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[[FrivYeti/CalinPg11/Calin | Table of Contents ]]
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The first thing that registered was the pain. His Essence was restricted, his power drawn back, and dozens of wounds scarred his body. Wind brushed against his wounds, cooling the fire of the poisons that the Terrestrials' weapons were coated in. Silence surrounded him, the world holding its collective breath. Marcaeus ran through the undergrowth, dire lance in hand.

They abandoned me. All his life, Marcaeus had counted on the support of his friends and family. With his Circle, with his lover Shiann, and with his mentor and advisor, Julith, he had stood against the Primordials and their dread spawn. He had lived in slavery, won his freedom, and reigned supreme over the world, but deep down he knew that it was only because of his compatriots that he had done this.

But when he had awoken, Shiann was gone, vanished to gods-alone knew where. Her magics had taken her from him, and when he searched for her, he found himself always blocked. Then came the second betrayal. His servants turning with weapons of poison and flame, and his attempts to defend himself had faltered when Julith's own magic had blocked his Charms, leaving him defenseless when he had least expected it. His Circle was dead; he had seen Fravell's corpse in the training yard, watched as Tykara burned, falling from the sky as her sorcery failed. Only a moment's hestitation on the part of his former troops had bought him the moments needed to escape, and he feared that they would soon recover from the Charms he had unleashed against them and give pursuit.

"Marcaeus!" The Zenith spun in the undergrowth, raising his spear, before he registered his last companion.

"Zulin." He smiled widely, nodding to the Eclipse. "Thank the Sun. I thought that you must be dead, too."

"No. They tried, but they're only Earth-bloods. They can't stop a true child of the Sun." Zulin smiled cockily, spinning a slender orichalcum knife around his hand. "I saw Tykara fall; I never thought that Julith would turn on us like that. The others?"

"Fravell is dead, killed by the Dragon-Bloods. And Shiann is gone." Marcaeus sighed. "I wonder if she knew..."

"Bah! Just like a moonchild, running when they could stand. We'll do better without her." Zulin's smile widened. "I have a plan, Marcaeus. We can turn this around."

"How?" Marcaeus raised an eyebrow, and waved his hand in the air. "This was a major attack. They were prepared. It's happening everything, Zulin. I tried to contact Guthari, in the capitol, and got nothing but static."

"No matter. I have the weapon we need. Or at least, I will." Zulin's smile grew dark. "Remember the engines. We can reverse them, unweave the entire region and plunge it deep into the Wyld. My Charms will protect us, and when it is done, we can reweave the nation however we choose."

"Are you mad?!" Marcaeus stared at Zulin in shock. "Those engines don't just manage here! They feed out to Karlak! You'll kill hundreds of thousands of people, maybe millions!" The images played out through the back of his mind, of people screaming as their souls were dissolved in the force of the Deep Wyld.

"They chose to oppose us, they will pay the penalty." Zulin turned, and started up the mountain. "Besides, it's not like anyone important is there."

Something broke within Marcaeus. "They were right." He raised his spear, sending lines of golden light curving around it and lancing out towards Zulin. "Our lives aren't worth that, Zulin!"

The second spun, raising his knife and sending golden beams sparking into the woods, igniting trees and underbrush. "You fool! Our lives are all that are important! We are the Golden Ones!" He leapt fowards, spinning through the trees. As Marcaeus raised his spear into a spin, turning it into a solid wall, he spun, and as Zulin sprang from five trees at once to strike, the spear was there to defend against him. The Eclipse rolled backwards, but even as he rolled to his feet, fire was blossoming from his left fist. It seared through the woods, but Marcaues leapt through it, driving himself Elsewhere for a fraction of a second as his spear flickered in and out of existance. The two weapons met halfway between Creation and Elsewhere, richocheting through reality, and crashed back into the world in their owners' hands. Marcaeus knew that he was the better warrior, but he was weak. He had to perservere.

"Damn it, Marcaeus! I thought you, at least, would understand!" Zulin dove into the earth, rising from it behind Marcaeus with his knife shimmering with force. Marcaeus leapt over it, using his spear as a vault, and drawing it from the ground to stab backwards with all his force. The spear clanged all but harmlessly off Zulin's flesh, and Marcaeus landed ten yards away.

"I understand. We can't destroy them all, Zulin. We're the reason they revolt." He sighed, raising his spear again, and thousands of golden needles poured off it, his entire being focused into the attack. "I've worried for years now, trying to help you all. But I can't. We never had that power."

Zulin staggered, tried to roll away only to find the spines following him and slamming through him. He collapsed to the ground. "Marcaeus..."

"Goodbye, old friend. I'm sorry." Marcaeus held the beam until Zulin, his knife, and his very bones were reduced to nothing but a soft glow, and then resumed his hobbling. He was nearly to his destination.

Slipping into the cave, he took one look around his private sanctuary. One day, it would call someone else to it, and they could become a hero. Heavens knew that he had forfeited that right. Although he didn't regret killing Zulin, he regretted the need, and knew that he would never be whole again. Heavily, he stepped to the statue of Sol Invictus dominating the centre of the chamber. Carefully, he placed his spear into the statue's hands. "Unconquered Sun, forgive me my trespasses. I was too weak to understand. Now I do." Removing the hearthstone he always wore from his bracers, he fitted them into the haft of the spear, and then turned to leave. Soon, the Dragon-Blooded would find him, and they destroy him. He might even fight, some, reflexively. But it would end. One day, his spear would be found, hopefully by someone with the heart to use it.

But it would not be him.

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