Panic

The battle at the docks was over in moments. Ciara's power worked terribly quickly, overwhelming the guards and raising them to attack their one time comrades. Throughout the maelstrom of death and decay, Ciara began to change as well. What little remained of her charred flesh withered and toughened, the bones which had been broken ossified and thickened giving her a strange limping gait. Her matted and burnt hair was replaced by wispy white strands that hung from a blackened and withered skull. Her eyes became two blazing pits of darkness, brimming with necrotic power. As she moved through the streets of Caer Ashwynn, Darruk at her side, she killed anyone she saw. Her eyes were focused on the steps of the great palace as she moved inexorably towards them.

In her mind, Ciara watched all the chaos 'she' was causing and reveled in the destruction. She felt justified and exultant as she watched those who had betrayed and hidden the Greater Power that Annatar had bequeathed her. As she began to climb the steps, a voice gurgled forth from her lips, a voice that sounded alien and strange to her.

"Keepers of ancient and broken pacts, I have returned." The air began to shimmer in front of her and a thin rime of frost began to cover everything. From the shimmer emerged a delicate looking, impossibly pale and thin elven figure, resplendent in ornate ice armor, a great two handed blade of ice in its ethereal hands.

"Abomination", the figure addressed Ciara in an otherworldly voice. "You who have been hidden from Fate dare to mock the Archfey here, of all places?"

Ciara stood before the Archfey and laughed again, a hollow chittering noise. "I am that which was forsaken for no other reason than I EXISTED!" As her voice rose in anger, a redoubled wave of decay assaulted the area around her, and Ciara felt all the life nearby being sucked into her, granting her even more power. Yet still, she hungered. For, beyond those gates and the protective Archfey, Ciara could feel the object of her hunger-lust.

"I will desecrate this holy place and spit in the eye of The Mother, creature. Stand aside or die."

A sense of great sorrow washed over Ciara, as she felt the presence of The Mother very near at this moment. Guilt threatened to consume her as memories of those she had fed upon assailed her. She steeled her will, allowed the rage she was always feeling take over, opening her jaw and screaming in primal rage. A cloud of inky blackness roiled forth from her distended jaw and began to cover the Archfey.

The Archfey was the current head of the Winter Court, an immortal being who granted magic gifts to those who followed its pact, very near to attaining godhood itself. But when the black cloud engulfed it, it began to scream in agony, small patches of what looked like rust began to eat away at its delicate androgynous face and body.

Ciara watched with satisfaction as her attack began to melt the creature from the inside out. "Die, pitiful creature, as my Father once broke your pacts so shall I now desecrate this palace with the blood and death of the entire Kingdom!" The rage bubbled forth from Ciara in a mighty pulse, the could of blackness engulfed several city blocks at once. Screams of pain and death could be heard wherever it passed. A group of royal guards began to form up at the top of the stairs. Elves that had lived over five centuries, they remembered the Emergence, had once stood against Gods, they were unmatched in bravery and training.

Ciara looked at them coldly and laughed again. "Darruk." She spoke to her massive companion and laid a dead hand on his back, infusing him with Dark Power. She felt his muscles twitch under her hand and heard him roar in approval, raising a massive and rusty greatsword. "Kill them all." She instructed gravely.

Darruk roared his understanding and charged towards the gates of the great palace, elven blood spattered on the doors moments later.

*****

Far from the realm of mortals, in a paradise known as Elysium, the Gods dwelled. The Mother lived in an eternally green and fresh spring glade here, and existed as little more than a pure idea. Her sentience seeped throughout Arbre, existing in every blade of grass, every river stone, every fruit tree. She felt the incursion of Ciara very keenly, and had summoned her guest to help deal with the situation. A nondescript, very plain looking human woman garbed in grey travelling clothes shimmered in the air for a second, alongside a nine foot tall woman wearing silver plate mail, with flaming blue hair.

"Mercy, Zaurielle, thank you for meeting me here," the Mother began cordially, the two figures drifted to opposite sides of the glade and settled to the green and soft grass. The taller, plate clad woman bowed in respect, a massive blade slung on her back that veritably dripped with divine flame, even its scabbard.

"To what do we owe this pleasure, Great One?" Zaurielle spoke calmly, but her eyes were focused on the form of Mercy, eyes narrowed in anger.

"You are both aware of what is transpiring now in Caer Ashwynn, I assume." The Mother's voice was soothing, yet tense. Zaurielle nodded and sighed sadly. The Mother now shimmered into existence, an auburn haired half elf clad in a simple druidic robe of pure green. She turned towards Mercy, "This is the second time you have indirectly caused death in this sacred place, Mercy."

Mercy stood and stared at her one time companion with anger in her eyes. "You are so quick to assign blame, Shaylee. Why is the Angel here?"

Zaurielle sprang to her feet, the blazing sword suddenly in her hands as she shook with rage. "You efforts to cover your indiscretion nearly resulted in the death of one of MINE!"

The Mother raised a hand for peace and spoke gravely. "Zaurielle, you are here as a courtesy. No. Weapons. Here." She closed that mighty hand into a fist and Zaurielle's blade vanished with an audible *pop*. She then turned to Mercy, "I am aware of my share of the blame here. We should have killed him, Mercy. And you know it."

Mercy's form almost shuddered for a second before reforming and staring at The Mother. "Probably. You know why I couldn't."

Zaurielle composed herself and spoke again, "Yes, and now so do I. The result of which may destroy all of Caer Ashwynn. Was THAT fated, Mercy?"

Mercy cast eyes downward for a moment before replying softly. "No. This is all beyond Fate. Not even I know what is supposed to happen here." She let that sit a moment before adding, "And you are not the only one who almost lost a follower, I *did*, yours still lives." An image of Sagacious appeared before them, sitting with Scarlett, the image of Mercy reached out and brushed Scarlett's face with a gentle hand.

The Mother gestured and all of the images vanished in a spring breeze. "Mercy, your child must be stopped. They cannot be allowed to carry out the vengeance of its Father. I cannot interfere, its rage may even destroy me, which would bring chaos and ruin to all of Arbre. Thus, the two of you," she gestured at the Archangel and the Goddess of Fate, "Need to help." She added while glaring at Mercy, "For once."

Mercy glared openly at this insult and took a moment before replying, "What can we do?"

Zaurielle concentrated and her weapon apparated in her hands again, and she slowly sheathed it. "We must help our followers. I have an idea…"