Beneath the bright glare of the spotlights, Fae’s brow glistened with sweat. It was awfully hot on the stage, wasn’t it? Hotter than she’d ever thought it would be. Hotter than it had ever gotten during their rehearsals, too. Wasn’t it?
Or was it just her nerves? Performing this for real, in front of a crowd — even if it was an astral crowd, more a conceptual crowd than literal — certainly had her on edge.
And, of course, there were the new additions. The last-minute intruders, the gate-crashers, Wasuryu and the four Dragon Cultists he’d brought with him.
In the back of her mind, Fae idly wondered why he hadn’t brought an army. He had one. Why hold it back? What was the point of his giant cult army if he wasn’t going to field it against Fae and her friends in a battle to claim his “True Vessel”? That was all he lived for, all he’d built his army for, so why bring only four?
Revue Palace. That might be it.
There were rules, after all, governing a battle like this. No true violence could take place in Revue Palace. All conflict came within staged performances, and followed certain rules.
Fae shook off her reverie, brought herself back to the performance itself. The last notes of the opening number still hung faintly in the air. Mercury, Neptune, and Jupiter had nailed it. As if there’d ever been any doubt. Fae had been out here for a few speaking lines, and because she was, technically, the main character.
She did have a few singing lines later in the script. Even after dozens of rehearsals, she was not looking forward to those. Recognizing that eternal anxiety, expressions of confidence and encouragement rippled to her through the seven-part bond.
The astral crowd did not applaud — they did not make a sound at all. But Fae could feel their approval, a sort of silent applause that felt like a drumbeat against her heart. The astral crowd’s approval was vital. Now that their performance had been turned into a duel between the girls and Wasuryu’s quintet, audience approval would decide who won.
And in a performance in the Reflection Theater, victory meant an open door to the chamber wherein lay the Key of the World. Wasuryu could not be allowed to win.
Fae turned to face the vile villain, his reptilian face grotesque, barely holding itself together. Back at the Silver Star Sanctuary, he’d had a more stable physical form. It seemed he’d put together this new one more hastily. Yet the lessened physical stability only served to make him more frightening, the gruesome ugliness of the foul creature’s soul made physically manifest. One yellow eye twitched, wide and bobbing occasionally in its oozing socket, portraying an unhinged madness that frightened Fae more than any cool, calculating villain ever could.
Instability, madness, desperation — these things made someone dangerously unpredictable. When they wielded the power of a Dragon, the danger was heightened even further.
The opening number had served to introduce the concept of the story, the fictional narrative wherein fit Fae, the Star sisters, and all the rest. “The Fated Finale” was the story of a group of heroines on the edge of the darkest of nights, facing their final trial to carry them to the break of day. It was a stunning meeting of fiction and reality, and with Wasuryu here, that reflective nature, fiction mirroring reality, was further emphasized. Only Fae and the Star sisters took the stage at the beginning — Olivia and Madeline were actually already imprisoned by the night, and rescuing them would be Fae and the Star sisters’ first task.
But along with Wasuryu’s arrival, something else had changed. Sonya had made a choice. In the script, she wasn’t part of the cast. In all of their rehearsals, she had been the writer and director, with constant input about choreography, lighting, staging, all of it. She had been the voice of the narrator, but the narrator wasn’t listed in the cast — the narrator, by the terms of this script, was more of an element of the play itself, not a cast member. The narrator certainly wasn’t one of the heroines driving the story forward.
Yet when she’d introduced the show, she’d placed herself alongside the other six girls as one of the heroines in the story. She hadn’t explained that choice further to them yet, and Fae wondered if she would, or if Sonya was keeping that card close to her chest. An ace to play, if things grew truly dire.
With the opening number completed, the four girls stood on a bridge. Lanterns glowed dimly at the far side. The sound of running water sounded through speakers, and lights in the floor simulated the appearance of a dark river underneath the bridge.
The four girls walked slowly, carefully, illuminated by the glow of a silver spotlight. As Sonya, in her role as the narrator, explained: “Beneath the light of the full moon, the four tread carefully across the Bridge to Arcaea, Land of the Undying Night.”
“Hold on,” Neptune said, holding up a hand. The girls came to a halt, Jupiter bumping into Mercury, causing her to bump into Neptune. A soft, silent ripple ran through Fae’s heart, carrying with it a hint of amusement: the astral audience had laughed, just a little.
“What is it?” Mercury asked, shooting an annoyed look back at Jupiter. Jupiter stuck out her tongue, rolling her eyes.
“There’s something up ahead,” Neptune murmured.
“What could it be?” Fae asked, a spike of anxiety shooting through her. For all her rehearsals, she could never get comfortable on the stage, and now doing this for real, that discomfort was only amplified. Her voice sounded shrill to her, affected, fake, posturing. She was probably too quiet. But whenever she tried to properly project, she just cringed at herself, at the way her voice sounded when she raised it. She’d always been soft-spoken, and changing that wasn’t easy.
A shadow stepped forward at the far side of the bridge. Not Wasuryu, no — the Dragon had disappeared, no doubt watching and waiting for the best time to step into the spotlight. There was a great deal of darkness around the stage right now, careful lighting leaving the bridge looking very much like a crossing into a land of endless night.
“The Warden of Arcaea!” cried a voice, as the shadow took another step forward, now into the dim lamplight. It was one of the Dragon cultists, who hadn’t even bothered going backstage and changing costumes. He just stood there, arms raised in an awkward pose, clad in his green cloak, hood up so that his face was barely visible. His voice was as awkward as his pose, painfully soulless — and Fae realized that might, to an extent, actually be true.
Wasuryu couldn’t manifest physically without the use of many, many souls. She shuddered.
Is that what happened to his army?
“Warden?” Jupiter asked, springing back, hands raised in a fighting stance. They were off-script, now. How would they fare? “What’s a Warden doing here? This isn’t part of the trial!”
“The trial —” the cultist started.
“The trial conceals its full nature,” Neptune said quickly, stealing the thunder from the cultist — and providing much more gravitas and stage presence than the amateur playing the Warden. “We knew there would be numerous surprises. This is merely the first.”
Fae picked up on that line, stepping forward. She had even less confidence in her ability to improvise than she had in her shaky skill at acting from a script, but Neptune’s quick thinking had saved her from improvisation. She’d taken a line from a scene towards the end of the first act and used it here, and Fae followed off of that same exchange. “We aren’t afraid of you,” she said. “And without fear, your power is broken.”
The Warden stepped back, hands dropping to his chest as he doubled over. It was a sorry display, terrible acting, but it was getting him out of the way, so there was some relief. Jupiter and Mercury raised their hands overhead, and Fae — along with Madeline from backstage — used their artistic magic to create a stirring kaleidoscope of color that blossomed from the girls’ hands and then shot forward, washing harmlessly over the cultist. Harmlessly in fact, but this was a stage production — it was all about how it looked to the audience. When the Warden cried out in pain, gripped the side of the bridge, and then toppled over the rail into the far side — accompanied by a splash sound effect — his fate was sealed. The girls continued across the bridge, reaching the other side safely.
That success, however, only left Fae on edge. As the Star sisters delivered a few lines, as they found their way back to the regular script, as the scene changed around them to reflect their arrival in Arcaea, Fae remained alert. And she felt uneasy.
What was Wasuryu playing at? If all four of his cultists were as pathetic as that, then he shouldn’t have brought them to begin with. They’d only hurt his chances in winning over the audience. And the only way he could truly harm Fae or the others was through successful performances. He wasn’t even on the scene yet.
But for all that this looked like a would-be villain making a fool of himself, Fae wasn’t convinced. Wasuryu was no fool. Nor was he weak. And he’d proved, time and time again, that he was a cunning planner, spinning deadly plots and never going blindly into a new endeavor. He always had a plan.
What was his plan this time?
——
Caleb ducked away from Nyx’s staff, barely evading her swift, powerful thrust. She landed lightly on the pillar where Caleb and Chelsea also stood, and the pair leapt back to gain some distance.
That was when Chelsea let loose with a blast of flame. But Nyx twirled her staff, dissipating the fire harmlessly, and then darted towards them, a gleeful smile on her face. Caleb and Chelsea stepped away from each other, darting to either side of their assailant. Chelsea fired a few explosive darts of flame at Nyx, while Caleb battered at her with weighted attack chains.
Nyx leapt over all of that in a neat pirouetting flip that took her straight towards Caleb. He sidestepped, but not fast enough, catching a small foot right in the chest. The breath went out of him, and he was sent tumbling end-over-end to the far edge of the pillar, barely stopping in time to keep from falling over the edge.
Small as a child Nyx might be, but she carried incredible Enhancement-Magic-fueled strength. And speed, too — she was startlingly fast, and she lunged for Chelsea before Caleb even regained his footing. Chelsea dodged the first whipping staff strike, but the next spun around too fast. Chelsea raised a lighter to blast Nyx away instead, but…
There was no need. A wall of cerulean ice sprang up from the ground between the pair, and Nyx’s staff was rebuffed by it. Nyx leapt back just in time to evade a trio of ice spears, and then looked up to where Lorelei stood, on a smaller rocky platform that floated a few dozen feet overhead.
“What fun, bringing more friends into the fray,” Nyx said, gleefully springing up towards Lorelei.
And promptly dropping back down to earth. A faint dark blue aura hovered around her for a moment, then vanished. Caleb spun around, and saw Will on a separate platform, his pen raised, a faint word in the air vanishing: REBOUND.
“Don’t everyone go joining in,” Caleb said, turning back to Nyx. “We need you guys keeping pressure on Sal.”
“It took all of us to fight her last time,” Will said in his soft, flat voice.
“And we’ll get her out of the way faster together,” Lorelei said. “She’s too dangerous to let this battle linger.”
“I’m flattered,” Nyx said, kneeling lightly in a curtsy. When she looked up, there was a fierce gleam in her eyes.
“Get back!” Chelsea shouted, leaping towards Caleb. She grabbed him, but Caleb was leaping too, the pair of them almost of the same mind as they clung to each other, soaring towards the nearest floating pillar.
Just in time, too. The pillar where they’d stood — where Nyx still stood — suddenly ripped in half. Bursting up through the center came…
Mister Midnight.
Followed by the Beast.
Midnight didn’t look too much the worse for wear, thankfully. He hadn’t been blasted through the pillar, but seemed to have been in the midst of the attack that shattered it — writhing, clawed tendrils of the Beast were all around him, grasping and slashing with mad ferocity. In either hand Midnight held short, curved swords, a change from his usual daggers. His conversations with Addie about bladed weaponry had led to him modifying his arsenal. Those swords nearly blurred in his hands as he fended off the attacks with blinding speed. An instant later he twisted away, Caleb forming a Mobility disc above him, and Midnight launched himself from that disc out of reach of the Beast, landing beside Caleb and Chelsea.
“Thanks for the save,” Midnight said, only slightly winded from the solo battle he’d been waging with the vicious Summon. He twirled his swords, eyeing Nyx. “I say we take care of her before we do the thing. She’s too hyper-focused on us. We won’t be able to maintain it as long as she’s gunning for us.”
“Oh, Lance, do speak up,” Nyx said, lazily batting away a trio of ice spears with her staff. The Beast charged for Lorelei, its ever-shifting form ripping apart the platform she stood on — but she was gone. A moment later Caleb spotted her, carried by Gwen, who had swung in just in time on a silver thread, carrying her to safety. Nyx pouted. “I hate it when you keep secrets from me.”
Midnight didn’t deign to respond. He gave Caleb a look, and Caleb nodded — his answer to Midnight’s suggestion. With that, Midnight leapt back into the fray, and Caleb, Chelsea, Lorelei, Will, and Gwen followed suit.
And while the six of them battled Nyx and the Beast, below them a much larger battle raged. Caleb glanced at it multiple times, watching his allies face off against the Lord of Night.
Still Sal sat upon his throne. One elbow was propped on the arm of the throne, his chin resting in his hand. But on his face was a look of consternation, and with every hit he took, with every attack he rebuffed, and with every attack he launched in kind, there seemed to be a deeper war raging inside the man’s mind. He was troubled, and almost seemed distracted to Caleb.
Bronn and Anastasia landed on either side of him, lashing out with fists and feet — Sal lifted a finger, and a wave of Darkness bowled them over, sent them careening through the air. But where they failed, Jackson Redburne did not. A sharp crack sounded at the pull of the trigger, and Grimoire’s famed “Sniper” hit Sal square between the eyes with a magically Augmented bullet.
That bullet didn’t even leave a bruise, let alone draw blood. It spun for a moment against flesh, then dropped to the floor, clattering against the stone. But the attack drew Sal’s gaze to the Sniper, and a second later Jackson was running for dear life as numerous scything blades materialized from Darkness, tearing apart his perch and gunning for his head. Jackson ran out of road and jumped… right into the waiting jaws of a Darkness-construct, a bodiless, faceless fanged maw awaiting fresh victims.
The fanged jaws were shattered by a gleaming white sword, as Galahad leapt to the rescue. He blocked the next blade that came for Jackson on his white shield, and a blade from the opposite side was blocked by Athena on her golden shield. The pair landed on either side of Jackson on a lower platform, and Jackson fired off another shot while they defended him from further harm. Above him, Artemis launched a pair of gleaming green arrows, and down below, Jacob Crowley and Stride leapt into close combat, swords flashing.
Sal’s physical nature was impossible to make sense of. One of Anastasia’s kicks had split the corner of his lip, drawing blood — but a bullet to the head left no mark at all? Numerous other kicks and punches, sword slashes and thrusts, arrows and magical blasts, also had inconsistent impacts. While less than a quarter of all attacks sent Sal’s way actually hit him, out of those that did, less than ten percent caused any visible harm to him. Underneath the withering onslaught, all alone, Sal kept coming out looking like he was far and away the one truly in control here. A split lip, a faint bruise above one eyebrow, a few tiny nicks that were just red, not even bleeding, on his neck and cheeks… that was all that could be seen, all the harm he’d been caused. Meanwhile, his Darkness-infused attacks shattered stone, sent mages flying, and had left Thalia and Sieglinde with significant injuries. They were being nursed back to health by Desmé’s Healing Magic, defended by Oscar Greyson.
Caleb’s grandfather had proven one of the most potent counters to Sal’s attacks. Hagen and Mercedes Rook were here as well, but even the Co-Heads of the Guardian Guild sometimes faltered under the powerful blasts of Darkness that Sal issued forth, or struggled to keep up with the sudden blindingly fast barrages of attacks from all sides.
Oscar, however, stood tall and steady, beneath the sturdy legs of his huge tortoise Summon, Athos. Spread around the platform on which they stood were the half-dozen flying sea turtle Summons that were also Oscar’s.
When attacks came Oscar’s way, they were deflected. And every deflection didn’t just guard Oscar and the injured and healer that were his charge, but also the platform on which they stood. Twice Caleb saw huge spiraling blasts of Darkness aimed at the platform itself, meant to shatter the very ground Oscar stood on. And twice, those vicious volleys were sent careening off into the distance, striking no one and nothing.
There was hope, for all of them. At the moment, they were holding up against Sal. And Caleb and his team alongside Mister Midnight were giving Nyx and the Beast a solid fight.
The Time Prison wasn’t needed just yet. But despite that, Caleb didn’t want to get cocky. It didn’t escape his notice that, in the short time they’d been here, Sal’s attacks had changed. He was attacking with far more frequency, covering a wider range of the field of battle. And those attacks were getting stronger.
Sal was wounded, there was no mistaking that. And there was likely more than that, a war in his own heart with the boy Alexander that Shana had met.
But he was still the Lord of Night. This was still his seat of power. And Caleb couldn’t help but think that, for all the damage he’d taken…
Sal was just getting warmed up.