Last Resort

"General! General Hellebore, please!"

Veratrum might as well have been shouting after a wall. General Hellebore kept marching down the Wildheart's corridors, implacable as an oncoming storm. Each step rumbled through Veratrum's bones, but he didn't stop following.

Hellebore often accused him of having nothing in the way of common sense, and Veratrum supposed the claim held some merit. Any other soldier would have stayed clear of the General's way when he was in such a mood, his Levia blooming so dark and heavy Veratrum felt like he was choking on it.

Veratrum couldn't blame him. Not only had they yet to capture the prince, but they had lost the homunculus knight's wizard as well.

No thanks to a traitor of a whore and his human toy. Veratrum clenched his teeth, more certain than ever that they should never have allowed them back into the Infernal Legion.

No doubt Hellebore was thinking the same thing, so there was no point in bringing it up now. As Hellebore walked faster, Veratrum had to work harder to keep up. The last thing he wanted was to lose track of the General in the dimly lit passages of the lower decks.

When Hellebore came to a stop, Veratrum's heart jumped. Only for it to sink all the way back down to his stomach when the General kicked open a hatch below him. There could be no mistaking his ultimate destination.

"General!" Veratrum called one more time, futilely. Hellebore had already descended into the hatch.

As soon as his head went under, Veratrum ran after him. By the time he clambered down the ladder, Hellebore was already standing on the floor.

Though Veratrum could hardly see him through the sickening green light flooding the hold. Cursing his weak vision, he blinked watering eyes until he finally managed to discern solid shapes.

It was impossible to miss Hellebore's broad silhouette, stark against the harsh glow from the tanks along the bulkheads. The Levia within stood Veratrum's hair on end and filled his mind with a droning buzz. Beneath it, he could sense only the faintest hint of Hellebore's otherwise overwhelming power.

Slow and deliberate, Hellebore pressed his hand to the tank in front of him. The Levia swirling behind the glass thickened and condensed, gathering beneath his curious touch.

"No," Veratrum choked out. "Please, General, don't."

"Shut the fuck up." For the first time, Hellebore spoke. Despite the harsh words, a dizzying relief spiraled through Veratrum. If Hellebore was acknowledging him, it meant he could still be reached.

"I don't need your gormless bleating. Stay out of my way," Hellebore went on, pressing his hand harder against the glass.

"General, please, think about what you're doing," Veratrum insisted. "This Levia was gathered for the usage of the Infernal Lord himself. If he finds out you accessed it without authorization – "

"You think he'll care about that? You think I do?" Hellebore's shout lashed like a whip. "He'll be thanking me once I'm done here."

"The – the extraction machine has been destroyed." Veratrum hated himself for how his voice shook. "If you use this Levia, we won't be able to replace – "

"Yes, that's right," Hellebore snarled. "The extraction machine's fucking broken. We've lost both it and the target the Infernal Lord specifically charged us with acquiring. How much else do you think we'll lose if we don't put a swift end to things?"

Suddenly Hellebore curled his hand into a fist and drove it into the tank. The glass held fast, but the Levia inside swirled chaotically. "Seriously, how the fuck did this drag on so long? All we've got to do is defeat some island yokels and a single skycraft, and we can't even manage that?"

"General – "

"Shut up, Vera. If you're not gonna help me, stay outta my way."

Horror clenched Veratrum's throat when Hellebore drew his fist back. Vines slithered down his arm to curl around his knuckles, their thorns swiveling until they all faced forward.

Blinded with panic, Veratrum lurched toward his general. "General, I'm begging you – "

Hellebore gave a casual flick of his free hand. Veratrum barely had time to feel his Levia deepen before a vine erupted from the floor and wrapped around his throat. The sudden pressure made Veratrum gag, white spots dancing in his vision, and it didn't help when the vine tightened and hauled him kicking and squirming into the air.

Meanwhile, Hellebore marched upon the tank with his fist drawn back. Even as the vine squeezed the breath from his lungs, Veratrum fought with everything he had. Scrabbling with his nails, tugging until his arms ached all the way to the sockets, trying to find the slightest amount of leverage.

Finally, he managed to yank the vine a couple of finger-widths away from his throat. He gulped down a grateful breath before screaming at the top of his lungs, "General, stop! You don't know what it'll do to you!"

Time to throw all caution to the winds, every last pretense that he was doing this for the Infernal Lord's sake. In the end, his reasons were much purer, and much more selfish.

If Hellebore absorbed the corrupted Levia, there was no telling how it would affect his body. He might be one of the strongest demons in the world, but this Levia stemmed from forces even greater and more fundamental. A spirit of the ocean itself. It might grant him power, but at what cost? His life. His sanity. His very sense of self.

Veratrum couldn't, wouldn't, accept that. Not when he had sworn to become General Hellebore's most loyal follower.

Even if he was weak, even if he was unworthy – oh, how he knew he was unworthy – he refused to break that vow. Nothing was worth a world without his general, not even a victory over Prince Darian.

"Quit whining!" Hellebore roared. "What kind of Infernal Legion officer are you? If you really wanna stop me, go right ahead! Prove to me you're stronger!"

The vine dug in tight, choking off Veratrum's breath. Hellebore kept on ranting, his voice echoing around the hold. "Oh, that's right, you can't. Because you're a worthless fucking weakling. Maybe if you were stronger, I wouldn't have to resort to this. Ever thought of that?"

The accusation lanced through Veratrum's heart. He couldn't fight back, not when it was true.

"You already know, don't you? In this world, strength is everything. And with this, I will have the strength to defeat all my enemies."

'No, no, that's not it...,' some dim voice whispered inside Veratrum's mind. 'There's more than just strength....'

But he couldn't say it aloud, not with the vine strangling him. Couldn't do anything. Through his blurring vision, he watched helplessly as Hellebore charged. As his fist swung through the air, as it slammed into the tank with a sickening crash. The thorns pierced the glass, carving deep gouges.

Hellebore extracted his fist, shaking off bits of glass. Then he swung it again.

'No,' but Veratrum's voice wouldn't come. The second blow echoed through the hold, drowning out even his frantic heartbeat. Then came an earsplitting shriek, followed by a rain of glittering shards.

And a deluge of toxic light. It wiped Veratrum's vision blank, stabbed into his skull like thousands of knives. Dimly, he felt the vine loosen around his throat, then release him. He hit the floor with a dull thud but didn't feel any pain. Now that he was free, he had to get to Hellebore....

But he couldn't move, not beneath the overwhelming rush of Levia. It felt like it was flaying him alive. Somewhere up ahead, he thought he glimpsed a wavering, flickering silhouette. Arms spread wide, hair billowing like a mane. Some blind instinct compelled him to reach for that silhouette – or rather, the power that dwelled inside it. That deep, dark Levia like an ancient forest....

No use. All he sensed was the noxious green light, carving his soul wide open. And a voice, one he knew better than his own – yet he'd never heard it like this before. Cackling maniacally, so harsh it stung even worse than the storming Levia.

The voice rose higher and higher, until it sounded less like laughter than an agonized scream. And though tears stung Veratrum's eyes, though he fought and struggled with all his might, he couldn't move a single muscle.

All too fitting for one as weak as him.