had all taken flight. She saw them above—crashing into mimic dragons, swooping down to cut swamp reptiles, slashing at nightshades. On the ground around her, men and mimics still fought.
"Griffins!" Gloriae shouted. "I need a mount!"
"I'll mount you, girl," hissed a mimic, lunging toward her. She recognized the hunchbacked, warty form and matted red hair. Lashdig, the chief miner. It swiped its claws at her. Gloriae growled, leaped back, and swung her sword. Lashdig's arm flew, then came crawling through the snow toward her. She kicked it aside, spun, and cut Lashdig's legs at the stitches. The mimic fell and began crawling forward on its arms.
Gloriae raised her eyes. The nightshades were everywhere. They swarmed between the salvanae and griffins, wrapping around them, sucking their souls like a glutton sucking marrow from bones. Salvanae and griffins rained from the sky, helpless to hurt the nightshades. Agnus Dei and Kyrie shot the Beams in all directions, slicing through the demons of smoke, but they were overwhelmed.
Lashdig grabbed her leg and cackled. "You will be our slave, Gloriae." Spiders spilled from its mouth.
Gloriae kicked the creature, swung her sword, and cut off its head. She ran through the snow, hacking at mimics.
"Griffins!" she shouted.
A golden figure swooped.
Tears sprang into Gloriae's eyes.
Feathers flurried, talons glinted, and she saw her griffin.
"Aquila?" Her voice was small, hesitant. The griffin looked at her and lowered her wing.
"Aquila!" Gloriae shouted. She ran and embraced the griffin's head. "You've returned to me, girl. I thought you were dead."
The griffin cawed and tilted her head, anxious.
"Yes, Aquila, there's no time. We fly." She looked around her, ran forward, and grabbed a fallen branch the length of a lance. She leaped with the branch onto Aquila, her Beam held tight in her other hand.
"Now fly, Aquila!" she shouted over the roar of battle. Fire, blood, and lightning filled the night. "Fly like in the old days. To battle. To war. To glory. Fly!"
They soared.
The snow and blood dwindled below them, and they crashed through swarms of mimic dragons, swooping nightshades, roaring salvanae, and shrieking griffins. Blood, feathers, scales, and smoke blazed around her. Flaming arrows flew; mimics were firing them from below. Lightning flashed. Gloriae glimpsed Terra and Memoria flying to her north, raining fire upon the battle. Agnus Dei flew to the south, and Kyrie to the west, their beams rending the night. The roars, shrieks, and howls nearly deafened her.
"There, Aquila!" she shouted. "To the east. To those nightshades."
The demons of smoke and shadow were wrapping around salvanae, and the true dragons were falling fast. Gloriae snarled and dug her knees into Aquila. They shot through smoke, fire, and darkness. Gloriae nearly fell off, and she tightened her legs around Aquila as hard as she could.
She raised her Beam.
Lights shot from the skull's orbits, searing the night, slamming into nightshades.
They howled. The light turned them grey, and they shrivelled up, smoking, curling, falling. Gloriae spun the skull from side to side. Nightshades flew at her, maws opening, eyes blazing. She cut them down.
"I am Gloriae!" she shouted. "I fight for Requiem. I am her daughter. You will die before me."
Her armor was dented and dulled, its gilt chipped away, its jewels fallen. Her clothes, once priceless and embroidered with golden thread, were tattered and muddy, revealing more skin than they hid. Her lance was but a charred stick. Her griffin no longer wore gilded armor or a saddle; she rode bareback and wild. And yet Gloriae felt more powerful than ever. This was true power, she knew; this was justice and righteousness. This was the war she had always craved.
"I am Gloriae," she cried, "daughter of King Benedictus and Queen Lacrimosa, heir to Requiem. I kill for her tonight."
Flaming arrows blazed around her. One slammed into Aquila, and the griffin screeched but kept flying. As she swung the Beams, slicing through mimics, Gloriae scanned the night.
"Where are you, Irae?" she hissed. Where was the man she had called Father? Where was the man who had kidnapped her, who had murdered her friend May, who had murdered her true father?
Salvanae roared around her, scales flashing, lightning shooting from their mouths. Mimic dragons screamed and darted and bit. Flaming arrows flew, and smoke filled the air. The battle for Requiem raged, but Gloriae cared for only one man.
"I will kill you, Irae," she swore. "You die tonight."
MEMORIA
Fire, lightning, and beams of light shot around her, a storm of war. Arrows whistled, mimics roared, wings flapped, dragons swooped. The night spun around her, darkness and light, fire and blood.
"Terra!" she cried. Three mimic dragons mobbed him, slashing and biting. She flew, eyes narrowed, and slashed at one. Its flank opened, spilling snakes and cockroaches. When it turned to bite her, she blew her fire.
Terra shook off the others, growled, and torched them. A gash ran down his side, bloody. Salvanae, griffins, nightshades, and more mimic dragons spun around them, battling in the air.
"They need us down there," Terra said. "With me, Memoria! Let's burn the battlefield."
They growled, pulled their wings close, and swooped. The ground rushed up to meet Memoria, bristly with mimics. Their lines stretched into the night, endless formations of rot. She righted herself several feet above them and blew fire, raining the flames upon their ranks. They howled and fell, blazing. Javelins and arrows flew. One arrow shot through her wing, and she screamed. For a moment, the pain blinded her. A javelin grazed her leg.
"Memoria, fly! Higher!"
Terra flicked his tail, guiding her. She growled and flapped her wings, soaring into the clouds. Flaming arrows flew around her. She crashed into a nightshade, and it began to suck at her soul. She screamed. She felt the creature ripping pieces of her, laughing, lapping them up. And then Kyrie swooped forward on his griffin, his Beam blazing, washing her with light. The nightshades screeched and scattered.
"Terra, let's dive!"
She swooped again, Terra at her side. They broke apart near the ground and raced over the lines of mimics. They rained more fire, and more mimics burned. They soared, arrows snapping against their scales, and Memoria surveyed the battle. She cursed. The mimics were tearing into the lines of Earthen, slashing their limbs off, digging into their bellies to feast. The Earthen lines were crumbling, and more mimics kept flowing forward. Lacrimosa fought there, swinging Stella Lumen, hacking at mimics. Blood splattered her.
"They need us!" Memoria shouted. "Down there, by the column."
Terra heard and nodded. Memoria steeled herself, drew flames into her mouth, and dived toward King's Column.
Ten mimic dragons soared toward her, claws outstretched.
Memoria blew her flames, hitting one dragon. It screamed and fell. The others crashed into her, lashing their claws and biting. She whipped her tail around her, and bit into their maggoty flesh, and cut and burned them. But they kept swarming. When she glanced below her, she saw more Earthen dying.
"The mimics are getting near the women and children!" she shouted.
Terra was battling a mob of mimic dragons. He roared and blew fire in a ring, scattering them, and dived. Memoria joined them. She drew fire and torched the line of mimics. Another arrow hit her, and she roared and flew higher, only to crash into a biting mimic dragon. She tried to dive for another round of fire, but could not. The mimic dragons filled the sky around her, protecting their comrades below
"Nehushtan!" she cried. "Cover us."
She stared above and saw the salvanae blazing all around, shooting lightning and biting into mimics and nightshades. They too were overrun.
A dozen mimic dragons flew at her from all sides. She blew fire in a ring, cursing. She could not shoot fire forever. Soon her reserves would dwindle, and she'd need rest to rebuild them. Would Lacrimosa and the Earthen survive until then?
A mimic dragon bit her calf, and she screamed and beat it with her wing. It opened its mouth to roar, and she slammed her tail into it, breaking it into a dozen bodies that rained onto the field. More flew at her. Memoria lashed her claws and tail, cursing.
LACRIMOSA
Her sword was a beautiful thing, she thought, a work of art, its blade filigreed, its grip glimmering with diamonds in the shape of her constellation. But today... today there is no beauty to Stella Lumen. Today my blade deals death and blood.
She swung that blade, cutting into mimics, their pus and blood and rot spraying. She screamed as she fought—for her children, for all free people, and for all her fallen.
Silva fought at her side, his beard fluttering in the wind, his eyes blazing, his sword bloody. His men fought around them, eyes solemn, green cloaks covered in snow and gore.
"Fight, friends!" Silva called over the din of battle. "Fight for the Earth God. We will kill the tyrant."
The enemy kept coming at them. Lines of flayed mimics burst forward, their bared muscles glimmering with blood, their internal organs shiny and pulsing. They looked like men turned inside out, and they swung jagged blades. One slashed at her, its eyeballs bulging from its skinned face. Lacrimosa parried, shouted, and swung her blade into it. Blood sprayed her.
"Terra!" she shouted to the sky. "Memoria! Burn their lines. Scatter them!"
Yet when she glanced up, she saw the mimic dragons mobbing the siblings, biting and lashing at them. More mimics and nightshades filled the sky all around. Lacrimosa cursed and parried another mimic's blade. Three attacked her at once, flayed and dripping, their teeth sharpened. She parried left and right, stabbed, thrust, and suffered a wound to her arm. She screamed and kept fighting until they lay dead.
For only a moment, she could catch her breath. Then new horrors burst from the battlefield.
Snowbeasts.
They towered seven feet tall, lanky things with six legs, flaps of white skin draping over their bones. They snapped their teeth, spraying the field with drool, and shoved between the mimics, charging toward Lacrimosa.
She ducked, dodging a blow from one's leg, and swung her blade. She hit its other leg, it fell, she leaped, she stabbed. Black blood sprayed. Another rose behind her, jumped, and slammed into her. She fell and its teeth came down. She raised her sword, screaming, and stabbed it through the mouth.
Lacrimosa lay on her back, panting, bleeding, her head spinning. More snowbeasts scurried around her like spiders. Silva cried commands to his men. Swords swung, horses thundered, and arrows blazed overhead. Above in the night sky, rays of light, pillars of fire, and streams of scales and shadow flowed.
They're too many, she thought in a haze. We can't defeat them. We have to run.
Bodies lay around her. Men and women of Osanna, come to fight here and die. Dead salvanae, the light of their eyes extinguished. Dead griffins. Everywhere—death, darkness, despair. Her eyes stung, and she felt herself sinking into the snow and blood.
The nightshades, salvanae, and dragons parted briefly above, and between them, Lacrimosa saw one of her stars. Its light was soft. She could almost not see it beyond the battle. But its glow seemed to call to her. Lacrimosa. Child of the woods. You are home, you are home. The words of her fathers.
Lacrimosa tightened her lips. Not yet. I still fight for you, Requiem. She leaped to her feet, shouting, and swung her blade.
Poisoned charged across the battlefield, shrieking in high-pitched, tortured voices. They had been men once, Lacrimosa knew, men twisted by green smoke and dark magic. Fish scales covered them. Their arms had grown long and twisted, their fingers clammy and webbed. Their eyes hung from their sockets on bloody stalks, slapping against their cheeks as they ran.
Lacrimosa fought them. She fought with blade and torch. She fought for Requiem. For her dead parents. For her husband. For her children. She fought as griffins and salvanae rained from the sky, dead or dying. She fought as men fell around her. She fought because her stars still shone, and life still filled her, and Lacrimosa would fight so long as she could. Until my last breath. Until my last drop of blood. I will die fighting for Requiem, and then I will be with you again, Ben, in our halls beyond the stars.
The creatures howled before her, blood rained from the sky, and Lacrimosa swung her blade.
AGNUS DEI
Flaming arrows whistled around her. Nightshades swooped in every direction, eyes blazing, maws dripping smoke. The mimic dragons bit and clawed. Volucris spun between the enemies, three arrows in his breast, his wings roiling smoke and flame.
Agnus Dei wished she had a second hand to hold onto Volucris. Her good hand held the golden skull, pointing its beams at swarming nightshades. Her left arm hung uselessly.
"Careful, Volucris!" she cried when he swooped, soared, and swerved. She nearly fell, and she pressed her legs against him so hard, she thought they could break.
Flaming arrows blazed around them, and one hit Volucris's leg. He howled and bucked, and Agnus Dei screamed. She slid down his back, tightened her knees, but kept sliding. She had to push the Beam against her chest with her left arm, then grab Volucris's fur with her right hand.
"Damn it!" she shouted. Her Beam dimmed, then extinguished.
The nightshades howled with new vigor, cackled, and swooped toward her. Their eyes burned like collapsing stars. Their maws opened wide, revealing white teeth. She felt them tugging at her soul, tearing piece by piece from her body. She growled and screamed.
"Not again, you don't," she said and gritted her teeth. They had stolen her soul once, and the memory still flooded her with terror.
Damn my missing hand! If I had two hands, I could hold on with one, and fire the Beam with the other. She howled in rage. I'm crippled now. I can't even fight any more.
Arrows flew, mimic dragons bit, and Volucris swerved and soared and dipped and spun. Agnus Dei bounced atop him, flew into the air, and fell back onto him. The ground spun below her, distant, swarming with mimics and monsters. Rays of fire and smoke shot around her through the sky. The Beam began to slip from under her arm, but she dared not release her fistful of Volucris's fur. The nightshades howled and flowed around her, brushing her with their icy bodies, and she screamed. She felt her soul being ripped away, pulled from her like stuffing from a torn doll.
She shook her head wildly, struggling to cling to herself. I need my hand.
"Volucris!" she screamed. "Catch me."
She released his fur and leaped off his back.
She fell through fire and smoke and raining blood, the battle spinning around her. The nightshades yanked her soul, and she saw her body tumbling below her, shouting in the night.
Volucris's talons caught her, knocking the breath out of her, nearly knocking the Beam from her grasp.
Her soul slammed back into her body.
She grabbed the skull with her good hand.
Rays of light blazed out, spinning and crackling, bleaching the world. They seared nightshades, slicing them in half. More nightshades screamed to her left, and she spun the Beam, burning them.
Kyrie flew by her on his griffin, waving his own Beam. "The damn things keep coming," he shouted. "Agnus Dei, you all right?"
She nodded, held in Volucris's grip. "Take the north, Kyrie! I'll deal with the south. The nightshades are tearing into the salvanae. We've got to do better."
He nodded and flew off, firing rays of light.
"Fly into them, Volucris," she shouted. "The cluster of them in the south. Let's burn them."
The griffin shrieked and flew, crashing into hundreds of nightshades. Their screams nearly tore her eardrums. She held her Beam before her, cutting into them. White smoke rose from them, and they crumbled and rained like ash.
Agnus Dei glanced below her and cursed. Dies Irae's forces spread into the distance. She could see no end to them. Mimics and snowbeasts swarmed closer to King's Column, tearing into the lines of Earth God followers. She saw Mother fighting there, surrounded by mimics. Every second, another Earthen fell dead.
Lights blazed below. The mimics were lighting arrows. The flaming missiles shot into the sky. Hundreds blazed around her like comets. Three flew so close, she felt them stir the air. One arrow grazed her thigh, tearing her skin, and slammed into Volucris's belly.
The griffin shrieked and bucked, tossing Agnus Dei in his talons. More arrows flew. One whistled an inch from Agnus Dei's face, sliced through her hair, and slammed into Volucris's neck.
Three mimic dragons swooped upon them, and Agnus Dei gritted her teeth.
Fire, blood, and darkness exploded. Mimic claws of steel scratched. Eyes blazed. Feathers fell and blood streamed down Volucris.
"Fly, Volucris!" Agnus Dei cried. "Get out of here, fly south."
He tried to flap his wings, but the mimic dragons tore into them, biting, tearing off feathers. Flaming arrows flew. They slammed into his belly, his neck, and one into his head. The Griffin King roared, but still he held Agnus Dei in his talons.
Smoke and tears filled her eyes, and Agnus Dei screamed.
"Let me go," she shouted. "Let me fall. Use your talons!"
But still he held her in his left talons, fighting only with his right. The mimic dragons cackled and flew at his left side. Agnus Dei pointed the Beams at them, but they were not nightshades; it would not burn them. They bit into Volucris, tore off chunks of his flesh, and began to eat.
"Volucris!" Agnus Dei screamed. She dropped the Beam and caught it between her legs. She drew her sword and swung it, but could not reach the mimic dragons.
The nightshades howled and wrapped around Volucris's neck.
Arrows whistled, slammed into Volucris, and fire blazed across him.
"No!" Agnus Dei cried, horror pounding through her. Her eyes burned so badly, she could barely see. "Volucris!"
Flaming arrows peppered him... and Volucris, King of Griffins, fell from the sky.
The ground spun, racing up toward her. Agnus Dei cursed, freed herself from the talons, and scurried up Volucris's leg. She leaped onto his back, but he was still falling. She clung to his fur with her good hand. Her Beam tumbled, and the night swallowed it.
"Fly, Volucris!" she screamed and tugged his fur. The air roared around her. Fire and smoke churned everywhere. They spun. "Fly, damn you, fly!"
His eyes rolled back. He gave her a last stare. He cawed softly.
The ground rushed up, black and white and red, mimics racing across it.
Volucris's wings flapped once. He managed to steady himself, to slow his fall.
Mimic javelins flew.
They slammed into him. One tore through his neck, emerging bloody near Agnus Dei's cheek. She cried. Volucris slammed into the ground.
At once, mimics came rushing forward. They began to hack the griffin, climb upon him, and eat his flesh. Agnus Dei howled and leaped to her feet, standing atop Volucris, swinging her sword.
"You will not touch him, scavengers!" she cried. Tears in her eyes, she leaped off Volucris's body, slamming herself into the ranks of mimics.
She fought against hundreds of mimics, snowbeasts, and skeletons. They surrounded her, and she sprayed their blood upon the snow. She could not see her forces. Mother fought across the forest, hundreds of yards away. The others flew above between the flaming arrows and bolts of lightning. She stood alone.
"But I will not die alone," she said and growled. "I will take hundreds of you with me."
Her sword swung. For Requiem. For her parents. For her sister. For Kyrie. She fought. A mimic cut her leg with a blade, and she fell, screaming. She swung her sword, cutting it down. Salvanae lightning rained from the sky, white and purple, torching the dead trees. Fire and smoke filled the air, melting the snow, intolerably hot against her cheeks. She coughed and snarled and narrowed her eyes as she fought.
A howl rose above the din of battle.
A great shadow emerged from the flames, shoving mimics aside.
It came marching toward her, snarling and drooling blood. Mimics fled from it. It was a mimic too, but taller and burlier than the others. It had a bull's head and four arms. Its four hands held an axe, a spear, a sword, and a warhammer.
The bull's lips opened, and it spoke in a growl. "Agnus Dei...." It raised the hand holding the sword. "Do you recognize this hand, Agnus Dei? I thank you for it."
Agnus Dei stared, eyes narrowed. Its hand was long and slender, a woman's hand. My hand. Ice washed her belly.
"No," she whispered, shaking her head. Stars, no.
The bull mimic smirked. "I will kill you with your own hand, weredragon."
It lunged toward her, its four weapons swinging. Agnus Dei screamed, a howl of horror and rage. My hand. It has my hand. She ran through the blood, leaped, and swung her sword.
The mimic's sword clanged with her own. Sparks rained. Its axe swung over her head, narrowly missing it. Its warhammer glanced off her vambrace, and its spear grazed her shoulder.
She screamed, pulled back, and slashed her sword again. The mimic swung its blade, parrying, and thrust. Agnus Dei blocked the blow, but barely. It glanced off her shoulder, tearing her shirt. Its warhammer swung, and she ducked, dodging it. She lashed her blade and hit the mimic's chest. Blood spurted, but it only laughed and swung its axe and sword.
I can't beat it. Stars, I can't win this battle. We can't win this war.
The mimic growled and lashed its spear. She parried, driving it aside, but the axe swung too, and she leaped. It hit her pauldron, denting the steel, sending pain through her.
No! Don't give up. Never give up. Not until death. I will fight so long as I live. She screamed and thrust her blade. The mimic parried, laughing, blood and centipedes spilling from its wound. Hundreds of mimics formed a ring around them, howling, watching the fight.
Agnus Dei leaped sideways, and the axe clanged against her armor. The sword nicked her hip, drawing blood. She spun, swinging her blade, and slammed it into the mimic's leg. She cut deep into its flesh, and when she pulled it free, bugs spilled. The mimic laughed, spraying saliva, and advanced toward her. It lashed all four weapons.
She ducked and parried, and the spear ran down her thigh, scraping skin. The warhammer hit her blade, shattering it.
Agnus Dei fell onto her back, staring up in horror.
She clenched her jaw.
Goodbye, Mother, sister, Kyrie. I love you all. Goodbye.
Its axe came down.
Agnus Dei screamed and raised her arm.
The axe hit her vambrace, shattering it. The blade cut her skin, but the armor had blocked most of the blow. It did not reach bone. I won't lose my second hand so easily.
She tossed the hilt of her sword. The broken shards of blade slammed into the mimic's eyes.
It howled.
Agnus Dei leaped to her feet, grabbed its axe, and pulled it free.
The mimic pulled the shattered blade from its face. It had pierced its forehead and right eye. The creature grinned, worms and drool dripping from its maw.
Agnus Dei swung her axe and cut off its hand—her hand. It landed at her feet.
"How does it feel, bastard?" she screamed and swung her axe. The blade drove into its neck, tore through the stitches that held the bull's head to the torso, and emerged dripping from the other side.
For a second, the mimic stood still.
Then its head slid off its body and splashed against the ground.
Agnus Dei swung her axe, opening its skull. Snakes filled the skull instead of brains. They fled. The mimic's body tried to keep fighting, but was blind. Agnus Dei hacked at it, screaming hoarsely.
"How does it feel, you bastard?! You will feel this too, Irae. You will feel my blade."
She hacked at it until it fell, cut to pieces. She grabbed a burning branch and tossed it onto the body. Soon it blazed in a pyre, drying her tears.
Her hand burned with it.
Agnus Dei wiped her eyes and spat onto the burning body. She looked around her, panting. Countless mimics still surrounded her. They howled, brandished their blades, and attacked.
TERRA
The battle raged around him, a song of light and fire in the night. Salvanae and mimic dragons battled above. Griffins and nightshades streamed at his sides. Beasts crawled and grunted below him, slamming against Lacrimosa and her troops. Everywhere he looked, he saw flame, smoke, and lightning.
The battle is lost, he realized. We are overrun.
He growled, remembering the war that had killed his people, that had shattered his family. His growl turned into a roar.
I am the last bellator. I will defend Requiem to my last breath. If we die here tonight, I die with blood on my talons, and the flesh of my enemies in my jaws.
He howled and dived, knocking between the hordes of flying mimics, and blazed fire across the ruins of King's Forest. Skeletons withered in his flames. Poisoned ran like living torches. And yet more kept coming, wave after wave of them, their ranks stretching into the darkness. Mimic giants, each limb woven of dead bodies, charged through the ranks of Earthen, tossing men and women aside, roaring to the sky.
Terra swooped toward one giant, readying his fire. Before he could reach it, squeals rose in the night around him. A hundred creatures burst from the shadows, shooting toward him. They looked like great bats, but they were mimics. Terra grunted with disgust. Dies Irae had taken men and women, stripped their bodies away below their shoulders, and left them with only heads, outstretched arms, and spines. He had pulled skin between their wrists and tailbones, crafting them wings to flap. They flew at him, biting, their eyes blazing red.
Terra blew his fire, spraying it in all directions. He fought down nausea; he had never seen anything so hideous.
They were people once. Stars, they were people. He clenched his jaw. But they are not people now. The only mercy I can give them is the mercy of fire.
He roared, summoned more flame, but had no time to shoot it. More bats emerged from the darkness, smoking and screeching, and flew onto him. They covered his back and crawled along his wings, biting and scratching.
Terra roared and flapped his wings, but the creatures clung to him. Their teeth bit, and he howled in pain. He shook and flapped his tail against them. They scurried across him, screeching. When he knocked one off, three more swooped from the darkness onto him.
"Terra!" a voice cried above.
"Kyrie!" Terra shouted. "Get out of here. You fight the nightshades."
Kyrie swooped down on his griffin, his sword drawn. Ash painted his face and hair. Blood trickled down his cheek. I remember him a boy, Terra thought through the haze of pain. He is a warrior now. As the mimics bit him, and as the fires burned, Terra felt pride well inside him. My brother is a warrior of Requiem.
"You've got something on you," Kyrie said, hovering over him. His griffin leaned sideways, and Kyrie swung his sword, hacking off the bats. They shouted and fell into darkness.
Terra shook himself and turned around, and Kyrie hacked at the other bats, slicing them and knocking them off. Terra's wings blazed in pain. He could barely flap them. He felt the wind rushing through holes the bats had left.
"How are those nightshades?" he called over the roar of battle.
Kyrie ducked, dodging a salvanae that roared above him, flying at a mimic dragon.
"We're handling the nightshades," he shouted back. "It's the ground I'm worried about. The Earthen are being butchered down there."
Terra nodded. "Going to swoop again. I—"
A great dragon of rot and stitch burst from the clouds, tumbling toward them, blazing. It crashed into Terra with smoke and heat and howls, and he saw nothing but fire and darkness.
"Kyrie!" he shouted. He tried to flap his wings, but they burned, and he grimaced. The mimic dragon blazed, but still lived, snapping its teeth and clawing at Terra. He growled and bit into its neck, tearing out a chunk of arms and legs, but could not shake the beast loose. Its weight shoved him down, and he tumbled. He crashed against a salvanae who flew below, and then more mimic bats were on him, biting his tail and legs.
Terra roared, tumbled upside down, and crashed into the ground.
The mimic dragon rolled off him, and Terra shoved himself up. He swung his tail, knocking the mimic's head aside, then spun to face a horde of skeletons racing toward him.
He lashed his tail, knocking them over, and slashed his claws, hitting leaping wolf mimics.
"Kyrie!" he shouted. He looked up, but saw only smoke, coiling salvanae, and flaming arrows. He tried to flap his wings, but the mimic bats were covering them again, biting and weighing them down.
Roars pierced the night, and footfalls shook the ground. Terra turned to face the sounds. From the smoke and fire, three towering reptiles charged forward, each the size of a dragon.
"Perfect," Terra muttered, howled, and roared fire.
He had been blowing flames for hours, and could muster only a weak spray. It barely fazed the reptiles. They crashed forward, stepping onto mimics, and leaned in to bite.
Terra lashed his claws and lacerated one's head. He swiped his tail, hitting another's flank. The third bit his arm and tugged him down.
Growling, Terra kicked and hit one. It fell back, and he blew whatever fire he still had, hitting a second reptile. Each was his size, with claws and fangs like swords. Claws scratched along Terra's back, and he rolled over, kicking and biting.
A reptile crashed down onto him, knocking his breath out. Terra clawed at its face. He pushed it off and tried to fly, but could not. The bats tugged on his wings, pulling them to the ground.
"Here goes nothing," Terra said... and shifted into a human.
The bats fell off him. The reptiles crashed around him. Terra ran between one's legs. He drew his sword as he ran and swung it, slicing the creature's hamstrings. It fell behind him, and Terra ran through the snow. He jumped into the air, shifted, and flew.
The reptiles howled. Terra spun, swooped, and rained his last reserves of fire. The creatures blazed and fell, burning.
Terra soared into the aerial battle, flying through smoke and fire and battling creatures. He gazed over the battle and his heart sank. Thousands of salvanae and griffins lay dead upon the ground, mimics tearing into them. Dozens were falling around him from the sky, bitten, bristly with arrows, crackling with fire. Terra searched the air for the other Vir Requis, but couldn't see them through the smoke and lightning.
When he looked below him, Terra's spirits sank deeper. Dies Irae's ground forces still covered King's Forest, stretching as far as he could see. Lacrimosa and Silva still stood by King's Column, swinging their swords, but their forces had been decimated. Hills of dead Earthen rose around them.
Terra swooped. He had no fire left, but he clawed at skeletons, at mimics, at the dark forces that kept charging. He roared in the night.