Steel and Shadows

The next day, I lean on the observation deck's railing, watching the lush jungles of Ghyran roll by. Not much happened on the first day besides a few rot flies, daemonic insects the size of a draft horse, which were dealt with quickly enough by the emplaced cannons.

Around noon, Elythrae leans lightly against the rail beside me, gently bumping into my shoulder. "How are you holding up Vae?"

I chuff softly, "Food's terrible— but I'm okay. I spent this morning working through some katas, which helped me regain some focus." I turn to look at her, drinking in the way her onyx hair absorbs the light her alabaster skin reflects. "What about you? Any progress with your spell crafting?"

"A bit," she admits with a chuckle. "I've been studying how jade magic heals, and I think I can mimic it with gray magic. It's a work in progress, so nothing practical yet, but it's promising."

The canopy above us disappears, and the Harbinger of Trouble trundles onto a stretch of stone road overlooking a sprawling vista. For the first time since arriving in Ghyran, we can see the sky. Only a few dark clouds mar the otherwise pristine blue.

Most of the crew members who were not on duty join us on the deck and mingle, enjoying the fresh, clean air of the realm of life. Even Captain Heinz and Kaelith come up to admire the view. As the cogfort tromps down the road, for a moment, the sounds of the jungle die away.

"Did you hear that?" Elythrae asked urgently.

I shook my head, "No. What was it?"

"Something bounced off the deck."

Before she could continue, Captain Heinz cut her off, "Get below deck! It's a seed fall!"

Kaelith vanishes into his own shadow, teleporting below deck immediately. I pick up Elythrae and heave with my wings, flinging us forward towards the door leading below deck. Men and women rush the door as more and more seeds ricochet off the deck. A duardin watchman was too slow, a hail of seeds striking him and knocking him to the ground less than three feet from the door.

Knowing it is the just thing to do and would build goodwill among the crew, I snake my tail out and wrap it around his wrist. As I pull him inside, a human wearing a long white cloak rushes to check on the fallen duardin.

Leaving the medic to his work, I head to the mess hall. Seeds bounce off the hull, sounding like rain on a canvas. If I can't watch the view, I might as well get some lunch.

That evening, I lounged in on my bunk, watching Kaelith sit on the floor, laying out tools with exacting precision. Without his mask, the scars that twist his face are visible, the remnants of his ordeal at the hands of a Tzeentchian cult. I unconsciously tap the wrist of my wing against the wall in concert with the melody of the chains.

His rifle rests on the floor before him. It radiates an aura of bloodthirsty menace, dark metal traced with delicate golden filigree. The barrel is encased with a swirling glass-like chamber of varanite-tainted steel pulsing faintly. The body and stock are adorned with elaborately carved sigils of sharp, violent lines that seem to shift under the light. Kaelith moves with practiced ease, disassembling his weapon, cleaning, and checking the intricate mechanisms.

"It's a beautiful weapon," I muse.

Kaelith doesn't take his eyes off his work when he responds, "It's not just a weapon. It's an extension of myself. Like you, it's volatile. Every piece must fit perfectly, lest the whole thing fall apart or disintegrate my arm—or the room."

"You'd survive, though, right?" I ask in a lilting tone.

"I might," he said, looking up.

"But Elythrae and I wouldn't," I say in realization.

"Yes, so forgive me if I take this seriously," he teased, returning to his work.

I drag my gaze over the intricate engravings and sigils covering the rifle's length. "Those markings…" I begin, only to be cut off by Kaelith.

"They stabilize the flow of energy. They're carved using Kharadron tools and inlaid with emberstone to draw heat away from the core so the varanite doesn't detonate."

I get off the bed and crouch over the rifle, trailing a nail along the filigree. "The Varanite? How do you stop it from… corrupting?"

His hands still for a heartbeat before returning to their practiced work. "I don't." He flicked his gaze up to me, expression unreadable. "Working with varanite is always a risk. But when you need a sword, and the only one you have at hand has thorns on the handle, you still grab it because that's what you need.

I flick my tail irritably. "That sounds uncomfortably familiar," I mutter, a bitter tone creeping into my voice.

Kaelith carefully reassembles the firing mechanism. "You're not a weapon, Vaeryth."

I scoff, "I am, Kaelith. When Morathi ascended to godhood, she created the Scáthborn as weapons for her ambition and crusades. Then Malerion bound our souls together to act as his pawns in whatever scheme He's plotting."

"Vaeryth, we may not have all the information, but we still get to choose our path and our battles. Weapons—hell, tools in general—don't get to choose what they're used for. We do."

I sat quietly, mulling over his words. I begin humming in tune with the ever-present melody.

Kaelith breaks the silence as he sends the bolt home. "You should learn this process," he says, not looking up.

"Why?" I arch a brow, "planning on giving it to me?"

"No," he replies. If something happens to me, someone should be able to use it." He begins wrapping the rifle in a traveling cloak.

The weight of his words hangs between us, even the clanking and whirring of the cogfort quieting as if responding to the portent.

"Show me then. I'll learn," my voice an oath struck.

Judging the sincerity of my words, he stares at me for a moment, then unwraps the rifle and sets it between us. He disassembles the gun once more; this time, he slows his movements, explaining each step as he works. I listen intently, pushing aside the whispers threatening to drown out his voice.

For now, my focus is on the cold steel and intricate mechanisms before us, and for the first time in days, the melody dims to a dull hum.

I rouse from slumber late in the morning, the feeling of someone's gaze pricking at my skin. I open my eyes, trying to push away the pall of sleep. A sweet scent hangs heavy in the air. Noticing Elythrae perched on the side of my bunk.

"Ely, what's that smell? Are you making something?"

She shakes her head, "No, my muse. That scent is you." Her cheeks flush slightly, "I think your corruption is progressing faster than we thought. You're emitting the soporific musk of Slaaneshi Daemons."

I sit up abruptly, wings shifting behind me. "What? Ely, I can't go out there like this! The crew will notice. They'll know I am tainted and try to kill us."

Elythrae rises, her golden eyes locked on mine, steady and sure. She raises her hands, fingers weaving delicate patterns in the air as soft violet light trails behind them. "Be calm, my muse. I will not let this define you—not unless you want me to." Her voice is low and reverent, each word a tether that grounds me against the rising panic.

She traces sigils into the air, creating the framework of a spell. As it forms, shadows coalesce and swirl around me, drawn by her will. The scent fades, smothered beneath the layered veils of illusion. She steps closer, placing her hands on either side of my face.

"You are still mine, Vaeryth. You are still more than this corruption that coils inside you." Her fingers linger at my jaw, and her voice lowers to a near whisper. "Do not mistake my devotion for blindness. I see you—in all your beauty and peril. And I will keep you hidden from their eyes—from His eyes—until you are ready to face them."

Her words wash over me like a balm, soothing the frantic pulse in my chest. I close my eyes, feeling the shadows settle into place, masking the musk and the trembling need it evokes in the mortals who smell it.

"Thank you, Ely," I whisper, barely able to voice the words.

She presses her forehead against mine, her breath warm against my lips. "Always. But don't forget," she murmurs, "shadows cannot keep the dark at bay forever. You must fight—or fall."

I open my eyes, meeting hers, seeing the unspoken fear and adoration tangled within. "I will try, but I don't know how long I can last."

Later that evening, Kaelith, Elythrae, and I are sitting on the floor of our berth playing cards. "How long until we reach Greywater Fastness?" I ask, tossing a card onto the pile in the center.

"Heinz says we should be a little over halfway," Kaelith responds, playing his card. "He's growing anxious at the lack of clues to the convoy's disappearance."

"Hush," Elythrae commands. She gets up, turning her head back and forth. Kaelith and I watch her with concern, and then I hear it, too—irregular tapping and scrabbling from the outer wall of our berth.

"That's trouble," I grumble, "The best place for hostiles to invade is the door to the observation deck." I grab my twin swords, Rapture and Ruin, strapping them around my waist as I rush through the tight halls of the cogfort. Following me, Kaelith straps his rifle to his back but draws two hand crossbows instead, Elythrae following shortly behind.

We burst through the door, ready for a fight. A pair of night watchmen startle at our abrupt arrival.

"Is everything alright," one asks, confusion and concern thick in his voice.

I'm about to answer when I spot the glint of eyes beyond the railing. I slide Rapture and Ruin from their scabbards, the glowing crystalline blades coating the deck in a soft pink-purple hue. The guard stiffens and yelps as I rush him.

I thrust past him, stabbing the humanoid rat man climbing over the railing. Rapture bites deep into the skaven's shoulder, slicing through its spiked red armor. "Stormvermin," I shout, flicking Ruin out and opening the rat's neck. My movements flow with unnatural, otherworldly grace and elegance, every strike a perfect harmony of beauty and violence.

The melodic hum in the back of my mind grows louder. A shiver runs down my spine as Rapture and Ruin drink in the vitae of the felled creature. I can feel His gaze upon me—warm and approving, intoxicating. My pulse quickens, the glow of my swords beating in time with my heart.

Nine more Stormvermin swing in from the darkness, landing on the deck. I beat my wings, throwing myself at the nearest group of three. I twirl, twin blades flashing out. Rapture tears through the armor of one rat before nicking two more. Ruin follows its twin, decapitating the first rat. I stomp down and beat my wings, launching myself into the air.

Yes! Faster! Deadlier! Their struggles are nothing but trembling applause for your brilliance. Let the weight of their failure bow before your grace. Drown them in your ecstasy, my perfect predator, my beloved shadow in the storm. My breath catches, and I hesitate for the briefest of moments before diving back down towards the deck.

Twin bowstrings twang and a sickening crunch resounds as two bolts burry into another rat's head.

Elythrae's voice resounds over the din of battle, "Veil of shadows, shroud their breath, Bow to beauty, the Queen of Death. Silken whispers, venom-spun, choke their cries—let terror run. In darkness drowned, my will is done!"

A cloying fog of shadows rushes from Elythrae, swarming the Stormvermin and forcing its way into their noses and mouths. Coughs rack their body as they stumble. Two Stormvermin rush Kaelith, stabbing out with their rusted halberds. One nicks him, scoring a line in his leathers. Three more last out at Elythrae. One pockmarked blade biting into her thigh, pinning her, while another of the vermin stabs into her gut.

Rage floods my being, sharpening my focus. I shriek, diving down at the worthless things that dare touch what is mine. Whirling like a top, I carve through the creatures surrounding Elythrae. Rapture and Ruin flash, drawing power from my emotions and the anguish they cause. One falls in a spray of arterial blood. I stab a second in the head. Lashing out once more, I drive ruin through the detestable thing's heart, staring into its eyes, drinking in its fear as the light leaves its eyes. Slaanesh purrs at the divine beauty of my elegant dance.

Kaelith fires point blank into the heads of the two skaven accosting him, scattering blood and grey matter across the deck.

Elythrae grunts in pain and points, shadows condensing into a ball in front of the two remaining skaven, detonating in an explosion of darkness that swallows all light. When the wave of darkness passes, all that's left are mangled bodies.

Before we can celebrate our victory, an explosion rocks the Harbinger. A flash of fire and shrapnel blasts out from the rear of the cogfort, banishing the blackness of night for a moment. The cogfort tilts to the side, veering off the dirt road and into the jungle. I lunge forward, grabbing Elythrae, and brace as the cogfort smashes through the trees and foliage. Delving into dangerous territory and way off course.

I carry Elythrae inside, Kaelith following close behind. A muffled cry echoes through the voice pipes, "Help! The rats are in the engine room!" I look at my wounded companion—lover, a lecherous part of my mind whispers— to check over her wounds.

"I'll be fine. We need to go to the engine room. Go, I'll follow."

"Alright," I concede and sprint through the gun deck. No threats remain. The crew killed the rats who managed to get in through the gun doors.

Smoke rises through the cracks in the floorboards as I scrabble through the corridors of the crew deck and descend into the engineering deck.

The heavy steel doors to General Engineering have been pried open, massive rents in the steel from something's claws. Taking the lead, I push through smoke billowing through the sundered doors. A hulking beast with scrap metal armor grafted to its skin crouches in the doorway, blocking the entrance to the engine room—an atrophied runt of a rat stitched onto the rat ogre's back. It clambers towards me, dragging itself forward with its gun hands because of the short ceilings. As it moves, I catch glimpses of a hunched rat man, metal plates jutted from its spine, grafted into its flesh with crude rivets, hissing faint trails of greenish steam. It raises a staff crackling with green lightning, smashing it down at the core.

Once, twice, and on the third hit, a brilliant pulse of white light bursts from the core. Immediately, the strength leaves cogfort's legs, and it crashes into the ground, throwing everything not nailed down into a wall.

Elythrae cries out in pain as she hits a wall. I manage to keep my feet and flow forward, dancing over broken crates and debris. I whip Rapture and Ruin at the creature, carving shallow cuts in thick, ropy muscle, my blades growing brighter and brighter with every slice.

Kaelith pulls the varanite rifle from his back and takes aim. The varanite-infused bullet slams into the stormfiend's chest. An ear-piercing screech rips through the air as the bullet pierces the fiend, opening rents in its armor.

Elythrae gets to her feet unsteadily and lobs a spear of shadow. It streaks through the air and phases through the armor, blood seeping from the cracks between the plates.

The stormfiend swings the massive guns grafted to the stumps that remained of its hands, slamming into me and crushing me against the pipes lining the corridor. Pain and pleasure blur and mingle into an overwhelming cacophony; the inner glow of Rapture and Ruin blaze like twin suns, casting impossible shadows through the corridor.

I twist under its arm and jump up to its back, plunging Rapture into the atrophied rat thing on its back. Using Rapture as a handhold, I dig Ruin the nape of the rat ogre's neck.

Behind me, the Warlock Engineer stumbles out of the blazing core room, its whiskers smoking. It shouts at its stormfiend pet. "kill-kill man-thing, stupid, stupid rat!" The hulking beast doesn't acknowledge the command and keeps clambering towards my companions. It's at this moment the rat-man notices the blade sticking out of the atrophied rat's chest.

It shrieks, leveling its staff at me. "You kill-kill, brain rat! I kill-kill you!" Emerald-green lightning blasts out of the staff in a torrent of energy, but an instant before impact, the lightning changes hue. The magic of Ghyran transmutes the unnatural lightning, infusing it with life energy.

I feel bones pull themselves into place with a series of pops, clearing some of the storm of sensation in my head. The rat's eyes bulge, and its smoking whiskers twitch frantically, "No-no! Impossible! Should have flayed-burned! Not Fixed! FIXED?!"

Ignoring the incensed screaming, Kaelith smoothly reloads and fires another round into the rat ogre under me. The creature screams and falls on its face as its right arm uselessly falls limp.

Elythrae chants out her sinister spell once more, sending choking shadows to steal the skaven's breath. The rat raises its remaining gun, blasting a wild torrent of emerald bullets. Elythrae raises a barrier, but the strain is evident. A rivulet of blood trickles down from her nose.

Cloaked in shadow as he is, I can't assess Kaelith's condition. Trusting in my companions, I charge the warlock engineer. Ducking under its staff, I bury Rapture into its gut and twist, spinning as I whip Ruin into the creature's neck, lodging the blade into its spine. Arterial blood splatters across my face, coating me in gore as I turn to aid my companions. Elythrae executes the beast with a shadow spike to the head.

Alarms blare, and Captain Heinz's voice resounds through the voice tubes, "Abandon fort!"

"Let's go. Kaelith, Look after Ely, I'll guard your rear."

He nods, slinging her arm over his shoulder, and helps her run after the fleeing crew.

All of us who survived the attack run full pelt into the uncharted Jungle. I glance behind us, watching the wreck disappear into the dense foliage. The last thing I see is a skaven, a head and a half taller than the others. Its tattered midnight blue cape flutters behind it as it fires a hand cannon wildly in the sky, screeching in victory.