Discordant Note | TBATE

Chapter 158: The Result of Defiance

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Toren Daen

The dark blood sloshed underneath me as I fell to my knees, feeling something in my chest crack. Seris' hands loosened on me as I knelt weakly, my focus entirely on Greahd's horribly empty eyes. The monotone buzzing of her heartfire–once so full of life–scraped against the inside of my skull, digging out any sort of emotion and leaving a mirrored void in its place.

Agrona sniffed, leaving the body on the altar. "Seris," he said, something contemplative in his tone, "When you go to war against the Dicathians in a couple of months, you will take Toren Daen along with you," he said, stepping down from the altar. "It would be interesting to see the effects he has on the participants of this war."

The High Sovereign observed me, looking at my broken form. Part of me wondered if he wanted me to speak. To beg. To do something. But all I could do was stare numbly at Greahd's body, devoid of any mind.

Seris knelt beside me, her hands trembling as her head dipped low. The Scythe kept one pristine hand to her breast, the other curling into a fist as it sank into the deep blood that soaked her flowing battledress. Her silver hair covered her eyes. "Understood, High Sovereign," she said quietly, barely a tremor in her voice.

Agrona walked toward us, his feet sloshing through the half a foot or so of black blood that coated every surface. When his boots rose, nothing coated them.

He stood between us for a bare moment. A deep, deep part of me wanted to hurt him. The part that still felt a modicum of bravery. A bit of wild vengeance. I wanted to rip Inversion from my waist and sink the white horn into the High Sovereign's chest; watch the light in his eyes go out as I tore every bit of that discordant heartfire from his body. I wanted it to be slow and painful. I wanted to leave only a husk behind.

As only a husk remained of Greahd.

But Agrona was right. I was weak; nothing to an asura. All that I'd gained in the past few months? All the power I kept so close to my sense of self? I was but a candle flame sputtering in the night. Everything about me was inconsequential in the face of a true deity. Even Aurora cowered and crawled away in the face of such utter power. My mother left me as she sensed this shadow, because she knew any light she could give would only be smothered.

When I'd slain Mardeth, I'd thought I knew the face of true darkness.

I did not.

"Keep working as you are, Seris," Agrona said, his charismatic voice echoing out into the deafening silence. "It would be unfortunate if you were to disappoint me, too."

The High Sovereign walked toward the doors of the temple. I stayed on my knees long after the sound of his chaotic lifeforce left my range. Even as the afternoon sun overhead darkened, granting the innards of the temple a modicum of shadow. I was consumed by the static buzzing of Greahd's heartfire; the lack of anything resembling a soul echoing from her intent.

Seris was the first to dare move. The Scythe unbent stiffly, taking several deep breaths as she forcefully centered herself.

Then she strode forward, the swish-swish-swish of her dress echoing as if through water. Varadoth's black blood seeped up into her pristine clothing. Where before her dress evoked the darkness of the night sky, now Seris bore the stillness of the grave.

Seris approached the altar, hovering up to the not-corpse of Greahd. She furrowed her brow in an expression of remorse, and a dark mana blade elongated from her hands. It flashed a dozen times, the chains binding the middle-aged woman falling away with a splash. Then Seris closed the woman's eyes gently.