Dreadlords The Worth of Our Deeds

[Zael Castomir]

Zael followed after Lumen in their flight from the warehouse, from the produce market. If there was one good thing to be said about the circumstances, it was that not a damn soul would be questioning why they were in such a hurry. Hell, one could even argue they might've spent too much time coming up with more than perfunctory disguise for Zael's appearance. Fear and panic just had this tendency to narrow a person's vision down to themselves and the people they held close.

But as they got further from the actual site of the commotion, that potential argument really fell apart. The Zettal townsfolk were deeply concerned about their fellows, checking over one other, offering what aid they could; questions were asked with sincere concern and answers given in emphatic return. It was more than once that some Zettal townsman or townswoman made an effort, through gesture or passing question, to see if Lumen and Zael were alright. Their haste sailed them away quickly enough though, and these neighborly folk let them pass without further intrusion.

Eventually came a street, leading toward the eastern gate, that was more or less bereft of people. Then came the question Zael honestly should've expected, yet, perhaps clinging to some vague hope, did not. He didn't feel bad about what he did at Ganfarred. But that little pause from Lumen, right between his name and the start of her question...it hurt to hear that. It hurt that what he did made Lumen feel as though he had betrayed her, and it hurt that he understood completely where she was coming from.

This wasn't really the place to go too deep on this, but, hell, a simple yes just wasn't gonna cut it here.

As they briskly walked, he said, "If you had orders from those same Guardsmen and Guardswomen to kill Sable, right here and now, would you do it?"

Lumen

 

[Sable Pembroke]

Every fiber of Sable's being felt as though it was pulling itself apart. Kristen's words bounced through his skull, echoed and reflected and magnified until they felt like detonations among the storm of madness that raged within. His head snapped up towards her, teeth bared while his fingers ground into the side of his face. His expression was a contorted mess of anger, pain, and fear.

Sable twisted to look at his surroundings, for the first time since sighting Zael finally recognizing the weight of his actions. The destruction he was causing. The fear he was instilling in those he was sworn to protect. Kristen was right...he was becoming what he hated most. And that was when another pulse hit.


T̷̰̝̲̳̙̖͈̊̂͑͑͑͋h̶͇͌̈́̌́̚͝͠͠ę̵̲̻̲̂͋̿̊y̴̡̨̗͔͆̏͐͜͝ ̶̧͈̺̑̐̈́d̴̙̘̮͚̫͕͉́̊̇͑̈̀͝ͅò̴͈͙͚̉̉̓̓̅n̶͚̤̩̗̈́ͅ'̷̇̈́̓̇̚ͅt̶̯̞̪̍̑͌̓̓ ̵̤̪̞̯͉̗͉̓M̵̖͇̫̜̹̊̃͠A̶͇̱͓̯͍̔̎̇͝T̴̘̟͈̰̤͌̽͐̐Ṯ̷̛͇̟̫͂͑̓̉͘͝E̸͓̕R̷͓̠̼̞̀̑̾͗͂̅ͅ.̴̢̛̳̺̟͔̂̽̾̔̑̅͂ ̵̣̹̯̼͙͑̏̈́͌͌͘͜͝K̶͔͗̔͌ͅį̸̝̓͋͌̈́́̔͜͠͝l̶̢͕͖̟̗͈̼̯̈́l̵͇̫̝̳̃̎,̷̫̮̺̹͉͕̈́̒ ̸̨̩͚̥͉̹̦͛K̴̞̯͓͖͍͛̔̊̿͜Į̸̄̓̈́̇̔̕͠͠L̵̨̻̥̩͔͉̊͌̑͒L̶̪͖͔̈́̉̐́̎͆!̵̬͍̺͕̯̌̓̌̿̊͒

That voice. The swirling, distorted mix of Isabelle's cries and...something else. Something frustratingly familiar that he couldn't quite place. It urged him onwards, twisted his own rage and made it something altogether more sick. This was the only clarity he would receive, and he had to make the most of it.

He shouted to her with the last of his will, and prayed she'd understand.
"KRISTEN! She--won't let me--stop! You have to--get me AWAY! PLEASE!"

 

[Kristen Pirian]

Kristen's eyes widened with alarm. What she knew for sure was that Sable's madness was worse than she thought. And, though she couldn't be certain, she took it on faith that Sable's shouted plea was perhaps coming from the last refuge of sanity within him; she believed it so not only because she wanted to, but because she had to. Else, what hope was there? Sable would in his maddened fury persist until either she or he was dead, and all Zettal would suffer in the meantime.

And still there was the matter with Zael. Gods, Kristen could only hope that Lumen was doing alright, that Zael hadn't done to her the base and treacherous things which a Rogue like Edric would not hesitate to do. But before Kristen now was her own fight, just as important as the one with Zael, and she needed to focus on it.

She formed a plan in her mind, one which would employ everything she had in the effort to bring Sable at least to a halt. She had no chance of getting him away—safely—without first subduing him.

The first step: chanting her verse from the safety of her vantage on the rooftop. It would appear to do nothing, but what Kristen had done was summon a whole host of Withering Chains just inside of the hole in the warehouse wall below her, unseen, these Chains meant to lie in wait if Kristen could but bait Sable into charging inside to spring the trap.

Then Kristen hopped down from the rooftop. Stood in front of the warehouse wall's hole. She by force of necessity had gathered the will to shape and project a Curse: not only was it vital for Sable's ultimate well-being, but it ought to entice him to come at her.

"Flickering, fleeting, your vaunted shields."

If successful, the Curse would sit heavily upon Sable's grasp of his magic, making the manifestation of his shields difficult, the maintenance of said shields even more so, like a candle that refused to be lit and even when it was so the flame sputtering out and demanding yet another strenuous effort to alight. Necessary, this, lest the trap she hoped to spring be easily defeated once again by the might of Sable's shields.

Sable Pembroke

 

[Lumen]

It would be easy to answer that question right away with a yes or no. But Lumen pressed her lips tightly together and looked at Zael. With the crowds dispersing in this area, she let more space drift between them. She still stuck close but not as closely as before.

If Sabe had been in her class up until two years ago and if the proctors had ordered them to fight at graduation, she would've done it. She would've fought like hell to stay alive and kill him instead of her. Because that's how they'd been taught and raised. At least, she told herself that's what she would've done. What if it had been Caeso? Or Zinnia? Or Ysobel?

She swallowed, knowing at least one of those three wouldn't have hesitated to kill her in that same situation.

Silently, she left another tracking spell behind as they walked.

"If Kristen and Sable make it to us. You'll have to explain it then." That was her only answer to his question. "And we should probably bandage that cut of yours eventually."

It was hard not to fall into her usual role of caretaker. Even with Zael.

 

[Zael Castomir]

Zael just nodded, understanding completely where Lumen was coming from. Hell, he'd just done that himself, hadn't he? The curiosity, maybe even the anguish, was chipping away at her and she wanted to know, but the answer couldn't be adequately given with just a simple yes or no.

"Yeah," Zael said about the cut. "We should."

The guards at the eastern gate didn't hold them up, merely asked the obvious question in passing: What the hell was happening in the market? Zael gave them the succinct answer which explained everything: Fuckin' Dreadlords. The guards, though they were all men and women who had of course done their time in the Anirian Guard, still paled at the mention of it. First that Proctor murdered in the street, and now this? Zettal just wasn't a place that saw this much commotion.

The outskirts beyond the walls only had some homes, stalls, farmhouses and all the like close to the road, and these faded quickly from sight as Zael and Lumen walked around the curving, snaking wall. Eventually, even what sounds of civilization could be heard on the other side of the wall diminished—a sleepy part of the already small town was opposite them inside the wall's perimeter. They came to a shaded spot amongst the trees and the brush, the main feature being the small pond only a stone's throw from the wall itself.

Damn, he didn't want to end up burning any of this. But, committed to this particular road now, it wasn't really his call if everyone was gonna be walking away peacefully or not, was it?

Zael took a seat on a large and smoothed rock. Pulled his hand from the gash above his brow. Looked at the blood in his palm. Yep. Always looked worse than it actually was, head wounds.

And with a glance up to Lumen. "Don't suppose you brought any real bandages along?"

Lumen

 

[Sable Pembroke]

The last of his reason gone, Sable was reduced to a charging bull. Things were entirely in Kristen's hands now. And what capable hands they'd become.

Sable rushed headlong into Kristen's trap, roaring and flailing as yet more of her infernal chains ensnared his body. Just as before, though perhaps now on instinct, Sable's wards began to push against the bonds even as they encircled him. But she'd accounted for that, too.

The curse took hold, perhaps minor as it might've seemed, and it payed dividends. The shields that he'd already conjured up cracked and shattered under the grip of Kristen's dark-iron wraps, the shards fading into nothing as they flickered from existence. New shields that Sable called forth met similar fates, now ineffectual in the face of this unholy onslaught.

Once again, Sable was pulled to his knees, thoroughly outmaneuvered. But surely Kristen's chains could not hold forever, and Sable was still frothing and fighting with every second. The mad young Dreadlord needed to be extricated from the town's borders, else more harm would surely come. What was her next move?

 

[Kristen Pirian]

There were in the lands of Cortos strange shows, often held in small villages. Within these shows, apparently, it was the task of a man to enter into an arena with a bull, temperamental creatures at the best of times, and to deliberately provoke it. Yet the show of skill came from the man's use of misdirection to beguile the beast, to toy with the beast's rage like a puppeteer does with a puppet's strings. A thrilling spectacle, of this Kristen had no doubt, for it was only the man's skill which kept him from grave injury or worse, and one mistake might well lead the man to ruin.

Kristen felt like she were a Cortosan in such a show, deliberately provoking the beast which Sable had become.

And like the spectacle of the Cortosi show, Kristen with a sidestep at the last possible second narrowly avoided heinous bodily harm. Sable went barreling through the hole in the warehouse wall, whereupon the Chains awaiting in ambush seized him at Kristen's command. He tried to struggle, but her Curse, thank the gods, was keeping capable use of his shields from his grasp. Impalers burst from the ground around Sable, the conjured metal further restricting the flailing of his arms, his legs, altogether looking like some hastily constructed, ad hoc wireframe cage.

With much of his movement restricted, the final touch, the last verse recited and the last tool in her arsenal used. An Ashen Crucifix warped violently into being inside the warehouse, right before Sable's eyes and where he had little choice but to look. It's paralyzing fear, should it infect him, would in conjunction with all of her other Conjurations help buy her those crucial and dangerous few seconds.

Kristen snapped a glance over toward the Zettal guardsmen. Saw one with a mace. "Your weapon!" she cried. And the man, with a commendable sense of urgency, drew it from his belt and tossed it toward her. Kristen caught it. Spun it around in her hand such that she would not be striking with the deadly head of the weapon, but rather its pommel.

In the Academy there were a few martial courses on how best to disable an opponent. These methods of "knocking out" someone were not always reliable, and the risk was high for all involved. Not much emphasis was placed on these classes, for in nearly every situation was it just easier and better to kill a fighting foe rather than deliberately attempt something like this.

But this was not every situation. This was Sable's life that was at stake.

"Aionus, bless mine aim and mine arm," Kristen said as she approached. "Let me strike true not for mine own sake, Lord Aionus, but for his."

The weight of arcane fatigue threatened to throw her off, but she had to push through. From behind Sable's lowered form she approached. In that instance her Impalers slid quickly back into the ground whence they came: this to give her the proper access for her strike.

And, teeth clenched, Kristen swung the mace's handle down at the head of her beloved friend.

Sable Pembroke

 

[Sable Pembroke]

Every stop had been removed, it seemed, as Kristen unleashed her arsenal of dark-divine spells upon Sable to greater and greater efficacy. A saner Pembroke would have found the time to be proud at how far she'd come in the short time she'd been at the Academy. Wit and strength in concert, playing together to fell a much mightier beast. Such a shame that he had to be the beast she now felled.

Through all the rage that infected Sable's heart, the fear she now inflicted upon him wormed its way in as well. The primal portions of his mind panicked. Something was wrong. Something he'd not been able to realize before. A terrible, dark flight had shadowed Sable for too long, and it was about to come home to roost. As that terrifying realization began to grip him, the handle of Kristen's borrowed weapon came down upon his skull, and everything went black.

---

Far enough away to be unsuspected of its meddling, but far closer than any mortal would likely have been comfortable with, an insidious force recoiled as the black of unconsciousness consumed its unwitting puppet. How long it had wormed its way through the poor boy's head, twisting and cavorting and tugging and tearing at the strands within that fragile things humans liked to call--oh, what was it...? Ah, yes: a psyche.

And such a strong-willed psyche it had been...for a human, at least. With that simple strike, compounded with all else the girl had done to the boy, the entity felt its strings snap and fall away. Not before, however, it also felt the barriers the boy's subconscious fought so hard to maintain crumble to metaphysical dust.

The entity knew now what was likely to happen. Someone was about to get very, very hurt. Oh, perhaps dozens might perish in the wake of the coming chaos, when that pitiful plaything awoke from his percussive slumber. A revel of madness to juicy to resist observing, even from afar. The noble human girl didn't have long now.

If a beak could smile, it would have done so, wicked and broad.

 

[Lumen]

Lumen glanced around, a tactical eye always to their surroundings. A wall a little ways away. Farmland in front of them. Zael in front of her. Hopefully Kristen would arrive soon. Hopefully Sable would...be okay? She had no idea what was going on back there. The sounds of their fight long since fading into the distance.

And so far, Zael was being true to his word.

She didn't know if she should be surprised or not.

His voice pulled her attention back to him and his bloody face. "Yeah," she finally breathed and shouldered off a small pack that was tucked beneath the shield she always carried. Plopping the pack on the ground next to the rogue, she took a knee to the earth and dug through it with her one functioning arm. Pulling free some bandages she stood.

"Might be better if you do it with two functioning arms," she offered the bandages to him. "How did you lose your eye anyway? I mean, if you don't mind me asking."

 

[Zael Castomir]

Zael accepted the bandages, and then started with the initial work of wiping away the blood already spilt. Yet it wasn't long before Lumen, curious with her question, gave him occasion to pause. Maybe the full story had made the rounds about the Academy, maybe it hadn't—or maybe it had been warped by too many re-tellings to be accurate. In any case, he ought to tell like it happened, leave nothing out, and let Lumen be her own judge.

"Graduation," he began. "After Fermin won his duel, I figured it was now or never. I had my mind all made up, you know? Today's the day I die—that's what I reckoned. Not because I was intent on losin my duel, no, because I was intent on goin after the Proctors. One last rebellion when all hope was lost. And wouldn't you know it? It was just my luck that Proctor Malaneaux and Proctor Kimble were the two closest ones, the two Proctors I had the biggest problems with. And I lucked out again: Henk, out of all the Initiates there, stepped up to 'fight' me. Coulda been somebody else, somebody like Bull, somebody who wasn't willin at all to go along with the little rebellion I had cookin in my head."

Zael stretched out the bandage roll.

"So I made my move. Flew right by Henk—damn am I glad he knew what I was doin—and drove my sword right through Proctor Malaneaux's chest. Didn't kill him, but it put him down for a moment. A moment I needed, cause you know Proctor Kimble was on his way, and he never really needed a reason to beat my ass. Sieglilly was right there; she wasn't cuffed, Henk was busy with another Proctor, and I knew I was gonna need a hand, so I called out to her to fight with us. But before I could even square up right with Kimble..."

Zael looked away. Pursed his lips. Then resolved to look back at Lumen.

"...Sieglilly used her TK to hold me still. Lock me in place. She was...just so damn scared for her Ma, Lumen. Proctor Malaneaux used to mutilate Sieg's Ma in order to motivate her, piece by piece, and she was afraid if she didn't side with the Proctors, then her Ma would be outright killed in retaliation. But Kimble was comin. I didn't...fuck, there was nothin else I could do."

He wet his lips.

"So I killed her. Incinerated her in a flash." Zael snapped his fingers. "Just like that. She's there in one moment, and then..."

Kress. Zael didn't have many regrets, but this...this was something he would never forgive himself for.

He took in a small breath and continued, "I was free of her magic then, but it was already too late. I couldn't get out of the way fast enough. Kimble had a barrage of Icicles that pierced me all over." At last he pointed to his missing eye. "Right here too. Head Nurse Ingrid said, if it had been just a little more this way or just a little more that way, I would have been dead. Would have joined Sieg right then and there. But...I guess one thing Graduation made pretty damn clear is..."

I'm sorry, Little Lilly.

"...not everybody who deserves to live, does."

Lumen Sable Pembroke

 

[Kristen Pirian]

Kristen almost couldn't believe it. For a good few seconds she stood there, a bit overwhelmed that not only had she come up with such an insane plan at a moment's notice but that it—solely by the grace of Aionus she imagined—had worked.

Okay. Quickly now. Gather yourself, Kristen. Focus.

The "noise" (not a true sound, but something which the magically-inclined could sense) that Lumen's tracking spell was making was conspicuous enough, and left by the characteristic of its pseudo-sound a direction for her to follow. East, it seemed. Mayhap Zael tried to run, and Lumen was in pursuit? Well, first things first, Kristen needed to get Sable out of town before she could even think about providing any meaningful aid to Lumen.

When she heard the group of curious Zettal guardsmen approaching the blown-in warehouse wall, Kristen wheeled around and impressed upon them the urgency of the situation. "Is there a wagon nearby? A cart? A wheelbarrow? Anything to help move him?"

Thankfully, one of the guards, a man with graying hair to signify his age, quickly said to his fellows, "Go! Go and find something with wheels! Anything!" And immediately the group dispersed about the produce market, searching frantically.

The elder guardsman looked to Kristen. "Is he...?"

"He will recover soon enough," Kristen said. They had mere minutes at best. "Hence why it is imperative to get him clear of the town, such that I might have space if all attempts at pacifying him fail."

"Kress..." said the elder guardsman, frightened. "You...you have help, right? In case of the worst?"

Kristen smiled, a gesture more to calm his nerves since it did nothing for her own. "I will. But first we must get him as quickly as possible outside the gates, where the danger to the townsfolk is least."

They were in luck. The guardsmen came rushing back with a wooden wheelbarrow, a few stray cabbages from the otherwise clear vehicle's bed still rolling out and meandering along the ground as they with all haste returned. It took no less than four men to haul Sable up and to lay him into the wheelbarrow, and again no less than four—two pulling from the front, two pushing from the back—to get the wheelbarrow rolling along the Zettal streets at a feverish pace. Kristen ran alongside it, one hand resting on the wheelbarrow's side, occasionally glancing to Sable as he lay within.

Not yet. Do not wake yet. Please.

Sable Pembroke Lumen

 

[Lumen]

A small frown as he finished. But surprisingly, there was no judgement in her eyes. Slowly, she perched on the rock next to him, letting the silence stretch between them.

“Zael, we’re made to be weapons. I always saw that as more.” She rubbed the back of her neck, then looked at him, keying in on his one good eye. “A protector. But we are always put in impossible situations with impossible choices. That doesn’t absolve us from facing the consequences of those choices,” her gaze drifted down to her cast and slung wrist.

Case in point.

“I’m not saying what you did was right. But I…understand. In a way.” Had there been another way? Could he have just burned Lilly to distract her long enough? Zael hadn’t known. And Lumen didn’t know.

“Just for what’s coming. Try not to hurt them. Us. Okay?”

The others in her class.

It was hard to say what Lumen meant. The bigger what’s coming or just the, hopefully, inevitable meet up with Kristen and maybe Sable.

 

[Sable Pembroke]

Darkness surrounded Sable on every side as he drifted through an endless void. He was out cold for now, yes, but his mind continued to race even within the prison of his subconscious. Within the swirling smoke of black, two hollow, white pinpricks opened in the distance, then drew near. Like spotlights of alabaster, they grew in size until a familiar, uncomfortable glare was upon Sable. It was a stare he knew well, for in the weeks prior he'd encountered its troubling consequences.

"Isabelle..." Sable called out in the darkness.

On cue, a head of equally stark and messy hair unfurled over the top of the eyes, a dress or too-large shirt draped its body, and the faintest outline of the little girl's ghostly form appeared to manifest. The entity floated a moment before coming to sit cross-legged in front of Sable, who now realized he was collapsed on the void's "floor." He picked himself up slowly, his body feeling like he'd been trampled by a horse.

The little shade stood reached her hand out, and hesitantly, Sable took it.
"It's time you remembered the truth, Sable," a voice echoed out, bouncing between the young Dreadlord's ears. This time the pain was much more dull, receding back to a minor buzz. He recalled how afraid Isabelle had been when he'd met her those weeks ago. As she pulled him towards a blinding portal, it was his turn to fear.

 

[Zael Castomir]

"Yeah," Zael said, leaving it at that as he started to wrap the bandage around his head. Sable had punched him, Kristen, of all people, had punched him, but he didn't feel at all like punching either of them back. He didn't want to fight any one of them at all. He hadn't gone Rogue to start killing Dreadlords, especially not ones he'd went through the Academy with.

There'd be plenty of talking, he was sure, when Kristen came along. But for now he let the sober silence linger.

Neither he nor Lumen needed to wait long.


Lumen Sable Pembroke

 

[Kristen Pirian]

From the path that Lumen and Zael had themselves taken to get to the secluded nook came an odd sight. A tall and lean figure, and behind it, flat to the ground, a large and bulky figure. Moving together. Closer they came, and soon could it be seen that it was Kristen dragging Sable along the ground with the magic of a Chain from her porcelain hand.

She and the Zettal guards had hurriedly gotten Sable out through the eastern gate. Kristen promptly thanked them for their help, dismissed them for their own safety, and advised further that they shut and seal the eastern gate just in case. This was done. Kristen, then, following after the markers left by Lumen, hoping indeed that all would be well when she caught up with her, endeavored to move Sable of her own power. Physically she had no chance of this. But magically? Assisted with the pulling force of her Hand-Chain? She could do it then. Such would leave her with both arcane fatigue and regular fatigue (the magic didn't do all of the work), so she hoped mightily that Lumen had Zael handled. It had to be a certainty, right? Her magic, with the deep freezes of which it was capable, ought to bring Zael to his knees.

It came as a surprise, then, when she arrived at the nook. Zael, sitting calmly. Lumen, sitting calmly. For a surreal moment the impression struck Kristen that they the three of them were all friends, all classmates even, that not a single thing was amiss, that they were all simply meeting for a benign and pleasant chat. The impression quickly faded.

Kristen stopped. The Chain wrapped around Sable retracted back into her porcelain palm.

"Lumen?" she said, eyes wide and wary, "What's going on?"

Lumen Sable Pembroke

 

[Lumen]

Head snapped up at the sound of approach. Pushing to her feet, relief rippled across her young face seeing Kristen. Then concern at Sable being chain-dragged behind the tall redhead.

“Are you okay?” It was stupid to ask if Sable was. Clearly he wasn’t. Lips pressed into a thin line as she looked back at the bandaged Zael.

“He agreed to come with me and wait outside the city for you,” eyes drifted back to Sable, “two. You mentioned you had some questions for him. We both do.”

She turned to Zael.

“I think Ganfarred Keep is still a big question for me. But…what happened with Jenna Siris? Those days you disappeared?”

Lumen knew Kristen would pipe up with her own. And Sable? Well. She hoped Kristen was praying to her god that he stayed incapacitated because Lumen didn’t want to face him. Because she saw too much of herself in him. At least, how he used to be. When he wanted to protect.

 

[Sable Pembroke]

Rushing, like the sound of a raging river, surrounded Sable. He was being pulled backwards through the chasms of his own memory. The seals had been undone. The efforts of his own subconscious, of his benefactors, of his captor, to keep him blind...all of them had now failed. Isabelle's shade pulled him onwards, and Sable felt himself shrinking.

A flash. No longer was he the mighty, towering Dreadlord of the present. He was a child, no older than five or six. He rubbed at his eyes with the edge of his fist. The tears of a crying child. His own tears. He was scared. The proctors were so mean. Training was so hard. Sable didn't want to swing a sword and hold a shield, he wanted to go home. He'd already been here a year, wasn't that enough?

Sable had cried so much. He hated the Academy. He hated the proctors. How long did he have to stay here? When could he see his mama and papa again? He felt a hand pat the top of his head, small and dainty. Through his tears he blinked up at a little girl with black hair, like his own, and big, soft, brown eyes. Isabelle. She smiled at him. Sable smiled back. She was his only comfort at the Academy, and he, hers. Constant companions from the moment of their meeting. Isabelle was the one thing that made life here bearable.

Suddenly, pain. A much larger hand seized Sable by the wrist. Dragged him along as his cries began anew, and Isabelle's protests joined him in a frightened chorus.

"You're weak, Sable. Your fear, your attachment, it makes. You. Weak," Proctor Hawthorne told him. "A Dreadlord, proper and true, has no need for such things as fears, nor friends, family. We will make you strong. You have such potential, Sable."
The proctor threw him into a chamber, and Sable fell to his knees. Before him, Isabelle was forced into a chair and strapped to it, gagged with cloth. He looked up to her, saw the fear in her eyes as she cried.
"A trait that your companion here, unfortunately, lacks. But that does not mean that she is without use."
Proctor Hawthorne gripped Sable's shoulder and pulled him to his feet. His heart raced. He'd never been so scared. He just wanted to go home.

"A Dreadlord must never fear. Not to fight. Not to die. Not to do what is necessary, no matter the task. No matter the order. You must be prepared, Sable, to use those around you to ascend--or you yourself may not survive. Do you understand me, my boy?"
Sable choked, his crying growing hysterical.

"DO YOU UNDERSTAND, BOY?!"
Isabelle whimpered, and Sable shook his head, tried to look at the ground. Proctor Hawthorne gripped the back of Sable's skull and made him look ahead.

"The girl, Initiate Marshal. She is to be your stepping stone. Your friend no longer, Sable. You will use her to rise, or she will take your place. That is the nature of our craft. Become strong, or be crushed, Sable."
"I...I don't understand, Proctor, please!" he begged. Proctor Hawthorne didn't like that. A sharp crack, followed by stinging pain. Hawthorne had struck Sable's cheek with the back of his hand.

"Reach out, Sable. Use that incredible, wondrous magic of yours on Initiate Marshal. Rise...or..."

The sound of chains, straps on a belt being released. Hawthorne's flail. The quartet of spiked balls clanked against each other. Proctor Hawthorne grabbed one and pressed it into Sable's cheek.

"You, instead, shall consign yourself to the pit. And Isabelle shall take your place. Choose, Sable."
Sable trembled terribly. Hawthorne meant it. He'd killed other initiates, Sable had seen. He was going to kill Sable. He was beginning to hyperventilate. Sable looked to Isabelle, his only friend, his only comfort. There was none to be found; she, too, was shaking and sobbing, inconsolable.

"CHOOSE!" the proctor shouted again, pulling Sable's hair tight. Sable didn't want to. He didn't want to hurt Isabelle. How could he? He wouldn't. He wouldn't!

"SABLE!..."

...But he didn't want to die. He was so scared, so tired. As his hand rose to touch Isabelle, he could only think of how much he wanted to go home. His fingers grazed her arm, and her eyes went wide. How could Sable have ever forgotten the look of horror upon her face? The sinking in his stomach as what happened next unfolded?

Isabelle screamed. The black, metallic spikes ripped through her tiny body. Her face erupted. Her body went limp. And Hawthorne held Sable's head towards her all the while. When the work was done, the proctor laughed, triumphant.

"Good, Sable. Good. Now you are on the right path. Now you are prepared. When one day your graduation comes, I will watch with pride as you strike down your opponent. I will beam as you ascend the ranks of our kin. You will be strong. Mourn not for Isabelle Marshal, for she, too, will exult in your future. You need only make it count."
Sable stared at the ruined corpse of his dear friend. Despair enveloped him like a blanket. And from his slumber, he stirred.

---

Unaware of his surroundings, Sable suddenly roused, drenched in sweat. In his fervent panic and boundless despair, he began to murmur.

"They...they didn't do it..."
How quickly that murmur became a scream.
"IT WAS ME! I KILLED HER! IT WAS ALL! MY! FAAAAUUULLLT!"

Sable's back arched and his fingers dug into the earth beside him as his words became a bloodcurdling roar of anguish, and the ground began to rip apart. Black, metallic spikes rippled from his skin and burst from the earth around him, then from each other, in every direction. Everyone and everything around Sable was in immediate danger as his magic--his true magic--went haywire.