Light's Death

    Felanya sat on the grass with her back against the south outer wall of the Tower. She drew her knees to her chest, resting her elbows upon them as she watched the sun fall behind the hills.
     "It's been a long time since you did that," Corridan observed. He vaguely remembered seeing her watch a sunset, long ago before the world knew her as Felanya, and before they knew him as Corridan. He sat down a couple of feet away from her. She had not heard him approach, had not seen him walking along the wall, but she had not been paying attention.
     "It's been a long time since I'd wanted to watch the sun go down. It's different than I remember," she shuddered slightly. Everything was drenched in golden rays, but none of it was as bright as it should have been. Before the world fell away she had taken comfort in the rise and fall of the sun. There was always the certainty that after the world turned dark the sun would return, bright and beautiful, come the next morn. This world held no such certainty. Perceptions could be altered, and even if sunsets went unchanged, her eyes could still be made to refuse to see the light.
     "Who is remembering?" Corridan stretched his legs in front of him. The dark robes he wore - a deep grey, but not black - reminded Felanya of the Orient, but she couldn't quite remember what the Orient was.
     "I don't know," Felanya admitted. The world hummed uneasily, attempting to fill the brief silence.
     "Why are you here?" Corridan was curious, not truly concerned. He looked at her sideways, scrutinizing her.
     "Acharya fights Vincent tomorrow." She rubbed her own shoulders, trying to brush away a cold that had nothing to do with the fading light.
     "Yes, that was announced an hour ago. Acharya chose witnesses and weapons. Our presence is requested," his tone said that he found Acharya's choice of witnesses slightly odd. "As well as Lyahr's and that of a few initiates. After sunset, we are to move to one of the sparring chambers." He paused, considering her actions and the response to the question he had asked. "I didn't know you cared for Acharya so much," Corridan smirked slightly.
     "That isn't it and you know it." Felanya shook her head emphatically. "I care nothing about Acharya. I do not know or understand the being that has given us orders since darkness took us. Since we let darkness take us," she corrected herself. "That's not the point. The fact that he is still called Acharya means something. It means that, after more than a thousand years, Torankhayel is still not completely in control." Her eyes narrowed as she remembered the shadow clinging to Vincent's skin. "But Vincent is an altogether different monster. It was never about good or evil for him. I can see the cruelty in his eyes now, the… nothing. He makes no effort to hide it anymore, and it scares me." She looked at Corridan, slightly unnerved by the objective, analytical look in his eyes. "Not much in this world scares me, Deviant. Not after being trapped in my own mind for… ages." She studied Corridan's lack of a reaction because she hated to see the gold turn to red; hated to watch the world bleed to dark. Not to death, death was peace and quiet. This world deserved war.
     "Then you worry that Acharya will lose." His smirk had faded. While always more certain and more stable than the other who had faced the Rift, Corridan remembered sleeping in the deep caverns, and he understood fear. He understood that what lay in some minds could be more frightening than any evil from the Rift.
     "Yes," she sighed. She didn't like admitting doubt or worry, but it was there and had to be dealt with. "I worry. I remember what Vincent was capable of before the Rift opened. I have seen the shadow that flows through his body now. The monsters of the Old World were diluted, but it would appear that Torankhayel has touched Vincent. We all had so long to sleep, and while we've been conscious for several years now, none of us know exactly all of our capabilities. We cannot know all of his," she knew she was rambling, but she did not care. She was trying to make a point, and would use as many words as it took. "He is not at all what he once was, and if he gains power over this world, then hope dies. Not even a fool like myself will able to cling to it."
     "I worry too," Corridan admittedly tonelessly once she had finally fallen silent. "I worry that no Mage here has any control over what they claim as their power. I worry that you are more of a liability Awake than you were tainted. You've got power, that's obvious. But you are not an entirely stable person, and this is not an entirely stable world. I do not know if I trust you, as you are. Those things worry me. Tomorrow evening's… duel does not." The hum of the world shifted as the last rays of the sun died. The stars would wait to show themselves as the world hung in the limbo of grey half-light and insect song.
     "I worry first about this world. Then I worry about the consciousness that Acharya claims, and Torankhayel struggles, to control. He was admirable, and that is a rarity in any world. If Vincent wins, both will be destroyed. Trust me or don't, you know it to be true." She looked around at the dark grass and wondered where the insects hid as they sang.
     "Yes, I know it to be true," Corridan nodded. "But I am not worried about Vincent winning. I know this to be true: the world has never completely fallen, and I don't believe that it will. There is a battle coming again, maybe a war, but it does not matter who fights it, as long as someone fights."
     "I think it might matter. The outcome might change if thieves and murderers fight."
     "We are thieves and murderers," Corridan laughed.
     "So I'm beginning to remember." There were things that her body had done that her mind had not told it to do. There were memories that drifted to the surface of her mind, memories of all the ways she had killed to further the false cause of the Magi. Admitting to being a fanatic and a slaughterer of parents and children hurt. "But there is hope for us still. As long as Vincent does not gain power, there is hope for us." She stood, brushing the grass off of her grey dress.
     "Artisan will take care of himself," Corridan spoke over his shoulder as Felanya walked away. "That's what was admirable about him. He's always managed to take care of himself before," memories of fierce casual spars forced Corridan's lips to twitch into a sad smile.

     "You're stalling, great leader." Vincent had propped himself against a wall with his arms crossed, tapping a foot and sneering impatiently as Acharya rifled through stack after stack of papers. "You've had your day, the sun has set, let us be done with this," he sighed.
     "The Tower doesn't run itself, imbecile." Acharya sighed. "Initiates need orders, chambers need cleaning, robes need washing, sheets need laundering. The statues need looking after, there are animals that need to be tended - or have you forgotten that we're not all monsters like you?' Acharya spoke without breaking his concentration as he looked over each page. "And, of course, there is the miniscule detail that battles rage over the whole of Sharan'akar and not a single Tracker has any initiative anymore. The Then'kael is naught but a bauble now, and the Sun-Chylde is joining the resistance, presumably. My best Magi are here, adapting to a new… mindset. These all amount to this: my Cleansers travel exactly where I tell them to, kill exactly the people that I order dead," he sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. "They do as they are told, nothing more and nothing less."
     "So you run this world like an efficiently crumbling business," Vincent smiled as Acharya sat back, crossing his arms over his chest. Vincent knew that his comments would grate on the man's nerves, but he didn't see just how tense his presence made the Acharya's muscles. "All of those difficulties, you poor man. If running this world is so much trouble, so much work, then why fight to keep control over it?" Vincent walked around the desk as he spoke, staring down his nose.
     "Because it is mine," Acharya shrugged. "It is mine, and so you cannot have it."
     "Based on principle, right? 'It's mine and you can't have it,'" Vincent mocked. "That's very mature."
     "Don't lecture me about maturity, vampire. You're centuries old, and you act like you are four," Acharya spat, staring at the monster in front of him. Cold light danced in his eyes. "You pick petty squabbles like a child in a sandbox."
     "Then make me stop, Artisan!" Vincent shouted gleefully. "I am what I am because no one has the power - or the balls - to make me otherwise." He grinned, wondering why such colourful phrases had faded from "modern" speech. "But apparently you believe you do, so make me stop. Tell me to straighten up, live right! Beat me into submission and make me pay for my crimes! Make me pay for yours too!" He slammed his hands on top of Acharya's desk for emphasis, feeling the wood give slightly. Acharya stood, placed his hands calmly opposite Vincent's, mimicking the vampire's pose threateningly.
     "If it will shut you up, fine! Let us be done with it." Acharya sighed, eager to be able to pummel the arrogant grin off of Vincent's face.

     The fight was set to begin in one of the circular sparring chambers. The coran'hai were bolted into the walls, high above the ground where it would be unlikely that they would get smashed in a fray.
     The witnesses were lined against a small section of the wall near the door to the main halls - ten of them in all, watched as Acharya and Vincent chose their weapons. The armory for this chamber had long ago become its own room, carved into the back of this chamber and separated by a grandiose archway. The best and deadliest weapons to be found in the Tower - and in the world - were ordered, alphabetized and shelved here.
     Lyahr stood near the door, Felanya was close to his left but keeping her distance. Corridan stood to her left and to his left the initiates were lined against the wall. The three superior Magi had never seen any of the initiates, and did not know why Acharya had chosen them. Depending on the way this night ended, they might get a chance to inquire. Lyahr glanced down at Felanya, but said nothing. He had nothing to say, and probably would not have much to say in the future. He had become nearly inanimate since Dalnek's death
     Felanya noticed the glance, and in turn looked at Corridan.
     "Let this play out," he sighed, crossing his arms. "Don't do anything stupid."
     Felanya smiled faintly. "I make no promises, but I will try to keep from being too much of a human female."
     She, and everyone else, watched the archway and not another word was spoken. Acharya and Vincent could be seen perusing shelf after shelf of brightly polished, finely honed instruments of death.
     Acharya emerged first holding a long blade known in the Old World as a rapier. His right hand curled lightly around the hilt, and was mostly concealed by the silvered handguard. The confusion of bright metal was more for decoration than actual protection, it seemed. The older Magi recognized the sword and knew the blade to be an alloy of steel, platinum and silver. The metal was folded to make it stronger, and etched along the blade's length with designs of phoenix feathers.
     Acharya stood, slightly rigid, near the armory door. He looked at no one, instead letting his bright sapphire eyes watch the uneasy swirlings of the coran'hai.
     Each orb darkened slightly as Vincent stepped out of the armory. His blade was simple, hammered to a slight curve. The Old World called it a katana, this world knew it as simply another weapon. The hilt was wrapped in black silk, an ebony tassel hung from the pommel. The blade looked strong and Vincent held it casually as he moved to take a place opposite the Acharya, still grinning.
     Acharya sniffed the air, letting a small chuckle leave his throat. "I should have guessed you would pick a poisoned blade."
     "Set your terms, Acharya." Vincent was beginning to tire of the prelude. He liked action and despised words, no matter how pretty.
     "No boundaries," Acharya spoke as he shrugged off the over-robes one arm at a time. Soft boots and loose pants, both a blue that was almost black, covered him completely to the waist. "If you run from this room, I will chase you. We fight until I kill you, or you beg for my mercy."
     Vincent transferred his sword from one hand to the other as he shuffled off his own black robes. The clothes beneath it were deepest black, offsetting skin as pale as waning moonlight.
     "If you really think you can make me beg," he said as he raised the blade level with his shoulder, pointing it at Acharya.
     "Maybe not," Acharya conceded, shrugging. He tucked his left arm behind his back and raised the rapier, lowering his face. The shadows caught his eyes and the room grew tangibly colder. "But I know I can make you bleed. And if you can bleed then you can die, and that is good enough for me."
     Acharya's boots made no sound on the flat stones as he rushed at Vincent. The vampire dove away and the slashing blow that might have taken his head glanced off the wall behind him, creating sparks.
     The Mage heard Vincent behind him and before he could move away from the kick that he knew was coming his legs gave beneath him. Vincent kicked him hard enough that he heard something snap. Pain blossomed in his right leg, but he did not give it time to completely register.
     "Daereth," he muttered, getting to his feet. Barrier. Air shimmered into solidity around Acharya and the initiates nodded, simultaneously understanding why Magi never wore armor in battle.
     Acharya spun to face Vincent, who was busy striking at the stone-solid air. The vampire sneered and his sunken eyes glowed maliciously.
     "Cheater," the vampire snarled, fangs gleaming. He stepped back and lowered his blade slightly.
     "As if you've ever fought fair," Acharya smiled as he rushed past Vincent's left side, leaving a large gash on the vampire's shoulder.
     Vincent looked at the wound, slightly confused. It hurt, and the shadow that poured from him was tinged scarlet. Satisfied, Acharya let the barrier down and the shimmering faded away.
     "You couldn't do that before." Vincent advanced, running through stances from the Old World as he moved.
     "I learn quickly." Acharya blocked to worst of the blows, but the vampire was fast. Vincent had the advantage of being less - or more, depending on perspective - than human.
     Three long but shallow scratches showed against Acharya's pale skin, two across his chest and one on his stomach. At first glance the blood seemed red, on the second it shimmered with all the hues of Acharya's hair. The inconsistency of it made Vincent uneasy.
     The Mage grinned at Vincent's hesitation. He raised his rapier, and the blade became alive as it strained for another taste of the vampire's foul flesh.
     Vincent blocked all of the advances easily enough. He was not the better swordsman, he was simply faster, and Acharya was beginning to feel the effects of the poison.
     Vincent scored another nick, tilting the blade upwards and leaving a scratch from Acharya's navel to the bottom of his breastbone. Vincent was mostly toying with the Acharya, letting his confidence rule him.
     "Only human," Vincent smiled. "If I cut you, you too will bleed." He raised the katana again and moved to slash across Acharya's face.
     The Mage parried without flinching and used his free hand to push Vincent back. "Yes, I bleed," he smiled. "But not for long." The tiny scratches began to close and he ran at the vampire, preparing to slash again. "Not only human," he brought the blade down.
     Vincent had no time to dodge, instead grunting as he brought his own blade up to block. "You can't do that."
     "What the dark can do," Acharya gritted his teeth, and the blades made contact.
     Gasps escaped the lips of the witnesses as the blades shattered like glass. Vincent tossed the useless hilt away and punched Acharya in the gut with his right hand. Acharya grunted, ignoring the pain, and moved to kick the vampire with his good leg.
     Vincent moved, and Acharya was thrown off balance. Once again, the vampire dashed behind the Mage, this time moving to put Acharya in a headlock.
     Acharya swallowed thickly as Vincent spun him around to face the witnesses. "Look at your leader. Pitiful," Vincent cooed, tightening his grip. "You are only human, Acharya."
     Acharya's gaze dulled for an instant as his eyes flicked across the faces of the three superior Magi.
     Looking up at them he made a choice, and a small sound of surprise caught in every witness' throat as the light in Acharya's eyes died away.
     The Mage grasped Vincent's arm and hurled him into a spot of the wall just to Lyahr's right. The wall cracked, and the vampire was stunned long enough for Acharya to grab a fistful of Vincent's long hair and drag him back to the center of the room.
     Acharya knelt on Vincent's right, looking into his eyes. The Mage smiled sadistically at the terror and confusion that contorted Vincent's face. Acharya produced a small silver blade from one of his boots and touched the tip to Vincent's throat.
     "Idiot," Acharya spat, enjoying the small hissing sound the vampire's skin made. Shadows swirled in Acharya's eyes, eyes that had burned with all the brilliance of light sapphires but were now the shade of blue just between bruises and midnight.
     Acharya put a hand on Vincent's throat, pinning him to the ground. His right hand moved the blade in a searing line over Vincent's heart and stopping just beneath his ribcage, slightly to the left.
     He leaned forward, setting his voice at a whisper so low that Vincent strained to make out all of the words. "This world is mine, and your kind cannot have it. And I was never only human." He straightened and drew the blade back, smiling.
     "I can still be of use to you," Vincent writhed, puzzled by his inability to escape Acharya's grip.
     "No, you cannot. There is nothing you've got that I need, nothing I want. So long," still smiling, he maneuvered the blade up under Vincent's ribs. Humming softly, he worked the metal around for several long instants before pulling it free, attached to the vampire's heart.
     Instantly a terrible thick stench flooded the chamber. Acharya set the knife down and got to his feet.
     He looked to the Magi, watching him as he opened his mouth to speak. Felanya stepped forward, ready to interrupt and question.
     "No," Acharya said, flicking a hand in her direction. She was hurled against the wall and knocked unconscious. "You," he motioned to the initiates. "Pick up the pieces of those blades and do something with that," he tilted his head back at Vincent's already desiccated body.
     He began to leave the room, stepping over Felanya, who lay where she had slumped forward. Corridan and Lyahr exchanged puzzled glances
     "What is to be done with..." Lyahr motioned to the unconscious woman.
     Acharya turned and looked briefly from Felanya to Lyahr. "Put her in the Box," he grinned.
     Lyahr blinked, then nodded. He and Corridan went to move her to the sensory deprivation chamber casually referred to as "the Box."
     Inititates groaned slightly at the smell of Vincent's quickly congealing shadow-blood.
     Acharya turned his back on all of this and began moving slowly upwards through the Tower, to his bed where he could collapse into sleep and let this poison wear away.