BLACK NIGHT RUN

CHAPTER 18

From glory; anguish. Agony. It plagued Cyrus' subconscious like a fire roasting the gardens of heaven. He groaned, shortly, a gruff yelp snuffed in the dark. For what light envisioned from the inferno of joy was nothing more than a cruel flame that sought to ash him. Conceding to torment, pain stripped his thoughts; hopes; dreams, stealing what was and what could have been by sheer searing dread grilling his guts like a furnace of radiant ire.

An ire insulted by a familiar voice that Cyrus, ruined in the face as he struggled against the stroke of death, did not consent to. "For our God, my king."

The hand of the high king twisted Gloomeater. Cyrus' mouth begged for air. No words to give, at first, only broken puffs of struggle as searing thrums of ruination increased in waves unending. With each throb, each peak, it stole his voice, lost like the blood that soiled his royal robes.

"H-... Wh-... Balthier. Friend. Why...?!"

The chancellor's face grew cold and sober. "Ominous times begs critical choices."

Gloomeater dislodged from Cyrus' chest, the chancellor thrust his foot into the high king's back. Cyrus, doomed in the face, fell head-first into the murky vessel, and it was like The Urn of Sorrow's mouth expanded as if limitless till Cyrus was no more.

The chamber grew silent. So did the song of souls. The urn spewed its last black mist, and all six seals faded to nothing. In a clap of light, the seven seals roared anew. Heavy currents of energy shook the hall like a giant roused of its slumber, and from the platform's center stage, the seventh seal fissured opened like a gateway into the abyss. Ascending from that abyss emerged a heavily-engraved sphere of steely shadows that pulsed an extreme black light, the writings upon its spherical make beat in radiant violence. It rotated every which way, spinning and twirling in place on its pedestal.

Zekora joined Khimek in the Nyx's return. The moment was nigh, but the black bride made sure to muzzle her pleasure before the Nyx's rising base, the pedestal in which it sat and spun, climbed to a halt.

Silence claimed the chamber again. Anticipation struck. Khimek fashioned his most sinister of grins and Zekora, pleased behind her veil, wetted her lips for the succeeding moment.

Then clapped another force of thunder, or so it sounded as such, for a mass of energy erupted at the cloaked figure's feet, tossing the soundless entity against the dark floor like a ragdoll lunged from its vigilant guard. Zekora and Khimek, who spun to the commotion with claws blazing an indignant light, faced the uproar with disordered glares, for the energetic boom of Tyrune and his allies sprung them from their murine cover like exploding mice bared of their deception.

The Hammer of Saangomesh put Zekora and the lich in a muted panic.

Tyrune flicked his wics into his hands and thrust the first strike. Streams of wild silvery light cut through the air. A stray beam singed a bit of taint off of Khimek's jaw. Zekora launched from her feet and contorted herself out of the glimmering storm's path. A shame it could not be said for her nuptial veil.

The cloaked ones jumped out of their robes, charred bodies crowned in thorns. They were as if forged from the fires of some hellish volcano, and they rushed into the fray, to protect the lich and the black bride, and to sunder by Tiebreaker's bolts—and Bartholomite's titan fists! Bilecky spent no time in the strain of his triggers, Tiff and Acrimony banged in a maddening barrage; cauterized flesh torn to pieces by the shot.

Mace and Decan charged after Khimek and Zekora. Mace's bright blade called for the lich. Decan's yearned for Zekora's head. Khimek brandished his flaming hands, shards of menacing fire cut the air like demonic glass before shattering against the parry of Mace's curved sword. The lich saw his death, but he was death itself. Mace sought his blade upon Khimek's dressed shoulder, the lich leaped with wild abandon. Amid his quickening shuffle, Khimek released another shard of fire. A searing pain intruded Mace's ribs, spines of what looked like ruby glass lodged into his side. The secret swordsman stumbled to a knee and clutched his ribs, picking the hot shards from his flesh.