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Theocratic-Monarchy: SunSide
23rd Day of Month 6, Year 1628 DG
“Dome!” echoes Kyoko’s voice over the sounds of ore swords and falling bodies.
The Revolutionary next to her, an aqua-shaded pixie, throws a fist up into the air, generating an invisible barrier around them. Both she and Kyoko are drenched in sweat, muck, and blood.
“I need more time,” the pixie pants.
Kyoko inhales and exhales evenly, preparing for the next round. She ignores the ache throbbing from every muscle, the rancid stench of death and decimation singeing her nostrils, the sound of allies wailing around her. “You have five seconds.”
“I need to catch my breath, Kyoko.”
The Librarian shuns her pleas. “Four. Three. Two. Drop!”
With an irritated grunt, the pixie lowers her fist and they launch forward. The strategy has led them deep into the Braver lines, but a significant journey to the southern gate remains.
Kyoko holds Vy-Ro’s face at the front of her mind. She knows where he is, behind Braver barricades, a worm in the water.
She locks eyes with an advancing Braver and dodges his blade, tumbling forward and knocking him back. The igni presses her knees to his chest and shoves the tanto through his eyes. He goes limp as Kyoko pulls the ore sword from his hand and sheathes the tanto.
Two more approach, one with an axe, the other with a spear. She evades the point and grabs hold of the staff, lifting it to block the blade of the axe coming down on her. A quick kick to the torso gives her enough time to swipe her blade past his throat and then nestle it between the spear-wielder’s ribs.
She conquers another three rows unscathed before a blade catches her bicep. Her exoskeleton defends her well; a strike that would’ve severed another’s arm cuts minimally through her stone exterior. Spurts of blood drip down her arm; the split burns, but she pushes it to the back of her mind and drops the faerie, plunging her sword into his chest.
She stands, breathing deeply to catch her breath and pressing her fingers tight against her wound, but the respite is short-lived. Another advances, sword swiping wildly at her. She backs away and dodges, only for two more to knock her forward and pin her wrists down against the muddy ground.
Immobilized. Her fate draws near as the swordswoman steps over her and brings the sword down over her chest. Kyoko shuts her eyes, praying that the integrity of her exoskeleton isn’t compromised.
Her prayer is unneeded. She feels the Bravers pinning her lift off, hears the scream as they’re launched through the air. She opens her eyes, and the swordswoman lies next to her, the light gone from her face.
The General waves her bloody palm around, wildly tossing Bravers away from the Librarian, then helps her to her feet. She’s split open in several places and is missing an ear, yet somehow smiles as she lifts a fist and domes them.
“He’s not far now,” Ovida informs her, pointing to the southern gate mere yards away. “I can clear your path.”
She drops the dome and slams her fist into the mud at their feet. Another shockwave spreads quickly around them, tossing Bravers like toys, making way for Kyoko to march forward to the Braver barricade.
Ovida drops onto one knee, strained from the release. “Go. Now.”
“Are you alri—”
“Go, Kyoko!”
The Librarian nods and advances before the Braver lines can recover. A waist-high ore barricade stands between her and the Braver General.
She sees him, beyond the semicircular barrier, cutting down Revolutionaries attempting to cross into his path. Even those with access to the Radiance don’t seem quick enough to use it before he dispatches them.
Rage intensifies as Kyoko recounts the details of Alba’s final moments—the brutality with which Vy-Ro’s team ended her; she vows to return it a hundredfold.
“Vy-Ro!” she bellows, leaping over the barricade and entering the semicircle with him.
He doesn’t attack. He stares at her in clear confusion.
“Kyoko?” His tone betrays disbelief. “Did they abduct you from my carriage?” He scans the fabric armor covering her and his eyes widen. “Why are you wearing their armor?”
She doesn’t answer his questions. Instead, she offers one of her own. “How could you, Vy-Ro? Alba, of all people?”
The wide-eyed incredulity leeches from his expression, replaced by patronizing acquiescence. He sheathes his weapons and raises his hand in mock surrender.
“Kyoko, listen to me. This is far more complicated and nuanced than you can understand. Your response is disproportionate. Joining with political radicals? Librarians cannot—”
“Am I wearing a fucking tunic?” she cuts him off. “This has nothing to do with the Library. You killed Alba.” Her voice tremors, so she clears her throat to solidify it. “This is personal—not professional, not political.”
Vy-Ro sighs and places his hands on the hilts of his weapons. “You cannot be serious, Kyoko. The first time I held a sword, you were still on your mother’s breast. Walk away now, please.”
She surprises herself. Knowing that Vy-Ro is accurate in the disparity of their experiences, she still isn’t afraid. Alba thought of Kyoko in her final moments, and now Kyoko thinks of Alba in hers.
“There are only two options left for me, Vy-Ro. This ends with my head held high, or rotting in the mud. But it ends tonight.”
Without another word, clutching the ore sword in one hand and the tanto in the other, she charges at the Braver General.
***
NO, NO, NO...
The word repeats in Rafael’s mind as he helplessly stands on the ledge, watching the Facilitator paralyze Naina at the northern gate and then disappear with her.
“Incoming!” an archer shouts. Rafael turns quickly and extends his sword in front of him again. There’s little time to process before the sound of heavy footsteps echoes from the staircase.
“Hold positions!” he instructs. Four rows of twenty Revolution fighters surround the opening. The patter of the footsteps grows until every thump causes a tremor on the roof. He can hear it as if they’re marching beside him.
They appear, flowing onto the rooftop like water from a faucet hitting the ground.
“Now!” Rafael commands, and the first row, those with access to the Radiance, grabs hold of Bravers and launches them off the roof. Braver screams echo into the night, only to grow duller and duller as they fall to their deaths. The plan works quite well for a time, as Bravers reach the rooftop and only make it a few feet before being thrown off.
But the well-trained warriors learn and adapt; they remain hidden on the top steps and launch daggers in unpredictable patterns, obscuring the use of the Radiance.
With the Revolutionaries perplexed, Bravers fill the rooftop again and engage the archers hand-to-hand. A deluge of mayhem and chaos surrounds them like fog as Bravers breach the initial line of Revolution fighters and move on to the ones behind.
Rafael joins the battle. His sword clangs against a Braver’s and then he skillfully dodges multiple swings. Years of swimming against currents and waves, years of dodging the arrows of his students, have prepared the fluidity of his motions.
The Braver grows tired and Rafael takes advantage, pushing his sword into the faerie’s neck and through the back of his head. He bathes in the victory until another approaches with a wide hammer.
Rafael begins to dodge again, finding it easier as the Braver takes time to swing the hefty weapon. In moments, Rafael has the sword buried deep into his abdomen, then kicks him off of the ledge to his death.
More Bravers approach. Not one or two, but ten, twenty, and thirty. They form a semicircle around him as he backs to the edge of the building.
They’ve inundated the area. A few Revolutionaries remain, locked in a battle for their lives. They might have the Radiance, but they don’t have the numbers.
Rafael takes stock of his situation. Death behind him, death before him. This is war. This is the predicament he feared when he was fifteen—a situation Joaquina likely found herself in with a different opponent.
It found him, eventually. His fate. He ran from it then, but he cannot run from it now. Backward to the ground or forward through the swords, he’s out of options.
He takes a deep breath and steps back until his heel is no longer supported by the rooftop. His fingers press tightly on the gems of Joaquina’s bracelet. Her love courses from it and into his veins.
As he prepares himself for the inevitable, an unsettling breeze caresses the back of his neck. He watches as the Bravers’ eyes widen, and their heads tilt back to watch something rise into the sky behind him. Rafael steps forward onto the ledge again and turns around.
They fill the night sky. Not a handful, not even a hundred. Thousands of nymphs and pixies hover like stars, glowing with Radiant energy. They fly erratically and chaotically as they join the battle. Clearly untrained, undeniably determined. Many drop down into the streets, charging the Castrum’s main gates.
Symin and Kruga land on the rooftop next to Rafael, and the pink nymph claps his hands together powerfully. A blast of energy reverberates from his palms and knocks every Braver onto their back. Nymphs and pixies rain down from the skies and land on the rooftop, using the Radiance to exterminate the monarch’s military with suffocation, explosion, and all manner of death and decimation.
“I see your journey to Nivyan Hollow was successful,” Rafael says, his expression betraying his relief. “You came at the right time.”
“I’ve instructed them to split up,” Kruga adds. “A few hundred at each of the gates.”
The word “gates” triggers Rafael’s memory.
“Naina!”
Symin raises an eyebrow. “What about Naina?”
“He has her!”
Symin’s eyes widen. “Who has her?”
“The Facilitator! She breached the northern gates and he—”
Rafael’s sentence is cut short when Symin grabs Kruga’s shoulder with one hand and makes a wide, circular motion with the other. As if they were apparitions, the two Mega fade away.
They’ve teleported out. Somewhere.