"Benefited?" Tears rolled down Hardt's lined cheeks and he suddenly looked old and weary, the vitality leached out of him by this torrent of anger. "You think I benefit from this crusade of yours? Like Isen benefited from it? Like Kento benefited?" Those words hurt. Not just me, they hurt us both. My daughter was a rift between us that never healed, and he wielded her fate like a knife, plunging it into my chest. I felt my throat tighten and my chest ache. Tears welled in my eyes, reflecting the lightning in them back at me as shards of disjointed light. But I refused to let those tears fall.
We don't need him. "You're right, Hardt, I don't need you!" We've outgrown him. "I've moved past you." He should just leave. "So why don't you just take your overgrown fucking arse back to the surface before I kick it all the way there!"
I don't know how long we stood there in silence, staring at one another, Horralain and the Khark Hounds forgotten. It could have been seconds or it could have been hours, time lost meaning in that charged confrontation. Hardt's jaw worked like he was gearing up to say more, but then his face hardened into a grimace and he shook his head, storming past me, back the way we had come.
I waited for as long as I could. My left hand, as well as my right, was clenched into a tight fist, and I didn't realise how odd that was. As soon as Hardt's footsteps had faded I stormed ahead into the darkness, tears still welling and threatening to fall at any moment. Horralain made to follow me, but I sent him sprawling with kinetic push. Once the darkness was complete, I drew in a deep breath. And I fucking screamed. There were no words. It was a cry of pure emotion, emptying out of me in a way it couldn't with words. The walls, floor, and roof of the tunnel cracked from the force of a kinetic shockwave I did not mean to let loose. And I cried. Great wracking sobs of pain, of anger, of regret.
I've heard it said that life has a habit of kicking a person when they are down. It's crap. Life is not some sentient, callous overlord looking to magnify our pain. Each of our lives are full of friends and enemies, often ones we didn't even realise we had, and they are ever watchful for when you are reeling and injured. Friends will, of course, rush to aid you in such a state, assuming you haven't pushed them away. Enemies, on the other hand, will jump on you when you are at your most vulnerable. It is not life that kicks us when we are down. Most often, it is our own choices that do the job, coming full circle to teach us the error of our ways.
My heart wasn't in the exploration after my fight with Hardt. We wandered the darkened halls for a time, but in truth it was just to give my friend time to make his way out. I didn't want to come across him as I retreated to the surface. Eventually I sent the hounds off to hunt, and turned back, my feet trudging with every step. My anger was still there, simmering, but a weariness had settled over me. Part of me wished to collapse right there and then, huddle up against a wall and cry until I couldn't anymore. It was a rather large part of me, truth be told. I soldiered on, dragging my feet, Horralain dogging my steps. Despite my violence against the man, he did not leave me, nor even complain.
"People follow strength." As always, Horralain's words came slowly, as though each one was measured from every angle before leaving his mouth. He couldn't see my ghosts, but Deko laughed at the words. It's strange that most of my ghosts were solemn things, almost emotionless save for the melancholy. Deko, on the other hand, was as hateful in death as he had been in life. He sneered and made threatening moves toward me, as though an impotent ghost could scare someone who carried the embodiment of fear inside of them. "It's nature. Can't blame a person for lining up behind someone who has what you lack. It's how we survive. Together."
This one is more astute than we took him for.
By the time we reached the surface I was caught between rage and despair. I wanted to hate Hardt for his assumption that I ever needed protecting, but at the same time, I wanted to hate myself for the words I spewed at my friend. I didn't mean them, not all of them anyway. I did still need Hardt, not as a protector, but as something far more vital. His friendship and guidance kept me centred, and his strength was something I had come to rely upon, to lean upon. I don't mean his strength of arm, but his inner strength. I might have been leading this ragtag bunch of soldiers, prisoners, and misfits, but Hardt had been there since the very beginning, holding me up, lending me the strength to go on. That is what I should have said to my friend. I should have told him how much I needed him, in ways far more vital than being a pair of fists. Instead, I insulted him and drove him away. Ishtar was right about me. I am a fire who only knows how to burn bridges.
So caught up in my spiralling melancholy was I, that I barely noticed the woman waiting at the entrance to the city depths. She called herself Nic and she was stunning. Far too beautiful to have spent any time down in the Pit. Glossy black hair and flawless onyx skin, eyes full of malice, lithe body tense as bowstring. I stumbled past the woman as if she wasn't there. Only Horralain's ferocious attention to preserving my life saved it.
The first I knew of any treachery was a loud grunt by Horralain, and the ground beneath my feet shattered to rubble. I struggled to keep my footing, stumbling forward even as I turned. Nic was there, hate in her face and a blade in her hands. The knife was a curious thing, as long as my forearm and with a jagged edge that would tear rather than cut. Her eyes fixed on me even as Horralain, stood between us, hefted his hammer for another strike.
Horralain was fast, far swifter than any man his size had right to be, but she was quicker. Even as my protector raised his hammer, Nic rushed forward, slipping inside his guard, and plunged her knife into Horralain's chest three times. Her eyes never left me, fixed on their true target. Horralain grunted in surprise and pain, blood gushing from his wounds, and then Nic tossed him aside as though he weighed nothing, sending him crashing into a nearby wall. He didn't rise.
That was when I knew the true identity of my attacker. I should have seen it earlier, should have seen past the lie. "Well that's a week worth of infiltration wasted." Her voice dripped with hate. "At least this way I get to watch you die instead of knifing you in the back."
"Coby!" I spat her name with as much malice as she directed at me. A glance toward Horralain revealed that he wasn't getting up any time soon. His body twitched and a big hand clutched at his chest. There was a lot of blood, too much even for a man of his size. Too much blood. Too much death. Too much loss. Another of my allies, of my friends ripped away from me. All the anger, all the pain, all the hate I had felt underground came rushing back in and I screamed in animal fury.
This creature is dangerous. There is no fear in her. The rage eclipses all else.
Without needing to think about it, I formed a Sourceblade in my right hand. It was a long, slender weapon, good for keeping a knife fighter at bay. I wrapped both hands around the hilt. It didn't even occur to me, at the time, how odd that was, but then it was not the first time I had managed to move my stone fingers.
I blinked and Coby changed. Gone was the woman of raven hair and skin. Silva stood before me, as radiant as she had ever been. Her hair glowed with the dying light of the day, and her eyes were the endless, shifting blue of a sapphire. I wanted to believe. By the moons, I wanted to believe it was her. I wanted to drop my sword, run to her, wrap my arms around her. I wouldn't even have cared if she'd come for vengeance. If it had been Silva… If it had truly been Silva, I would have taken her in my arms and never let go. I wanted to believe it was her. I would have ripped the world asunder and myself with it to make it real. But it wasn't real. I couldn't believe. It could not be her. I knew it couldn't, because I had killed her. Because the hate I felt for myself was a constant reminder that Silva was dead, and it was because of me.