Out of all the dangerous people waiting around in the palace hall, Laczlo feared the one named Feia the most. Oskar and his band kept close to the entrance, but with a few paces between them and the Soulborne standing guard. Most of the druzhina were still waiting close by in the adjoining rooms, ready to attack upon his call. And Isak stood with him, protective and reassuring. Feia's mask of nonchalance slowly faded as time wore on. From lounging on the throne, she stood, then began pacing. The biggest of the Soulborne loomed near her like a loyal guard dog. Or a druzhina, perhaps.

If anything goes wrong here, it will be because she initiates it, Laczlo thought, watching her mutter curses and angry declarations to herself. And so, he was the first to notice when she stopped abruptly and frowned at the Soulborne around the hall. Laczlo followed her gaze from his spot in the middle of it all, still near Iarek's body. The Soulborne certainly stood still, but nothing was visibly different about them. But then the guarding Soulborne rasped out something to her, its gaunt expression bending, then breaking into one of furious bloodlust.

Laczlo stepped away from them, retreating a few steps to the mercenaries. He gestured for Isak. "Something's wrong."

The druzhina picked up on it immediately. "Shall I call the others?"

"Not yet." He bit his lip, watching Feia's eyes widen, jaw twitch, muscles spasming for control like snakes writhing under her skin. His hand fell to the blade still at his side.

But there was no grand attack, no casting of horrid Spells—the Sorceress just closed her eyes and seemed to focus. Laczlo watched her closely, trying in vain to feel whatever magic might be at work. She huffed out in frustration, though the closest six Soulborne moved suddenly, marching close to her to stand in a loose, defensive formation. There was nearly another score in the chamber still as statues, however. Why? What's going on? He squinted at the Dead. They looked frozen, not even swaying or shifting as the ones near Feia did on occasion. Daecinus is dead. Dead or injured or something… He's lost control. Laczlo's mind raced. How long until the creatures unfroze and rampaged across the palace like mad beasts? Until they scattered through Nova? Deus, it'd taken a few dozen druzhina to put down a few with only minimal casualties. What would happen if even five Soulborne escaped their reach into the city's population? How many would die?

He needed to do something.

Laczlo glanced behind him and found Oskar watching him. So he strode over and whispered, "Something's happened. Most of the Soulborne are no longer held by Daecinus. Look at them."

"Hard to say. They get real still sometimes," Oskar replied.

"Look at Feia then." He nodded over to her, halfway across the great hall. She was still focusing intensely, trying to pull more Soulborne into her control, if he had to guess. "She's claiming some of them—asserting control. Whatever it is Sorcerers do. And I saw her reaction to what the big one said—"

"Protis?"

"I couldn't hear the words. But Protis, as you say, told her something and looked enraged. And so did she. I don't know how they work, but—"

"Fuck." Oskar started marching over to Feia, gripping the hilt of his sword. The others drew up behind him but kept some distance.

Laczlo watched on for a moment in shock, then jogged to catch up. "What are you doing? We can't risk antagonizing her!"

"You can't, you mean."

"If we talk it out together, maybe we can avoid anything reckless—"

Oskar glared at him. "Just stand back, Voivode."

Before he could reply, Feia turned to face them, a thin bronze rod held in hand. She stood a dozen paces off. "Fight me, and you shall all die."

"I think it's time you left this business behind," Oskar said.

"What?"

"He's dead," he replied matter-of-factly. "His Soulborne have stopped moving, haven't they?"

Her face darkened. "And you believe, in your small mind, that this should convince me to abandon him? That I should tuck my tail and run from the duty fate thrust upon me?"

"Oskar," Stanilo warned, trying to intervene.

But the ex-druzhina warded him off with a glare and said, "This vendetta you have is done. People are dead. A whole lot of them. Nothing good's going to come of this if you continue. Now, you have a moment here—a single moment—to take what you got and leave Nova for good before your luck runs south. And it's going to, Feia. When those druzhina learn of what's happened, they'll come kill you! And that will be that." He smacked Laczlo in the chest with the back of his hand, making him flinch. "You're lucky this one here doesn't want a whole lot more good warriors to die, but sooner or later, those druzhina are coming. And when they do, I can't help you."

Feia was silent for a long moment, staring at him. It wasn't the same animalistic rage that consumed her earlier, but something quieter, more… unstable.

"I can guard your retreat, Voivode," Isak whispered to him. "Just say the word."

Feia's eyes flicked towards them, then back to Oskar, narrowing. Like a viper preparing to strike. "You know nothing of me if you believe I would flee now."

"Doesn't matter what you want. There's nothing else to be had here," he said, voice turning pleading. "A retreat now is the only good choice left!"

"Wrong." Her eyes narrowed into dangerous slits. "I can still get what I came for."

Laczlo's skin prickled and his hair stood on end. Over the last few months, he'd become terribly accustomed to violence in all its awful forms. And now, he felt it clear and vivid as a blade upon his flesh. As soon as the words left her mouth, he scrambled back, drawing his sword and shouting out, "Voiya!"

As he moved, a thin streak of green sizzled the air in ancient decay inches away from his face, where his head was but a moment ago. Feia cursed, lowered her bronze Sorcerous rod, and screamed, "Kill him!"

The six Soulborne moved at once. All but Protis leaping towards him with such speed and power that they halved the distance to him in the blink of an eye.

"Son of a—" Oskar jumped forward, joining Isak between Laczlo and the Dead with his sword drawn. "Protect the damn voivode!"

The doors to the palace burst open, and scores of waiting druzhina charged in. Whatever Soulborne had been guarding them weren't there or were frozen still.

But Laczlo didn't have time to celebrate his judgment, for the Soulborne were coming. The dozen or so mercenaries formed up with Oskar just in time for the Dead to make contact. In a clash of arms frighteningly close to a cavalry charge, the Soulborne just about burst through the line of men. Massive axes swung in huge, deadly arcs. Like a farmer cutting hay grass with a scythe. One man's arm flew wide, gore splattering across the room. Another's head smashed to pulp, bursting with bone and brains. Men screamed. The Dead worked in silence.

Laczlo went to join, shaking himself into motion, but Isak grabbed a fistful of his silk robe and shoved him toward the large doors leading out. "Run!"

His legs didn't move for some reason. He stood still, sword held, pointed at the carnage. "I need to—"

He was cut off when a flash of sickly green struck the charging druzhina. Four sizzled into ash and bones in an instant, crumbling like degraded statues pulled to the ground. Some faltered, most continued charging. Soon after, another ray exploded three others at close range. Feia was about to send another arc out when Protis snatched her and went to run. A spear flew through the air and caught the Soulborne in the leg, tripping it, sending Feia skidding across the stone. Laczlo traced the throw back to the captain of the druzhina, Paltas, who drew his sword and charged in, following a bellowing Oiir. Protis turned and growled, taking its axe in both hands. Three of the five surviving Soulborne attacking Oskar's band turned and charged the mass of druzhina.

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Not braced like the mercenaries had been, the Soulborne did even more damage this time, stomping over men and plowing others to the ground. Laczlo even saw a torso separated from a pair of legs.

One of the Soulborne broke through Oskar's line and charged Laczlo, but Isak lept in the way. He hacked through part of the monster's writst and ducked the axe, then made a thrust at its belly, blade scraping off iron plates. A massive pale hand jerked forward and caught his arm, yanking the warrior into the air. Isak howled as its fist began crushing him. Axe held near the head, the Soulborne prepared to smash the blade into his face. Laczlo took his sword in both hands and attacked. It was a sloppy strike, mostly cracking ineffectively across the arm armor, but it was enough to weaken the Dead's grip. Isak dropped, rolled past a stomping foot, and stumbled back just in time to take a glancing axe blow against his mail. The impact was heavy and painful, nearly crumpling the veteran druzhina, but still, Isak stood.

Before the Soulborne could attack again, Laczlo's druzhina were upon it. He didn't know how they escaped the others to intervene, but here they were, hacking, stabbing, and swarming the armored creature like wolves on an injured bull. Men snarled, shouted, screamed, roared with spit and blood-pumping hate. All sense gone in the madness of a call for Voiya. The Final War.

Laczlo caught his breath, feeling faint and weak, head a blur, as his men did the work. He wanted to jump in, but Deus, he could barely stand. Bone weary and beaten to a pulp from earlier. So he could only watch in sick fear as the men who'd come to his rescue didn't stop when the Soulborne was dead and turned towards Feia, fighting against Protis's efforts to hurry her away.

This woman, caught in the crossfire of his civil war, victimized and terrorized, didn't deserve this. Did she? Laczlo was scared. Frightened so beyond fucking belief, he wasn't sure if he'd pissed himself in the madness of everything. He wanted to run. He wanted it to be over and put it all behind. He caught a glimpse of Vida in the mess of druzhina, trying to protect him, trying to kill the enemy. The same fear lanced him, making him almost gag. He thought of what Feia might do to Vida, to his people, his family. There was no middle ground here. No more room for negotiation. This was the end.

"Voiya!" he shouted, voice cracking in desperate fright. Sword raised high, still stained red with the blood of Ygon. "Kill them all!"

…

Oskar stood side by side with Stanilo and watched his men die. One by one, they fell to axes and tearing teeth, for at least Feia's Sorcery was reserved for the druzhina. When Laczlo screamed out his call for death, he felt himself go cold as a corpse. All but two Soulborne were still alive—one of them was Protis, standing right by Feia, the other caught in the middle of the thirty-some druzhina, fighting with the desperation of a cornered beast.

"Fuck," he whispered, watching the druzhina charge Feia. Rays of Sorcery ripping through them. Her hands were veined in black. Her neck too. She's taking on Corruption, he thought, staring in horror. She's killing herself.

Two druzhina got close, thrusting spears at Protis. The Soulborne swept them aside and hacked one's head off, then pounced on the other and bit in deep, ripping half his face into meaty shreds. But more warriors were closing in.

"Feia!" Oskar shouted. "Run!"

Her eyes were peeled back wide, teeth exposed in a snarl, face stretched in the rigor mortis of mindless war and hate. Another beam of green took a man to his knees in agony as his mid-section disappeared, crumpling in ash and muck. She doubled over, almost collapsing. Her limbs twitched, body shook, fingers curling sharply as her mouth opened in a shrill scream as her black veins writhed underneath her flesh.

That's when Oiir took his opening to strike. The old, loyal druzhina went to run her through with his sword. Protis was busy with the onslaught of others. Oskar shouted out. His feet carried him forward. His arm reared back and swung down.

Oiir's iron helmet took most of it, but the momentum of the swing saw Oskar's blade skid down, connecting with his exposed neck. The druzhina's attack faltered as he turned, trying to defend himself. Too slow. Oskar's follow-up smashed through the man's brow, bending the nose guard, hacking halfway into his skull, dropping him instantly. For a moment, Oskar hesitated, staring at the dead druzhina, breath sour and thin in his lungs, shoulders aching something fierce. Then he turned and hurried to Feia and hauled her to her feet.

"You need to go," he said between gasps. "Run!"

She stared at him, then turned, rushed over to Protis, and daggered a man on his knees trying to cut into the Soulborne's wounded leg. "Keep moving! We can kill them yet," she hissed.

Oskar huffed in frustration and turned to face the coming druzhina, standing tall as he could. "We gotta protect her!" he shouted to his men.

They stood in a ragged bunch, apart from the druzhina, not sure what to do. Stanilo grabbed one man's shoulder as he went to join the fight, stopping him. "It's over, Oskar! It's done."

"Stand with me!" He kicked a druzhina's shield, shoving him back as others slowly pressed in, wary of his blade. They came in by the dozens, now. Too many to fight on his own. If he just had his band with him. If they could just fight together! "Come on now! I'm the chief, aren't I? By all the bloody Dead, fight with me!"

He parried a spear thrust and retreated another pace, risking a glance to Feia. She hadn't gone far, still beset by druzhina, still casting Spells and growing weaker by the second, hunched and weary. Protis had scores of wounds across its body, armor dented, scratched, and covered in human blood. Its axe was a dull hammer now, crushing bodies and skulls with each swing. How it still fought, Oskar couldn't say, but it did. No other Soulborne were alive. It was just them.

"Fight with me!" he shouted once more, but not a man moved. Not with Stanilo in between them and him. Not even Miras, always ready for a desperate fight. "Come on. It's Feia! She's still one of us!" He wanted to throttle them. What were they doing?

Feia collapsed, Artifact tumbling from her grasp, eyes rolling into the back of her head. A woman—Laczlo's bloody friend from Delues—lept toward her with a blade ready. Oskar ran forward. The dagger plunged into Feia's leg, pulled up with a spray of black-specked blood, and went to dive in again. Oskar screamed and swung for Feia's attacker. She fell back just in time, catching a cut across her shoulder. Oskar kicked her as she scrambled up, knocking her back, giving him enough time to sheath his blade and scoop Feia up. No time to fight. No time for anything.

Holding her close to his chest, light as she was, he shouted to Protis, "Run!"

The Soulborne hesitated, its face a snarl, its black eyes void of everything but slaughter. Then it turned and ran ahead, smashing through two druzhinas trying to bar the main doors, crushing one with its foot, knocking the other back with the haft of its axe before breaking the doors open. Oskar hurried after, panting, arms already on fire from keeping Feia's limp body from slipping from his grasp. Tears stung his eyes. He didn't know why. When they cleared the doorway, Protis took the rear and hurled its axe at the pursuing druzhina. Oskar heard it crash amongst the men and win screams and shouts of pain.

"Fuck, fuck, fuck," he mumbled, stumbling along, eyes wide for somewhere to go.

The palace courtyard was a mess of bodies, empty and dark. Like a nightmare. Where do we go? Gods. Oh gods. He stared around, then caught the towering outline of the Column in the distance. If he's alive, he can help. So he jogged on as fast he could, growing weaker, slower. The sound of men behind. Closing? How long could he keep it up? He dared not think about. Just focused on the running. They were getting closer. Shouts behind. He was gasping, wheezing, teeth clattering in between each breath.

"Keep going," Protis growled out beside him. "Bring her to Daecinus. He lives."

"What? Where are you—"

The Soulborne stopped as they passed under the palace walls, blocking the small opening at the gates with its massive form, tall as a man and a half; a scavenged sword in one hand, small as a dagger in its massive fist; other arm limp at its side, torn and damaged; helmet a dented mess; face a gnarl of cuts.

Oskar hesitated, about to say something about fighting together, or at least staying together, but then he turned and ran on, leaving Protis behind.

Down wide roads and past estates, monuments, and city squares, all empty as the palace courtyard. All silent except for his pounding feet and raspy wheezes. The distant echoes of clashing iron behind. Protis's last stand. Fading from distance, from mind.

He ran for the Column. More of a stumbling jog, soon enough. A half-conscious amble. Oskar hawked out a mouthful of thick, acidic spit and went to take another deep breath when he tripped and fell, turning to take the blow on his side, spilling Feia out before him. He groaned and crawled over to her, prying her off the ground and to his shoulder again. She was so light, so still. He squinted at her, then bent to put his ear to her chest. She was barely breathing. Those black veins across parchment-pale skin pulsed. What did it mean? They writhed and twisted. She still bled from the earlier leg wound, but it wasn't fast enough to kill before the Corruption.

"It's just the Corruption. Just Sorcery." Oskar searched himself for the ruby from Rotaalan and pulled it out. It was cold as a block of ice. "Here. This has power in it. Use it!" He put it into her hands. "Come on Feia, fight! Don't give in here. Fight!" Nothing was happening. The jewel didn't glow and give her renewed strength and life. It just sat in her hand, dull in the pale moonlight.

Feia's eyes fluttered open. They were black as a Soulborne's.

"Feia?" he whispered, staring at her in a kind of dumb shock, "that you?"

She didn't respond, just coughed, spitting up inky blood.

"We've got to get you to Daecinus. Maybe he can help…"

Feia was staring at him. Her eyes held his in a demanding glare.

"No. No, don't even—"

Her hand trembled. He reached out and held it, the ruby in between, icy and hot at the same time. She gripped his back with fierce strength as her lips opened.

Oskar leaned in.

"Now," she hissed.

"What? Gods! No, don't be a fool—"

"Now."

His mouth went dry as dust. He put his hands around her neck and hesitated. Her eyes accused him. He shut his own and squeezed. "Damn you." Feia shook, writhed, and tremored, but she was too weak to do anything. "Damn you!" Oskar crushed her throat in his hands for a minute until she stopped. Then a little longer. He wanted to run away screaming, but he stayed until it was done. Until she was dead, and the black Corruption stopped working away at whatever sliver of humanity was left.

Teeth clenched, he lifted her again and stumbled to his feet, then tripped and fell, legs a wobbling mess. He groaned, leaning over her, and took in another raspy breath before hauling her up again.

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