The elf called Nysta often dreamed of her father.
In her dreams he was a tyrant. A nightmarish beast of savage power draped in his black cloak of office. He'd swoop down upon her shivering body and scoop her up with dry insect arms. His face, an impassive mask.
Alien.
Always, she would scream. Beat at his chest and rake splintered fingernails across his face.
The gates of his Hold would open.
The streets, thick with ice and snow, would beckon with casual violence. He would hold her, away from himself. Suspended by the scruff of her neck like a mewing kitten. Glowing red eyes studying her struggles as though surprised by her pleas for forgiveness.
Not for having done anything wrong, but for having been born in the first place.
For a moment, they'd almost connect.
And she thought he might relent. Might pull her back and hold her close. Whisper apologies and promises.
Then the sharp exhale of poisoned breath and he'd toss her hard into the howling maw of the frozen street.
Rolling across the ice, Nysta wept. Tears scarred her cheeks. As she shuffled away from the only home she'd ever known, she cursed his Hold. Swore never to look upon it again.
But no matter where she went, the chains of blood which bound her still tugged at her soul. Called to her. Sang to her.
Now, as she moved with desperate stealth toward the gaping hole rent in the tunnel wall, the elf found her mind filled with that recurring nightmare.
Her knuckles, white around A Flaw in the Glass, threatened to crack.
She wondered if her father knew.
Wondered if it ever occurred to him that she'd been the one to burn his Hold to the ground on the day she left Lostlight forever.
Her mouth curled into a cruel line toward the scar on her cheek as she remembered the smell of smoke. And her heart beat harder in her chest.
She'd faced her nightmares, she told herself. Faced them and turned them to ashes. The dream which used to leave her curled up in a weeping ball now left her smiling in the dark.
It was, she reckoned, how to deal with fear.
Destroy it.
Rubble was strewn across the tunnel ground. Deep scars showed where the creature's chains had gouged deep into the walls of the cave. Smeared blood, both old and new, were sign of the creature's gruesome burdens.
More bodies for the wall, she thought.
Shouldering up to the edge of a gaping hole at the end of the tunnel, she sucked a deep breath and glanced at the warlock with an expression which questioned whether she should take the risk of looking inside or not.
He edged closer, grimoire wide open in his trembling hand.
Though fear was a vivid aura around him, he nodded for her to take her first look at the creature she could hear shuffling inside.
With dread causing the hairs on the back of her neck rise like steel pins, she rolled her cheek along the edge of the wall. Slowly.
Carefully.
Holding her breath as she looked within.
The chamber was enormous. The ceiling reached so high she could barely make it out as more than a covering of shadows.
Centuries ago, the chamber may have been regal.
But mould and deep cracks torn into the smooth plaster tainted what echo of pristine glory there may have been. The chamber was lit by many large torches set against the far wall.
The light seemed afraid of the gloom and didn't reach far.
Shattering any last impression of finery, a mass of steaming oil-drenched gears and immense pulleys were assembled along the left side. Crude because they looked to be made from whatever junk had been littering the area.
Chunks of stone and twisted metal.
Charred wood.
Bones.
Some of the gears were as large as houses and the iron chain links were wider than she was.
She frowned. Knew that somehow, the chaotic junkpile controlled the walls outside.
Figured the explosive gusts of hot air had something to do with the steam jetting from a few massive rusted pipes which ran up the side of the chamber like metal veins. Vapor hissed from small cracks here and there as though proving this theory.
She pursed her lips as her eyes slid over the contraption. There looked to be no way they had the combined strength to work those massive gears. So, the barrier outside would remain closed.
The brutish stone tiles around the construction were cracked and broken, and in some places the sodden oil-soaked earth bubbled out of the uneven depths. Ghostly fumes drifted from beneath the surface and the foul soil looked ready to spit out its dead.
Two giant pillars formed a massive arch in the middle of the chamber. Carved smoothly from the same stone as the shattered mountain itself, they were given the task of keeping the heavy ceiling from collapsing on the room. A task they'd performed faithfully for thousands of years.
Perhaps longer.
Hunched at the far end of the long chamber was a throne of massive size. Glittering darkly, the throne seemed made of polished obsidian and steel. She couldn't make out any distinctive design, but there was something about it that made her uneasy. Like it was alive.
Like it was staring at her with curious amusement.
Just beyond the throne, however, she could make out another breach in the wall, and she chewed her bottom lip thoughtfully.
But by far the most disturbing thing she could see was the shrouded creature marching slowly in a wide circle in the centre of the chamber.
He was huge. A hulking mass of muscle bigger than any ogre she'd ever seen.
She gave a dry swallow at the slow pace of every step. There was something horrible about the way he moved. Something unearthly. And also weary.
Greenish-grey skin gleamed wet in the flickering torchlight.
Draped in tattered blue robes, the creature looked like something which had itself only just emerged from the cold depths of a tomb. But these features stirred nothing in her. It was instead the chains which made her shiver with the cold touch of fear.
Chains, many as thick as her wrist. Some thicker. Dozens of them. They flowed like shredded metal wings from his back. She could see, even from this distance, how the links burrowed into the creature's back like iron serpents.
How his own blood dribbled from the constantly agitated wounds.
She could see the impression the chains left as they coiled under his flesh and snaked around his bones. They were all through his body, reinforcing the thick muscle. She winced as she thought that maybe they were the only thing holding him together.
This explained the weariness of each step. How each movement added to his torment. That each slow aching step served to soften the agony he might feel if he moved any faster.
She withdrew slowly and pressed her head against the tunnel wall.
Sighed.
Looked up at the pitted ceiling and wondered just what the fuck she was doing here.
It was Raste, not this tortured creature, she wanted to kill. Seeing the pain the chained creature felt with every step had numbed her desire to rip its heart from that monstrous chest.
"Good news, Chukshene," she said quietly to the expectant warlock. His expression began to lift in hope before she dashed it with; "It really ain't a dragon. Definitely your friend with the chains. And he's a big fucking boy."
"Shit," he rubbed hard at his temples. "Now what?"
She stuck out her bottom lip thoughtfully. "Kill him, I guess."
"You don't sound pleased. For a change."
"Nothing about this fucking place is pleasing me," she said sourly. "Reckon we should get out of here, 'lock. Quicker the better."
"Agreed. So. We kill him. How?"
"You reckon you can fry him?"
"Not sure. Depends."
"On...?"
"How powerful he is. Normally, I'd say it's pretty easy. I mean, he's a big enough target, so I can't really miss. But there's magic surrounding him. And I can't tell how strong it is. But it's old. Ancient, maybe. At a guess, I'd say it's fucking strong. I mean, that wall he's put up around us? That takes power. Lots of power. I could summon something. A minor demon or two. But that takes more time than I think we've got. He'll hear us long before I finish. Anything I can use on him will have to be simple. I'm guessing it might end up being relatively powerless." He glanced back down the tunnel, as though hoping she'd suggest they return that way.
"How powerless?"
"Ever make spitballs when you were a kid?"
"Shit."
"Right. To be honest, I think he's gonna skin us. Put us on his fucking wall. Best we can hope for is to be dead before he pins us up."
"No need to make me a picture," she growled. "Anyway. Fuck it. We ain't got a choice. Tunnel's collapsed. Looks like this is the only way out. But to get through, we have to get past that bastard somehow. So, best guess time. What's the best way to kill him?"
"Best guess?" He squatted in the dirt, running his fingers through his lank hair. "Silver. Don't suppose you've got a silver dagger on you somewhere?"
"I look like someone who'd need a fancy letter opener?"
"Never took you for the friendly type, no," he admitted. "So there goes that idea."
"Nothing else?"
He shook his head. "Look around. You think this tunnel dates back to the Godwars? Well, I think that thing is even older than that. In fact, I'll bet he was here all along. Snug in his lair while Grim and Rule pissed all over themselves out there. Maybe that's what woke him. Maybe he's trying to get his power back. I don't know. I'm just making shit up because I just don't fucking know. When you start looking at things like this… Things from the most ancient years of our past? Well. You're looking at shit which has crawled straight from the Shadowed Halls, Long-ear. Shit which has no right to live. Whatever he is, all I can tell you is he's old. He's angry. And the fucker's probably un-fucking-killable. Now, there's still time to turn back. Find another way out. But if you really want to go in there, Nysta, then I have to tell you something," he stared up at her with a bland expression. Took a deep breath. "I haven't enjoyed your company all that much. There. I said it. I can die in peace now."
"Never asked you to follow me, Chukshene. Fact is, I reckon I told you not to."
"And if I did everything I was told to do, Long-ear, you'd be fucking dead!"
She was about to ask him what he meant by that when a low moan grated up the tunnel from the chamber. The elf felt her heart skip a beat and she whipped to the corner to look sharply around the edge.
The hulking creature was frozen in place, glaring hatefully toward their position. Eyes glowed icy blue and his mouth slowly opening to reveal sharp yellow teeth. As she watched, he let out another gut-wrenching moan.
She jerked back into the tunnel, spine crawling as fear gripped tight.
His voice cut through the air like mallets pounding meat. What he was saying, she couldn't make out. His voice was too deep. Too dry. But it didn't sound friendly.
"Too late to back out now, 'lock," she growled.
Chukshene snapped open his grimoire and shuffled through the pages. "Oh, shit," he croaked. "He's coming, isn't he? He knows we're here. Oh, fuck. I knew this was a stupid idea. A fucking stupid idea. What the fucking shit was I thinking coming out here? Now I'm going to die in a fucking hole in the fucking ground. You know what? I should've followed that fucking horse. Smart fuck, that horse. It had the right idea. But, no. I follow the mad fucking elf. What the fuck was I fucking thinking? Insane fucking bitch is gonna get me killed. I- Nysta...?"
She met his imploring gaze. Smoothly drew and twirled A Flaw in the Glass in her fingers.
The venomous glow rippled around the blade.
"Let me guess," she sighed. "You're gonna need a few minutes?"
Despite terror scratching at his veins, he looked relieved. "Thanks."
"Better be something real good in that book of yours," she said. Took a few quick breaths, filling her body with oxygen. Feeling that ice cold ball of fear spin faster. Ready to burst. "Or we're fucked."
"Just keep him busy," the warlock said, not looking up. Finger stabbing at lines on his page.
She nodded curtly. "Sure, Chukshene. But don't you keep me waiting with baited breath."