A Union Broken

(Part 48 of the Final Stand)
(Part 3 of the Battle for Fantasia Trilogy)

"It's Raze." Embyr noted solemnly, letting the head of the red dragon fall back down to the snow. Within her consciousness Sterling, in his immaterial form, nodded in confirmation.

"Poor girl…" the dragon sighed, brushing the hair from the petite giantess's eyes and wiping the snow and blood from her face.

"Poor Bane," Sterling's unspoken voice returned. "He'll be devastated."

"Assuming any of us live." The Black Terror added pessimistically, drawing herself up from the snow to gaze over the treetops, seeking signs of the Horseman they sought.

"We've got a chance." The human noted, his demeanor the reverse of Embyr's own. "It's a tangible feeling – like a sixth sense – when one of the Nether's generals dies. Three of the bastards have been fought and killed."

"Which leaves us to finish off the last." The dragon growled, her red eyes flashing with a mixture of worry and anger. "And, most unfortunately, Death has done an excellent job of staying out of the fray."

"So we bring the fight to him." Sterling challenged, his will balling Embyr's fingers up into a defiant fist.

"And where would you suggest we begin searching?" the body's second denizen demanded.

The question found Sterling at a loss, and he quickly dropped back into the deepest recesses of his hostess's consciousness in search of an answer. He had only been in semi-isolation for a few moments, however, before a roar sounded over the forest canopy, drawing the unified attention of both dragon and boy alike.

The roar was not a call of any living creature but of the tempest itself, razor winds whipping about in what seemed a chorus of oblivion. The heavens just over the Council's mountain, ever so slowly, began to part; but no sky presented itself behind the clouds. Instead only the cold blackness of a cold, alien world revealed itself beyond the wall of black cumulus.

"I," Sterling suggested "would begin looking there."

"That's the Nether!" Embyr warned, staggering back as a gust of wind soared down from the rift in space, throwing the trees about as though they were caught in a hurricane. "The portal is opening!"

"Thank you for clarifying that." Sterling said; though his sarcasm was lost as even his mental voice cracked in growing fear.

"How long do we have?" he asked, a knot forming in his stomach as he began to truly appreciate the enormity of the situation that had befallen Fantasia.

"Less than an hour – much less." The Black Terror warned. "We might be limited by minutes. There's no way of knowing…"

"Then let's hope Death is waiting to shake the Beast's hand when it arrives." The swordsman said, his internal voice a growl of determination.

"Agreed!" the giantess said with a grin, her wings exploding from their folded position across her back to stretch out across the sky like a premature night. A single beat sent her ascending skyward, a hand already snatching Sterling's sword from its sheath to flash angrily in the low light of the Tempest around them.

The trip to the base of the clouds took several minutes, in which time the pair soon began to take a lock on their target. The form of the Horseman was, at first, a mere speck against the skyline, a dot lost to the enormity of the obsidian clouds that hung about the portal. Yet as the ground fell away and the heavens neared the figure, very clearly, took shape.

Though very evidently a dragon, Death would certainly have stood out in any group of giants from the besieged world. In addition to being a mere head shorter than Embyr – putting him well over eighty feet in height – his body was riddled with cracks pulsing brightly with an unholy black light, as though his frame was straining to contain whatever power the monstrous ruler of the Nether had given him. Even where the broken lines of energy did not mar his flesh his scales glowed like vibrant torches, radiating a pale whitish-green light that cast his surroundings into a similar shade.

"Beautiful, isn't it?" the dragon's all-powerful, echoing voice asked as his fellow came to hold her place a few dozen yards away. As if to accompany his words an especially strong gust rocketed from the portal, dancing across the clouds to threaten Embyr's very place among them.

"This is the fruit of several thousand years of work." He explained proudly, his white claws stretching towards the opened rift. "It is a shame that I alone will be able to see it picked."

"Perhaps not," Embyr challenged, her fingers flexing around the hilt of the ancient weapon. "With any luck that fruit of yours is about to get a worm."

"Cute," Death said with a chuckle. "But how do you plan to kill me in time to stop my master when you've already wasted so much time just getting ready for our little squabble?"

"An excellent point," the black dragon noted.

"Here, let me show you."

Sterling, sensing Embyr's motives from the moment they had neared the Horseman, had already moved alongside her will to tense their shared muscles. On the woman's final word those prepared conduits of physical wrath sprung into action, the obsidian dragon's wings launching the pair forward as a great arm cut an arch of steel through the torn skies.

As the sword neared its target Death flicked a hand – hidden behind his back throughout the exchange of vocal blows – out before him, easily diverting the attack before it so much as neared his age-old form. Sparks flew as two blades collided: one that of the Fantasian sword, the other the dark metallic edge of the Nether dragon's scythe.

As Embyr fell back temporarily she and her internal guest were allowed to fully appreciate the weapon for a brief moment. The whole of the Twin blade was made of a seemingly black metal, as though it were a representation of the very void in the Horseman's soul. On either end of a body-length shaft there was a long, wickedly curved blade that stretched out like the groping arms of oblivion itself. The underside of each of the weapon's heads alone differed from the perpetual black that shrouded the rest of the scythe, taking on a shade of bright crimson – as though it had been stained by the blood of a thousand enemies that had fallen on it.

"A wonderful weapon is it not?" the pale dragon asked. "Your respect is appreciated – and I hope your own appreciation will grow when you see how easily it slices through you."

A snarl rippled across the union's muzzle as the Black Terror dove forward again, her sword spinning downward in an attempt to throw the scythe wide. Almost lazily Death moved to block the coming attack, spinning his unwholesome weapon across to push the Eye of the Storm out harmlessly away from the giantess.

In the same fluid motion the pale horse's rider shot his hand forward, his knuckles slamming into his opponent's belly. Coaxed from deep within the dragon's abdomen a grunt of pain broke from her maw, drawing with it a spittle of saliva – liquid pain, it seemed. Death held his prone position for a long second before pushing back, spinning in the air as he did so to connect his foot soundly with the joined friends' chin.

"Care to try again?" he taunted as the black dragon rubbed her sore muzzle, her burning gaze seeming to tear into Death's very soul.

"With pleasure," she assured him, raising a hand, palm up, towards him. A smile crossed her lips as her eyes again flashed with unwholesome ecstasy.

Overhead lightning flashed, briefly casting a new light over the Black Terror, glowing Horseman, and portal alike. The burst, however, was not that of the white light that so typically found its place among the Fantasian skies; instead it was black, arching electrical energy, as though the sky itself were enraged.

Slowly, from just above the female dragon's reach, a column of wind began to form. Once before Embyr's magic had called a tornado down from the heavens; but, with prior practice, the black dragon clearly managed to work her arcane energies with much greater haste. What had taken nearly sixty seconds before took the woman a few mere moments – and Death had no time to prepare.

The energy absorbed into her body the Black Terror reached her second hand forward, lightly touching her thumbs as Sterling added his own magical influence to the growing spell. A single word simultaneously broke from the joined body's lips, rolling towards the Horseman like a death sentence.

"Schattendorn!"

Realizing his danger the pale Nether general attempted to dive aside, to escape the wrath of the coming blast; but he was awarded only a split second, too little time to truly avoid the devastating blow. And, at the end of that infinitesimal flash of time, the glow of the monster was swallowed by the wrath of the dark magic.

"Got him!" Embyr boasted ecstatically, grinning maliciously as the light of the spell faded.

Yet as the air cleared, much to the Fantasians' dismay, Death remained standing. He panted heavily, his form smoking noticeably; but he was very much alive and still remarkably capable of continuing the fight.

"In the countless centuries that have been my life," the Horseman gasped "I have only seen magic like that a handful of times."

"You're still alive?" Embyr asked, her tone wafting over the storm in the form of a pout; yet inside of her consciousness Sterling could practically feel the surge of both despair and anguish of her failed attack. The very spell that had been so destructive, so utterly devastating in their training, had merely scratched Death.

"I said that level of magic is rare." The Horseman reiterated. "But I never said I wasn't capable of something just as powerful."

Five claws rose up in an upturned hand, lightning crackling between the digits. Under the influence of both his own natural glow and the light of the sparks a grin broke out across the pale dragon's face, his teeth flashing like daggers.

"Allow me to repay you in kind, Fantasian." He offered, pushing his palm forward. Immediately with the motion there came an eruption of electrical energy, forming a ring of light much like a halo that rocketed forward towards the joined defenders. The center of the expanding circlet was filled in its entirety with dancing lightning, magic whose power was almost tangible even at a safe distance – though "safe" was relative for any denizen of the doomed world.

Just as was the case with the Schattendorn the electrical pulse was far too fast for hope of evasion. Drawing into the power of the conduit of her body's visitor Embyr pushed her hands forward, feeling Sterling call out to his power alongside her. From between their shared claws a nearly invisible ripple of energy slid forth, a pulse that was so common among the magical communities of the world.

The anti-magic wall slammed into the electrical blast and, for a moment, held its ground. The two forces remained unmoving for the span of a long second; but then, despite the very nature of its adversary, the giantess's pulse was torn to shreds. Though weakened the halo of lightning thundered onward, easily ripping into its target.

As the crackling electrical fury of the spell touched the black scales of the final Key bearer her entire form lit up as though it were a torch. Her body became riddled with dancing arcs of lightning, as though it were a second skin; though the new layer of flesh was an infection, a parasite that sought to tear apart all that was beneath it.

For what seemed an eternity the constriction of the arcane energy went on; and yet, just as the ring did several dozen yards away, the magic around the dragon began to fade. Panting heavily and severely wounded Embyr hovered hundreds of feet above the ground, her pained gaze regarding the Horseman defiantly from between slack shoulders.

"You're still alive?" the traitorous giant asked with wry surprise. "You truly are something."

"Nice spell," the obsidian woman spat. Her venomous compliment coaxed a chuckle from the Nether general's throat as he nodded in acceptance.

"As I said," he reiterated "your magic is rare. But it is manageable by the strongest of beings – and I must count myself among that elite group."

"And I count myself among the same group." The Black Terror assured him, brandishing a grin alongside her weapon. Sensing her muscles tensing Sterling pulled into the power of the gem deep within his sentient existence, extracting the power required for the coming attack.

Yet though both dragon and human reached into the same conduit for power, their magic immediately began to differ. Along one arm of the shared being lightning crackled, arching up and down Embyr's scales as though it were a ballet dancer; along the twin limb black flames began to encircle flesh and scale alike, the very tendrils of dark magic. And though the pair's power had taken two separate paths that seemed to cross the planet along mirrored roads the two spells seemed to meet in harmony a moment later as, with a roar, the Black Terror's hands clapped together to form a clap louder than any thunder in the storm above.

Their fused magic tore forward, a hurricane of shadowed lightning and golden flames that seemed to tear the sky itself asunder. Death managed to erect a visible barrier of wind around himself a moment before he was consumed, lost to the arcane tempest as it rippled across the sky for what seemed an eternity. Eventually, however, the light died away; and, despite all the power behind the attack, the Horseman still hovered just beneath the clouds, his form burned and smoldering but very much intact.

"How in Hell's name did you manage an attack like that?" the pale dragon demanded, his words pained as he came to pant as heavily as his adversary. "Those were two separate areas of magic, yet they both had the same power!"

The Horseman stopped to scrutinize his enemy and, with a slight chuckle, came to rest his eyes on the tiara that adorned her head. He flicked a finger towards Bound and grinned, shaking his head with apparent understanding.

"The Goddess's Tiara," he mused. "I heard slight rumors about its existence before I faded to myth. It's one of many things I never thought I'd see.

"You," he said, addressing Embyr "aren't even the Key bearer, are you? No; I heard about War being killed by the drow elf. It was clever, using his artifact to shrink her; and yet it seems your arsenal of magical items is near limitless.

"Why don't you let me see my real enemy, dragon? Or he is so pathetic that he has to hide behind you?"

"Really," Embyr said with a scowl, reaching a hand down to her belly as though to shield the human within her "I'm just overprotective."

"A shame," the pale horse's rider sighed. "It seems as though I will have to cut him out of you."

"I won't let him touch you." Sterling internally promised his friend. "He's stalling again, we need to move now!"

No response came from Embyr and, for a moment, the human feared she had been somehow lost to her emotional turmoil. The knight growled and insistently gave the giantess a mental shout, a willful shove to arouse her from her void of anger.

Slowly the Black Terror responded, moving alongside her tiny ally to draw the sword from her side. Her movements were sluggish, however, as though she were fighting an unseen force; and Sterling, for a moment, was forced to consider asking her for complete control of her body.

"What, you can't manage a spell like that again?" Death asked, smirking with confidence. "A pity…"

"We need to try to combine our magic again." Sterling suggested, his words forceful as though to compel Embyr's internal storm to cooperate. "Can you manage that spell again?"

The swordsman's draconic host did not answer and, from his vantage point behind her eyes, Sterling's wispy consciousness realized her gaze was lost to some distant place. Almost fuming and clearly desperate he pushed and shoved at his partner's thoughts, trying to worm his way between the scattered bits of her mind.

"Pull it together, Embyr!" he roared. "Stay with me!"

"We can wait as long as you like." Death offered with a dark smile. "In a matter of minutes the master will arrive. Whether you are dead or alive when the Beast enters the world, it won't matter."

"EMBYR!"

The shrillness of the swordsman's voice seemed to spur something in the phased dragon and she snapped suddenly and violently, her eyes widening and her head darting up to lock eyes with the aerial Horseman.

But the movements stopped there, as though another denizen inside the dragon were compelling her with an influence equal to Sterling's own. The dragon's seemingly offensive motivation was halted and her eyes once again set themselves to some unseen point in the distance; Death's, however, was born anew.

Thinking the dragon's surprise to be an attack he had pulled mana from his own conduit, surging it through his fingertips to direct it towards the paralyzed pair. Lightning the color of blood ripped from his claws, cutting through the air with unfathomable speed to encircle Sterling and Embyr.

At first the spell seemed to hold them in a cage, acting as only a barrier to keep them trained in a single spot. But, to the knight's horror, the lines of electrical energy began to shrink towards them, undeniably seeking to reach and electrocute them. Yet through it all Embyr remained elsewhere, lost somewhere in her mind for reasons seemingly sporadic and abrupt.

"Embyr…" Sterling tried again, adopting a calm internal voice in a final attempt to spur action on behalf of his friend.

Yet if serenity was to win the dragon control of her body again, it was not to do so then and there. With a thunderous crackle the cage reached the helpless duo, sending lines of yellow and white power lancing across the Black Terror's scales. Inside of Embyr, Sterling tensed himself in preparation for the pain that was certain to come; yet instead he felt no difference, no agony throughout the dragon's body.

After several long moments the magic dissipated, leaving the black dragon smoking but virtually unharmed. Instead the spell seemed to have actually done damage to its caster, since Death's face was contorted into a horrified mask of confusion and disbelief.

"What sort of magic is this?" he demanded, gesturing insistently at the fused pair for an answer.

Sterling moved to use Embyr's lips, to bluff and attempt to buy him time to discover what had happened to his friend; but, as he began to speak, he realized it was not the dragon's mouth that was moving.

It was his own, his original flesh and blood that formed the sputtered beginnings of his reply! In horror he looked down – not with Embyr's head, but his own – as his body slowly emerged from the Goddess's Tiara, pulling what was once insubstantial essence into bone, muscle, and skin. Within moments he had departed the sanctuary that was the Black Terror's consciousness and entered the harshness of the storm, hanging onto the rim of the artifact for dear life.

To save his pride in the face of his enemy, the swordsman reached into his heart and pushed away from his former host on the wings of an arcane gust of wind. Gaining several meters distance from the giantess he began to notice the change slowly overtaking her, the magic of which the Pale Horse's rider had spoken.

The dragon's entire torso was writhing with flames, the fires as black as her scales and almost angry in their haphazard movements. Slowly, before the human's terrified gaze, the flames began to spread, overtaking the woman's abdomen, arms, legs, and finally even her head. Her mouth, slightly agape, was spared from the inferno that had engulfed her; likewise her eyes shone through the blaze, still lost and distant, trained helplessly on the horizon. Her hair, when reached by the unholy magic, burned as well; though it flared with a white flame as opposed to the shadowy embers that had engulfed the rest of her form, retaining the natural color of the giantess's mane.

"What in Hell's name did you do to her?" Sterling roared, rounding on the speechless Nether dragon. Instead of a snide retort, Death could only shrug.

"It's your magic!" he shot back. "I had nothing to do with this!"

But, as he spoke, his gaze shifted heavenward. The befuddled grimace on his face turned to a weak, then a brilliant grin as a laugh steadily overtook his form. A single white claw drifted skyward, shaking slightly amid his chorus of chuckles as it trained on the portal.

"Perhaps it wasn't your magic after all," he barked "but the magic of my master! The Beast has come!"

Through the haze of anger and fear that clouded Sterling's eyes he managed to divert his own eyes from the form of the wicked invader, his stormy gray pupils focusing on the rift between the two worlds. From the depths of the portal a midnight-black smoke trailed, filtering through the clouds and into the mortal realm. It did not target the ground, however, instead draining directly into Embyr.

"What is it doing to her?" the knight demanded; though the forcefulness of his tone was lost to grief and worry for the dragon that had saved him so many countless times.

"Who am I to question the master's motives or understand its work?" the pale warrior returned. "But be certain that your friend's time on Fantasia – on any mortal world – is at an end."

"I wouldn't count on that." Sterling choked, fighting back tears as he tried to reassure himself that Embyr – a friend who, time and time again, had proven her own strength both internally and externally, who had become a very symbol of power and security in the human's life – would be able to fight back the fire, would manage to overcome even the darkness of the destroyer of worlds.

"I would." Death bit back, far from phased.

"And do you know what else I would count on? I would count on you being my master's second course!"

"Perhaps," the Key Bearer agreed. "But I won't go down without a fight; and I figure it would make Embyr remarkably happy to know that, before the world ended, I put an end to you."

Sterling's body crackled with electrical energy again; but this time it was not from an enemy's spell. His chest burned as the Eye of the Storm's conduit surged within him, filling every muscle and vein throughout the boy's frame with arcane power.

As the world began to end, the swordsman's form began to change.