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Zasemu moved fast, each strike from his fists like an arrow, but Notch caught and deflected them all, giving ground as he did.
The power of the Fura Leones lent him his own speed and strength, but when he landed a blow, it did not give his enemy pause. Without a Regenerated body with Sea God bones, Zasemu was surely no longer unstoppable... but even when Notch raked his claws across the man’s chest, tearing the armour to reveal an equally silver-tinted skin, it did not stop a counter-punch that drove him to the stone.
Notch rolled to his feet with a gnashing of teeth. He leapt back now, to catch his breath, but Zasemu had not followed.
Instead, the man had paused to grip his own shoulders, muscles bulging and face twisted in pain as he seemed to dig into his own tendons. Beyond the man, Chelona was staving off Argeon, Emisa and Nia. Notch felt his hackles rise as he glared back at his opponent. What now?
Dark blood and not sap, but blood coloured a rich blue, trailed down Zasemu’s chest from where his hands worked.
The creature jerked his arms in a ripping motion with a shout.
Twin tendons of grey burst forth in a spray of blood. They spread wide enough to approximate wings, but carried no bones or feathers. Instead, a barb rested at the end of each tendril, and when Zasemu charged once more, it was to strike with four limbs.
Notch ducked away, twisting to avoid the first spear.
He tried to lash out in response but found no opening, and had to retreat further. He was still fast enough to keep up – but began taking blows or jabs more often now, and soon blood ran down his own body from shallow piercings. Over time, the wounds would wear him down – he had to try something different... and unlike with Tanere, Notch doubted that he could crush the life from Zasemu.
But could he try something similar?
This time, when Zasemu closed with a whirling of limbs, Notch didn’t deflect or even leave himself open enough to try landing a strike – instead, he leapt forward. The man caught him and the tendons wrapped Notch, but he was already attacking.
His jaws snapped around his enemy, biting deep into shoulder and neck.
More blue blood spilled forth and the stinging taste was like a drug. Notch felt his eyes widen as he bit harder, a response he could not control. Zasemu roared as he rained blows down but Notch could not unlock his jaw.
The Fura Leones snarled within him, both enraged and enraptured, it seemed.
And they took the pain away too. Notch dragged the Ilesinyan husk down, falling to all fours where he could best wrench his prey around, muscles in his own neck straining. His fangs sunk deeper still and he slammed a paw onto one of Zasemu’s arms, pinning it and using the leverage to tear the hunk of torso free.
Zasemu screamed.
A cry echoed from elsewhere in the room, but Notch did not heed it – his jaws tore into the man again, plunging through armour, flesh, blood and bone alike.
But he did not feast for the thing beneath him was not for eating, unnatural as it was.
Instead, it had to be torn to pieces, scattered and burnt.
That way, it would stop threatening the pride... his friends... and there were others just as important... someone else he needed to protect. Or maybe kill?
His mind floated in an out of focus, lost to a haze of dark blue blood and silver skin, of matted fur and the grinding of teeth on bone. Of screams and shouts from somewhere nearby but it still meant so little. He had to be sure the creature was dead, and only then could he focus on the other things.
On human things.
Finally, the body beneath him was still.
Notch lifted his head slowly, raising his hands. They were still clawed, still dripping with blue blood. His body had not changed either, covered in fur, muscles beneath far beyond what was normal for a man. He had not transformed back – the sense of danger remained; the Bracers would not risk it yet.
But his mind had returned.
And with it his vision cleared – across the chamber, four figures stood before a large shape of steel, stone and crystal. The Halidriandl? It gleamed in the setting sun, pulsing with both amber and restless opalescent light, casting the people’s faces half in shadow.
“Notch!”
Someone approached but slight movement distracted him – the Ilesinyan head was rolling away, moving only slowly, facing away from him.
Notch growled and sank his claws down into the skull and it stopped.
Then he looked up.
Nia knelt before him now, eyes wide with concern. She appeared weary enough to faint, but still she reached out to him, a hand touching the soft fur upon his cheek. “Notch, can you hear me?”
He nodded.
Relief passed over her features, bringing a smile. “I didn’t know if you’d be able to respond. The ferocity made me wonder,” she said but did not look away, did not seem afraid. “It was terrible but you have a noble look now, even if it’s hard to see the real you beneath the lion.”
“I am still me, for now at least,” he said.
A shrill cry rang out.
One of the other shapes charged across the room from the Halidriandl. Chelona seeking revenge...? No, it was the other man, the Braonn with the eye-patch, who raced toward them.
“We cannot stop him!” Emisa called after.
“What do you—” Notch stopped. A warm glow was spreading within the man; visible through his tunic, like a growing orb of amber. And it was expanding rapidly, his stomach and chest straining to contain the sap.
The man’s face was streaked with tears, of despair and pain it seemed, as he stumbled now, and sap began to spill from his mouth and eyes.
“No!” Notch roared as he threw himself across Nia.
A shriek followed – cut off as a mass of amber splattered forth, like an acor explosion. It splashed across his back, searing pain following, but he kept Nia’s head tucked into his chest even as she cried out – but it was regret rather than pain in her voice.
Yet the burning did not last long – the Sap did not overtake him, as though the Fura Leones had brushed it aside.
“Thank you,” he murmured to them as he looked up.
Patches of stone were now a mixture of orange and gold, spreading slowly but coming to a halt nearby. Other spots had done the same, but the floor was hardly transformed as it had been with Efran.
Why, Notch did not ask as she stood, Nia by his side now, her expression one of sadness. “I’m sorry, I made a mistake in bringing him.” She swore softly. “I should have seen it.”
“No matter,” Notch replied. “Anyone can be surprised by another.”
She nodded, but did not seem totally convinced.
“Captain, if you could bring the head of Zasemu.” It was Danillo, calling from the machine.
Notch bent to lift the head, which had again slipped away, gripping it from the spine. Zasemu’s eyes remained aware, though it seemed he could not – or perhaps, would not speak. The sense of his power was gone too; it seemed to take everything the man had to cling to awareness.
Danillo and Emisa stood before the machine, where the prone form of Chelona lay slumped against it. There were no markings upon her body or face but she did not seem able to catch her breath.
When Notch arrived, Zasemu’s head in hand, she glared – but at Zasemu. Was she angry with him for failing?
“You must survive, Beloved. You must.”
Again, Zasemu did not answer.
“So he might, if you choose it,” Lord Danillo said. He did not take his eyes from Chelona, and Emisa still stood with her hands clenched, as if neither believed Chelona truly defeated. And perhaps they were both constraining her somehow.
Chelona waved a hand. “I know what you offer – should Zasemu and I relinquish everything, and live dull, fleeting lives as humans, you will spare us. I decline.”
“Are you certain?”
“Of course,” she said, a hint of anger growing. “You win, Collector. Devour what is left.”
“Tell us how to stop the Halidriandl,” Emisa said.
And now Chelona offered a weak laugh. “No. Whatever I have managed to instil within, whatever of the Mother’s Lifeblood remains will have to suffice. Perhaps it is enough to reshape a single mountain range, or return the sea to where it ought to lie,” she said. “Near... near what you call Medah or some such. But I will not stop it. I will use all I have left to turn the lands back to the world of my youth before I am finished.”
“You are finished,” Emisa replied.
“Am I?”
“Yes,” Danillo said. “You cannot survive to see your dream come to fruition but you can stop it and live.”
“I have told you; I refuse such paltry scraps.”
Notch frowned. “Tell us and I will not have to finish Zasemu.”
She leant forward, an arm outstretched. “No!”
“Then destroy the machine,” Danillo commanded, and it seemed this time he lent some Compelling to his words.
Chelona groaned, her head slumping forward, dark hair covering her eyes.
Notch tensed. The woman had not seemed defeated a mere moment ago, there was a real chance she was—
Her arm snapped forward, almost too fast to follow. A black column of light shot forth. It struck Emisa in the chest and she flew across the room, bouncing and rolling into the wall where she lay unmoving.