A Baptism of Fire - SCP Foundation

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Kalmaktama is aflame, and its people are burning with it.

A terrible scar runs through the heart of the Deathless Empire, a festering wound that is eating it from the inside. It started as just a scratch at the end of one of its fingers, a single Colossus sent from across the sea to win a battle that meant less than nothing. Now, though, that wound has rotted and is crawling with larvae, the full might of the Mekhanite army marching right at its capital. All six remaining Colossi are with them, as are the three prophets the united forces of Mekhane have rallied up behind: Hedwig, Bumaro, and Legate.

Gyaros has already fallen. Soon, the rest of the Deathless Empire will follow.

They march as hundreds of thousands of men of steel and bronze, leaving nothing but fire in their wake, a single destination in their mind: Adytum, the home of the Sorcerer King of Nälkä, Ion the Mutineer. The capital of heresy, the heart of rot, the city of the impure — that's what they call it, the blood-drenched ground trembling with each step that takes them closer to the Ozi̮rmok and his Klavigars.

The army will stop at nothing and will pay any price to make them fall.

But before them Adytum stands still, fully prepared to slay those who wish to bring it down. It's a grotesque thing, really — a colossal organism a hundred leagues tall, its tendrils reaching far into the soil around it, with arms and legs that spread far into the sky above. Its enemies call it a city only by necessity — it's closer to a tree than any real polis. It drinks from the dirt and feeds on the bones of its enemies; its walls are its ribcages, its homes are its organs, its people are its cells. And in its center, where all veins and arteries come together, Grand Karcist Ion sits on a throne made from fallen gods, overthrown maharanis, and slain kings. He is the heart of Adytum — without him, the city will perish.

But he is more than ready to meet the invaders, and so are those who chose to follow him. The forces of Mekhane might have the fire, but they don't have the spirit to win. They are peoples born of steel-cold hatred, of blind fanaticism to the word of their goddess. They fight for a being that seldom cares about her subjects — and all of the people of Adytum fight for themselves, for their own right to live and be free. And Ion knows that nothing under the sun — no god, no king, no ideology or religion — can ever make them grip their spears and swords with more strength than the simple human will to survive.

Faced with a promise of doom, the people of Adytum cannot help but sing.

Ion and his Klavigars are certain they will overcome their adversaries tonight. They have slain thousands of gods before, and Mekhane will be no different.

Bumaro, Hedwig, and Legate are certain the forces of the Sorcerer King will prove no match for their Colossi and those who march in their wake. So far, nobody and nothing has resisted their advance, and Adytum will be no different.

No matter which one of them proves correct tonight, the fact of the matter is that Kalmaktama is aflame. Its walls were breached and the infection has already spread to its brain. One thing is certain: history will be written today, whether or not the fever Adytum has caused will be enough to kill that which poisons it.

Deep beneath Adytum, a father grips the hand of his infant daughter.

His name is Azad, a shepherd born and raised in the city he now hides beneath. He's lived and loved under the sun of Ion for as long as he can remember, and he's followed his doctrine for even longer. And yet, here he is — quivering in a dark tunnel somewhere underneath his homeland, farther than the roots of Adytum could ever hope to reach. He is here, hugging the only thing in the whole world that could ever matter more than his honor. He is here, because he is scared — not for himself, but for the life of Meher.

He's heard what happens to traitors, to those who'd dare to betray Ion in the hour of greatest need and flee from the battlefield. But he's also heard the fires burning far above him, the screams of children and mothers being crushed underneath a relentless onslaught of bronze and chrome. If this was a fair choice, he'd be up there with them, throwing his own body, the only thing that matters, against those who wish to slay his kin. He'd die like has always lived, not a single chain holding him down.

Yet here he is, bound by the only chain he would ever take up — the chain of love. In a deep, dark corridor miles under a dying city, Azad takes a sharp breath and closes his eyes, all six of them. He fastens his pace and picks Meher's fragile form up with three of his hands, illuminating the way forward with a torch held up in the remaining two. Just a few more miles, he silently whispers. That's what they told him. Just a few more miles, and it will all be over.

He can still hear the screams of those who stood up to their duty, their shrieks of burnt agony reverberating through the tree of Adytum through its thousand throats. He sometimes thinks he can even recognize some of the voices — of his friends and soldiers, all burning as he—

He shakes his head. That doesn't matter, now. He's made his choice. He'd make it even if he could relive this day a thousand times.

Gripping his light tighter Azad squints his eyes, trying his best to make out how long the tunnel still goes on for. It's meant to take them just outside Adytum, somewhere he and Meher could hide until it's all over alongside the remaining cowards and women the Freemen have taken with them.

His heartbeat doubles at the thought of that name.

He knows them. Everyone knows them, both in Adytum and in Amoni of the Pillars. Traitors to both sides, they think themselves better. They think they can overcome the way that things have always been — to step outside the duality of the two empires and work together for the good of the people. That's what they say they want, at the very least. But everyone knows that they, those who band together with Mekhanites under a single banner, are nothing but heretics, hellbent on bringing the rightful order of the world down — everyone's heard it from the karcists and the grand priests of Mekhane.

In truth, Azad hates them. Everyone in Adytum does. Everyone in Adytum should. They betrayed their own kin, conspiring with the enemy — the enemy who wishes to kill their children and slaughter their wives, the enemy who wishes to raze their cities to the ground and bring them back under a chain, the enemy who—

He sighs.

And yet, here he is. Following right in their steps, and the steps of the hundreds of men and women they help evacuate from the doomed Adytum.

He takes another breath. Were he a learned man, he'd perhaps reconsider the words and motivations of the karcists who told him about the Freemen. But he's just a shepherd — the only thing he knows for real is that he loves his daughter. And right now, that is all that matters. Not the dubious claims of treason, not contemplations about the true motivation of the Freemen, not the inevitable doom of all those who stood up for Adytum. Just Meher, just the light that Azad carries, and just the corridor that is meant to take them to freedom.

Somewhere above him, he hears another scream, then a deafening thump that shakes the earth. Then silence. And then, the flesh of Adytum writhing in unimaginable agony.

He swallows hard, and quickens his pace.

He can see it now, the turn they are meant to take. The one that will lead them to the steps built in the dark earth around them — steps that will lead up, up so far that not even Adytum can reach there, up so far that the threat of the Mekhanite army will be nothing but smoke rising far above the horizon. He is practically running now, the loud tears of his infant daughter echoing around him. Whether born from fear or sadness at abandoning their home, he cannot say. Either way, he knows they will end soon. He just needs to reach those stairs. He just needs to take those few more steps. He just—

A terrible explosion rips the corridor apart, burying the way behind him under a thousand tons of dirt and rock. The stairs are no more — in their place, there is a great gaping hole, a fiery burning pit that with it first brings light, then the smell of a rotting Adytum, then the realization the Mekhanites have made it all the way to its roots. And now, they have reached beneath it, too, right where Azad is — right where Meher is. Right where their only hope for salvation is.

Before he can even hope to stand up, three figures enter the corridor. They are tall things, twitchy figures that once might've been men. They are gaunt and built from cold steel, parts of their bodies molded to resemble dodecahedrons inscribed with runes, crystals that bear lightning right where their faces should be. They are fast and each movement makes them click, skewing their heads ever so slightly as they enter the corridor, unbothered by the fire and the dirt.

Azad knows them. They are the followers of Hedwig, those who've sacrificed their bodies and minds at the altars of progress, receiving forms that run on trapped thunder, numbers, and chrome souls in return. They are the greatest of Hedwig's militia — they follow nothing but reason and orders, reaching the most optimal conclusion no matter the task given. They are unburdened by emotion, unburdened by regret, and unburdened by doubts — in their own terrible way, they have achieved their electronic Nirvana.

Most importantly, however, they are the harbingers of death, as destined by the prophets of their faith.

And they can see Azad and Meher.

Three dull clicks fill the corridor, and three gears turn where their ribcages used to be. Their arms turn to long blades. Before Azad can even stand up, they take their leap forward, aiming right for the throat of his daughter.

He tries to do something, anything, but he's no warrior. He's just a shepherd, a traitor to his own kin, and he's going to die alone, buried in an unnamed grave beneath his city. He deserves nothing else.

He closes his eyes, kisses his daughter, puts his body in between the blade and Meher, and readies for impact.

But the impact never comes; instead there is a shout, then a snarl, then the sound of flesh cutting metal, then the sound of something heavy hitting the ground. Then another. Then another. Two heavy pants, from two distinct voices, and a spit on the floor.

Azad opens his eyes again. Before him stands a muscular figure, battle scars running down her exposed chest. She is breathing hard, her long, dark hair waving right behind her four great arms. Horns and teeth emerge from her head. Beside her stands another; a tall gaunt man, fully clad in white metal. His legs were replaced by blades, his eyes by two white crystals. There is blood and oil on his hands.

He turns to look at his companion, and for a single moment they kiss. It lasts less than two seconds; before Azad can blink, the two turn to face him. The woman smiles when she sees him alive. The man just nods, and heads for the exit.

The woman offers Azad her giant hand. "I'm Saanvi. There's no time to waste. Come."

"Wh— Who— What— Who are you?" Azad breathes hard in between the steps. He can match their speed, but only barely. "How did you find me?"

Saanvi doesn't turn towards him. She just keeps on running, as does her companion, somehow managing to maneuver through the maze that are the rotting roots of Adytum. There is a strange silence all around them, as if they were too deep for the battle to reach them. But Azad knows this is just an illusion; with the staircase destroyed, their only way out of the city is up, through the chaos that burns outside the depths of the flesh-tree.

"Somebody snitched. Saarn picked up on our tunnels, that bitch." She furrows her brows at the mention of the Klavigar. "Started bringing them down, one by one, right with the people inside them, until one of the Colossi met her in the field. She won, but had to leave the site to help her kin someplace else. And left alone, those little clicking shits saw a chance they just wouldn't miss. Getting the kids first has always been their thing. It's the most optimal way of warfare, after all." She pauses, and subconsciously furrows her brows. "We couldn't let that happen."

Once again, her companion says nothing, but simply nods and keeps on going.

"We were lucky enough to make it before they got all of you. We thought you'd have already made it outside Adytum, but…" She closes her eyes for a second. "Well. At least you and your kid made it out."

He considers a few thoughts in his head, but doesn't stop running. When he gets it. he furrows his brows, too.

"You're with the Freemen."

She gives him a heavy look. "Obviously. So are you, now."

He doesn't know what to say. "No. I mean yes, but—"

"Listen, we don't have time for this. You're either in, or we're out. We don't have time to spare on those who'd still fight in Ion's and Bumaro's wars." She shakes her head. "I'm sorry. But there's others that need help, if you aren't certain."

For a few moments, Azad doesn't say anything. He just closes his eyes, and once again hears the screams of those who fight for his— no, it's just their city now. He's made it clear the moment he decided to go down the tunnel he'd paid to hear about. He can still hear it all, and it hurts all the same — but what hurts more is the thought of Meher's own voice joining those who are burning. He takes a deep breath, and looks at Saanvi, nothing but determination plastered across his face.

"All right. Just tell me what to do."

For the first time today, their companion speaks up. "The tunnels are all blocked. The Colossi saw to that. The only way out is through the city." His words are quick and precise; he cannot afford time for nonsense. "Follow me, and keep an eye out for everything."

Azad nods, and keeps on running. This time, something almost like blind determination fills his body; as long as he keeps on moving, there are no more thoughts inside him, no more concerns — just the absolute and unwavering certainty that this is the right thing to do, right now.

Their first turn presents itself almost immediately. Before the three Adytum spreads its roots to form something greater than just its nerve endings — a real staircase leading to a military outpost near the surface, formed from melted flesh and bone, its steps vibrating to the rhythmic movements of the city's heart.

The man in front of him wastes no words, and immediately starts his ascent.

Before he can take more than three steps, he is stopped right in his tracks; first by a loud, guttural grunt coming from above him, then by a great ball of flesh hitting him directly in the chest. He tries to resist the impact, but even his metal isn't enough to oppose the three thousand pounds of meat. He falls down the stairs, only barely regaining his posture the moment he meets the ground.

When he does stand up, though, his chest is bleeding oil and grease.

"Alcaeus!" Saanvi shouts, leaping forward towards her companion, both in life and in battle. She wastes no more than a second looking at him — his nod is all she needs to know that he will live. She turns to face the thing before them.

It is four meters tall and heavier than a house; its four arms and three legs bear more muscle and tattoos than Saanvi's, and his horns are the size of Azad's head. Azad would call it by its name, but in its little eyes, he can see that it has long since abandoned its humanity — whether it in the Nälkä pursuit of apotheosis or among the flames of battle, he cannot quite say.

Worst yet, in each of those hands it is gripping a sword. Azad immediately notices the curved design first mastered by the Daeva and later improved by the Nälkä.

Its bloated mouth looks at the three in front of it with nothing but disgust.

"Look at you," a dull sound rings inside the heads of Azad and Saanvi. Here, so deep in the Ozi̮rmok's domain, his people aren't just one in flesh — right in its roots, among the nerve endings of its great, shared brain, they are also one in thought. "Conspiring with the people that want to kill your children." It spits on the ground. "Less than nothing."

"You're don't—" Azad tries to speak up, but something stops him. When he looks at the thing once more, he sees that it is beyond reason, beyond any argument. It didn't come here to seek refuge from the fire, as he had previously thought — it came here because it has heard the ruckus and wanted to get in on the killing.

"Then face us and prove it," Saanvi snaps, reading her battle stance. Alcaeus is quick to join her.

"You aren't worthy of my blood." The thing just laughs, and points its weapons at the heretic duo. "Good thing you won't last long enough to see it."

The battle begins before Azad can even blink. All three shapes just leap at each other and begin their deadly dance, one incomprehensibly quick movement after another. All he can do to stay out of it is to once again shield Meher with his own body. Not that she'd need it, now — it's clear that the thing sees Saanvi and Alcaeus as its primary entertainment, only saving Azad for the desert.

"Traitors," its words once again ring out in the shared thought-space of local Adytum. It swings its weapon at Saanvi, then at Alcaeus, clearly with the skill and intent to manage both attacks independently of each other. "To go with the Freemen? Have you no respect for either of your people?"

Both block the assault; Alcaeus with the blades in place of his legs, Saanvi with her forearms, their form hardened by bone for these exact situations. She spits on the floor, and looks it in its eyes. "Your masters are what sent war to your doorstep, not us. We're the only thing separating the children of Amoni and Adytum from slaughter."

At the mention of masters, the thing starts trembling with rage. Panting heavily it sends a flurry of quick attacks at its opponents, leaving barely enough time for them to react. Alcaeus manages to dodge, but a new scar forms on Saanvi's cheek. She grunts.

"MASTERS?!" the thing shouts, kicking Saanvi right in her chest and throwing one of its weapons towards her face. "There are no masters in Adytum, ignorant woman."

She catches the blade with her toes, more akin to hooves than any real digits, and starts to stand up. "The Ozi̮rmok is a master. The klavigars are all masters. You exchanged one chain for another, one war to fight in for a different one. You might no longer be slaves, but you are still bound by a hierarchy. Just because your king doesn't wear a crown doesn't mean he's not a king." She clenches her fists, and jumps to regain her footing. "You think you're better than Daevon, but your hunger for conquest is just like that of the Maharani."

The thing is practically exploding with rage, moreso than Azad thought the human mind — even illuminated with the teachings of Nälkä — could ever hold. It throws two of its legs at Saanvi's, kicking her to the ground once more. This time, as it draws its weapons, there is intent to kill burning deep in its eyes. "The worms will have your body for these words, woman."

His swords fall down more quickly than sound.

There is a sudden dull clank in the air, then the shared expression of shock. When the dust settles down, Azad can see Alcaeus standing before their adversary, his form still bleeding, yet unbent and determined — unbroken, just like steel. The two swords are in his hands, dark oil dripping from them to the ground above. The remaining blade is parried by one of his legs, bent at an unnatural angle Azad is sure would be impossible for anyone but the man in the machine.

Almost immediately, the thing tries to push again, hoping its naked strength will overpower the gears and exhausts of its opponent. When that doesn't happen, its face twists in a fit of rage, and it locks eyes with that of Alcaeus.

"I will enjoy bringing the Ozi̮rmok your head."

Alcaeus just corrects his stance. "Have it be your way, then."

Within the flash of a second, he jumps up into the air and lunges at his opponent. He is quick like nothing Azad has ever seen; he falls as hard as metal but moves as fluidly as flesh. He doesn't just fight, doesn't just reflect the flurry of slashes the beast sends against him. He dances around it, in a single smooth motion, his form nothing any Mekhanite blind to their goddess could ever achieve. He is almost like water, his blades as deadly as they are accurate.

In his wake, he leaves nothing but a thousand cuts.

But it isn't enough.

The Nälkä sends one final attack at him, a great and terrible fist that moves with more might than any metal could ever hope to withstand. It is too fast, too sudden for Alcaeus to be able to notice it in time — he might bear a barrier of swords all around him, but even they aren't sharp enough to stop the hand before it reaches him as a bloody mess. The hit lands right on his chest and bends his whole body to an unnatural angle.

The thing comes closer, and smiles widely.

"When you go and meet your goddess," it whispers to where his ears should be, "tell her who sent you. I want her to know I'm coming for her next."

Alcaeus spits out a dark, dense ichor. There is life beginning to fade from his pretend eyes.

Still, he looks up and faces his opponent all the same. "The only person," he barks out, his voice breaking up with each word spoken, "who will ever, ever bring that thing down…"

There is a sudden slash, and the thing gulps. A curtain of blood covers its eyes.

"…is me."

Alcaeus falls to the ground. Azad can see that one of his legs is severed, left as nothing but a stump. Its disconnected, bladed end is right in his hand — right where the thing's head used to be just moments prior.

The fallen warrior smiles a faint smile, and the light in him disappears.

"NO!" Saanvi shouts as she jumps towards him, and falls to her knees. Azad doesn't need the aura of local Adytum to feel the incomprehensible fear that now fills her whole. "No, no, no!" She grabs his chest, then his head. Azad can only watch as she rips his whole form apart, until all that is left is a single malformed crystal, located right where Alcaeus' heart was just a few seconds ago. Her hands are trembling and dirty with blood-red oil when she brings the thing up to the light.

The moment Saanvi sees there is still lightning alive within the core, she sighs with heavy relief.

For just a few seconds, she closes her eyes, and takes a deep breath.

When she opens them again, Azad can see cold determination plastered all across her face. "He will live," she says, tightening her grip on the soul of her loved one. "As will we."

She stands up, and takes the first step up the stairs leading to their salvation. She gives Azad a strong look, and nods. "Let's go."

Kalmaktama is aflame, and its roots are a grave for the ashen.

They emerge in a square somewhere deep inside Adytum. It is a broken thing, now no longer a mighty part of the flesh-tree. The buildings hundreds of people called homes just yesterday are barren — they're nothing more but a few loose stumps where organs should be. The plaza's floor, once just as strong as bones, is now cracked. Cancerous growths and burnt muscles are visible all around it, smoldering roots of Adytum growing through them, almost as if in some desperate attempt to save its own cells from dying.

In those roots, there lay corpses.

Corpses of everyone and everything, little more than broken masses of flesh and metal, barely recognizable as once having been human. And they are burning. All of Adytum is. The world is aflame with a fire more terrible than anything Azad could ever imagine — a fire not made by men, not brewed by alchemists, but a fire from the belly of a broken, hungry goddess. A goddess who is willing to go to any lengths to ensure victory, even if she has to burn the whole world to fuel the furnace that keeps her alive.

Even through the dust and smoke, Azad can still smell the people rot.

He stops for a moment to take it all in, and barely resists the urge to vomit.

"You all right?" Saanvi says, cluthing Alcaeus' crystal even tighter. Azad does the same with Meher. Saanvi doesn't say it, but in her eyes, Azad can see she isn't indifferent to the fate of Adytum, either. "We can take a moment if you—"

"No." He clears his throat, and inhales slowly. "No. We can't afford that. We have to keep moving."

Saanvi just nods, and starts walking towards the nearest building.

What they enter once might've been a watchtower sprung together from the ribcages and spines of colossal things, cemented together with flesh and nerve. Now, though, it is little less than a smoldering staircase leading up atop the city's broken walls.

"Trying to leave through Adytum's gates is impossible. It would be suicide," Saanvi says as they begin their ascent. "But if we aren't too late, we can still make it through one of the tunnels. Saarn couldn't have gotten all of them before the siege began. She didn't have the time." She takes a moment to consider. "I think I know one that could—"

She stops when she emerges atop the walls, and sees Adytum whole. She takes a deep breath.

It is a ruin-in-making, a cause inevitably and unavoidably lost, no matter the victor of today's battle. All throughout, it is scarred with great pits of sticky, green fire and large, spherical craters where houses should be. On every street, in every building someone is there, fighting — and corpses litter everywhere they can see. Adytum is no longer singing — it is screaming in burnt and cut and hanged and crushed agony, every single one of its citizens — both permanent and invading — now a victim to the flame that befalls it whole. Its branches are still flickering with a hungry fire that sends ashes down to bury those who dwell beneath it. Even the center of the city, where all of its muscles come to form together the trunk of its great tree, is now little more than a desperately wounded organ — one whose walls the invaders are still trying to breach.

Somewhere in the distance, the great winged Hedwig takes to the skies to fight a many-armed thing covered in bandages. Beneath them, two titans clash: one of steel and the other of flesh, two hundred-meter things that defy the very concept of limits. One of them is a Colossus, a broken flamethrower in its only remaining arm, the other — Klavigar Orok, a beast unrivaled in battle by anyone and anything. Its great mouth is covered in horns and swords, one of its eyeballs permanently plucked out. Its hands are scarred and flowing with crimson blood, their strong grip closing in on the metal head of its adversary, hoping to crush those who pilot it inside.

Each time one of them strikes, Azad and Saanvi can feel the earth tremble with fear. Pieces of buildings and people fly in every distance at speeds high enough that they might even reach the two observers and reduce them to pulp.

Yet still, they cannot help but stand still and witness the death of the city before them.

Deep beneath, on a pile of corpses of her own making stands a single hooded figure, four daggers in each of her hands. She is moving like the wind, cutting down the hundreds of Mekhanite soldiers like nothing but grass. She is right in her element, Azad sees — she isn't terrified; she lives for this. She lives for the thrill that bringing her enemies down makes her feel, almost indifferent towards the cost. No matter where this instinct comes from — be it from some corner of her past or just an inhuman focus on the present — there is just determination in her posture, not a single ounce of fear anywhere in those movements.

The same cannot be said for the people who try to bring her down.

Azad can see it now with more clarity than ever, almost as if time itself slowed down to allow him to gaze upon the hundreds of inevitable corpses who march to meet their doom. They aren't an unbent force that walks to bring Adytum down, he now sees. They aren't bloodthirsty warmongers, blinded by their goddess to murder children in her name. They are the children.

Little more than teens with spears in their hands, metal in their brains, and tears in their eyes, they march for the glory of Bumaro, Hedwig, and Legate. They march ever so forward in spite of reason, in spite of dreams, in spite of compassion. They march forward because to obey is the only thing they know. How could they not? What would they be, if they ever resisted the words of their prophets? Less than anything. Less than nothing. So they up take their weapons and gaze upon the people who live in Adytum — their own brethren in a common struggle — and know that they need to become the hunters, lest they wish to become the hunted.

And even then, even when they think they have a choice, they are nothing more than pawns in a game of others. An existence reduced to a statistic, a number to be culled at the hands of Ion and his Klavigars for the sake of war without meaning.

When they fall down and meet the bloody pavement to become little more than dead flesh, they are no different from the people of Adytum. They fall to a demise they couldn't have avoided, couldn't have possibly stood up against. They live and die so that Ion and his Klavigars and the prophets of Mekhane can play one more round of conquest; a struggle as old as it is nonsensical.

A heart is crushed, blood spills on the floor, and a man shouts in final recognition he is about to meet his end; yet still, the wheel of violence keeps on turning.

Azad has once heard from somebody that Mekhane and Yaldabaoth are both two faces of a single being, two reflections of the same fire. He's heard those words before his own people burned that man beneath the flesh-tree to show what happens to those who still dare believe in any gods to chain their kin down.

Looking at Adytum, he can almost believe it.

"I…" Saanvi tries to speak. "I'm sorry. I truly am."

Azad doesn't meet her gaze. He just grips Meher closer to his chest. "I know." He closes his eyes, and resists the urge to let terror take him over. He needs to stay strong. For her sake, and his own. Otherwise, all of this would've been for nothing. "I know." He inhales slowly. "But we have to go. There is nothing we can d—"

There is a sudden change in the air, one sharp movement in the local winds. Both Saanvi and Azad immediately snap into full attention.

A spark of adrenaline goes down their spines.

Somewhere deep inside their soul, in a primal place that connects them to the dying city of Adytum, a silent serpent awakens.

It can see them.

Ah. I have been looking for you, little traitor.

Before either can even move, the hooded figure unveils herself and looks directly at them. She is a diminutive little person, all lean muscle and scars, dark dreads of hair going down her tattooed face. Her weapons and robes are nothing special — they are the same make and design all citizens of the deathless capital bear. But there is something in her eyes, something in those almost snake-like yellow irises that shows them she isn't just a nobody. There is pain beyond words in them, an unfulfilled promise of violence; it's almost as if they belong to a child once more, one who swore she would burn the whole world to the ground if it meant she'd break free from her chains, and—

Azad stumbles back, and realizes the ink around her eyes forms three serpents that coil around each other.

Klavigar Saarn smiles, and the tattoo starts to move.

"Az—" Saanvi tries to say as she grabs Azad by his arm, the one that holds Meher, only to be interrupted by a flying dagger piercing her hand. Then another. Then another. Before she can do anything, her whole arm is torn to shreds by a barrage of blades, the blood only barely held back by Saanvi's flesh-bending. Once the pain hits her, her eyes go wide in terror; they go even wider when they see the figure of Saarn lunging at them from a distance that should be impossible to close, four new weapons already in her hands.

Come. There is no need to draw this out, a hiss rattles their brains.

Saanvi looks directly at Azad. "RUN!" she screams at the top of her lungs. Azad doesn't have time to even think this over; he just begins to sprint for his life with all the strength he can muster, gripping his daughter closer to his chest.

They are fast — faster than any human still burdened by the limits of their flesh ever could manage — but Saarn knows the city. She is the city. Neither Saanvi nor Azad are amateurs, but there is a terrible, ancient power to each movement of the Klavigar, almost as if she is reconfiguring each of her muscles to account for the best possible outcome every time she takes an impossibly quick step. She flings from wall to wall, and with her come her daggers; awful, poisoned weapons made from black steel and pulsating with red flesh. And they land every single time.

The chase is over before long.

Struck again on their legs, Azad and Saanvi fall to meet the ground below them, Azad meeting the pavement head-first to shield Meher from the same fate. They are unable to even move; their lower muscles are all torn to shreds. And above them, the now-looming figure of Saarn emerges. Her posture and the ash falling around her block out the sun, leaving the two runaways as nothing but prey, alone in some dark alley; a dark alley whose floor is covered in blood and oil, soon to be joined by two fools who thought they could possibly challenge the Empires of Ion and Bumaro.

Apostate, heed my words.

Seemingly from nowhere, Saarn's many hands emerge with even more weapons than before. The three snakes move once more, almost as if hissing, and she locks her alien eyes with the two people who dared defy her. She raises her weapons, and time seemingly stops.

Somewhere close, Azad suddenly notices, one of the Colossi is sent flying across a square to break its back upon Adytum's walls. It no longer has any arms, pathetic gears still turning where they once might've been. It's a broken form, one unfit to carry out the duty of its goddess. It is about to meet its end. Orok lunges right at it, two great rocks in his hands, and throws them right at his adversary. There is a dull thump, but before he can see what happens to the pilots, Saarn's approaching figure blocks out that view, too.

A man that Azad doesn't recognize shouts a few streets to their right, and then his voice turns to gurgles. Azad knows that ash will soon cover the man's still-warm body — a fate he more than expects for himself in the upcoming moments.

The skies above Adytum are smoke-black, he now sees. He never will know if Hedwig made it out alive.

There is the sound of a building collapsing, but Azad doesn't hear it.

A bell rings. Its cries for help are little more than a whisper.

I am Saarn. I am jaka. Bleed like you have made your people bleed.

In his last moments, Azad realizes he is a coward. He's always been a coward. Too afraid to die to ever attempt to actually live; a broken man dying in a broken city, soon to fall beneath someone who could've done better. Someone who, by all means, should've been better.

Maybe Saanvi was right, he thinks. Maybe all the Nälkä ever did really was just change their chains.

Either way, that doesn't matter now.

Azad clutches the head of his daughter closer to his own, and closes his eyes.

If dying here meant living with her, so be it. It was more than worth it.

The second he accepts his fate, his mind is ripped apart. There is a terrible scream, and a great pressure louder and more oppressive than anything he has ever heard fills his head. It bangs on the doors to his soul and rips them right open until all that is left is a channel for it to deliver its message. And deliver a message it does, in the clearest, most powerful voice Saanvi or Azad could ever imagine:

PEOPLE OF ADYTUM. COME TO THE HEART OF YOUR CITY. COME TOGETHER AND SLAY THE THREE PROPHETS THAT WISH TO CHAIN YOU IN THE NAME OF THEIR GODDESS. COME, AND FIGHT FOR YOUR ION.

The voice doesn't just sound out; it resonates with some deep part of their souls. It's barely a request — it's almost like an order of the highest magnitude, one they need to obey. For a split second, every single muscle and neuron in their bodies burns with an indescribable urge to go there and aid their messiah in one final stand against their adversaries. It was as if the world itself was calling them for aid — a request they could never, ever ignore.

A request Saarn could certainly not ignore.

A request that Azad, in spite of his own will, could certainly not ignore, either.

Overwhelmed by an indescribable need for loyalty, he takes the first step forward, towards the alleyway Saarn just disappeared through to aid her brother.

"Azad!" Saanvi suddenly shouts, gripping her bleeding stump. "What the hell…?"

Almost as if through a trance, Azad just points at the square in the distance before him, where all of Adytum comes together to meet at its heart. It's the place where the three prophets are — the place where Ion and his brethren will fight a single final battle for their city and their lives. The place where Azad will fight alongside them. He—

"Azad!" She shakes him by his shoulders, then hits him in the face. He blinks twice, and feels something almost akin to a fog lift itself from his brain. "What are you doing?!"

For a split second, he doesn't know what to say. He just stares at Saanvi, almost dumbfounded as to what is happening.

Before him stands Saanvi — a tall but broken woman, clutching both the soul of her loved one and what used to be her arm to her chest. She is clearly in pain; even her words are filled with grief. Her voice is distant, but Azad can understand what she's saying; that behind them, just a few streets to the left, there is an entry to the tunnels. One they can escape through, now that the fight was taken entirely away from them. One they could use and never look back at Adytum again.

Her words are wise, but they speak to his brain, not his soul.

Behind him lays something much more important — the heart of Adytum. Even from here, he can see its participants; a few hundred Nälkä and Mekhanites, fighting alongside seven of the most important people of the last few centuries. The great Bumaro and his battlehammer, their silver towering over his opponents; the many-armed Legate, each six-fingered hand holding a different contraption crafted from the essence of her goddess; the winged Hedwig, her implants almost as wide as the square itself. In their opposition stand the Klavigars, nothing but cold determination writ in their bones and flesh. Orok, Nadox, and Saarn; they stand unbent, in spite of their fourth, Lovataar, being nowhere to be found. They will not go down without a slaughter.

Among them, however, one is missing. Grand Karcist Ion is nowhere to be seen. He hasn't appeared yet.

And then, he does.

He walks out of the great flesh tree itself, the structure almost starting to wither the second he's no longer connected to it. He's a small young person, all androgynous lean limbs and dirty long hair. He is only wearing a simple red robe and walking stick to cover his scars and chain marks long since shunned. He is nothing special, no more than any of the people who make up his kingdom.

He stops, and looks at Bumaro.

And then all hell breaks loose.

Azad cannot see what is happening, not anymore; the battlefield flashes with metal and shifting flesh, almost like a tsunami. There are loud crashes and shouts and screams and words he cannot quite make out that get lost on the wind. Everything except the center of the city is silent, he suddenly notices. Nothing matters anymore except the final confrontation at the heart of the world.

He looks down at his hands to grip them and join his brothers and sisters. It is his duty. It is his order. If he has to die for the sake of Ion, so be it. He will do as commanded by the only person who has ever mattered — the one who set them all free and gave them the freedom of will. The freedom to be who they want to be, he thinks as his arms tense up and—

And then he notices Meher.

She too is a fragile being. Her black, curly hair contrasts widely with her deep blue eyes. In two months she will celebrate her first full summer — a feat not a lot of children can claim. Especially not those without fathers.

Azad closes his eyes, and feels his brain start to catch on fire. He takes a deep breath.

When he opens them again, he looks at Saanvi. His face is full of shame.

Instead of saying anything, she just smiles a tired little smile, and starts to walk towards the tunnels. It's not a quick or dignified walk; she is still focusing all of her strength on resisting the poison that is now festering inside her organism. It is not a march full of glory, but it is a way out.

Without further words, Azad slowly joins Saanvi, and never looks back.

Somewhere in the distance, far away that Adytum is little more than a dot on the horizon, Azad and Saanvi emerge in a cliffside cave. Their eyes take a second to adjust to the brightness.

Before they can notice the figures now standing before them, Azad starts to hear their quiet whispers, their words full of worry for what's to come. They see that Alcaeus isn't with them, and neither are the many others who were meant to leave Adytum tonight. Something's gone wrong, they feel. Something's gone terribly wrong.

Saanvi doesn't say anything. She just lets everyone look at the crystal and draw their own conclusions. Azad doesn't speak, either — he's too busy looking at the people whom he's trusted his life to.

Before him stand the Freemen. There are a few dozens of them, maybe fifty at most. They are peoples of flesh, metal, and everything in-between. A broken and tired bunch, none of them are the same — some are tall, some are small; some are all clad in metal, others are little more than writhing flesh, and others inhabit both forms still; some are old and some are young; some are feminine, some are masculine, some are both, and some are neither. Some, Azad notices, don't even look humanoid at all.

And yet, none of them are the great monsters he's heard about all his life. None of them look like they are about to slay his child and burn his home. They are all just human.

Just like him.

Just like Meher.

He barely holds back tears.

"Friends," Saanvi finally speaks, looking all around herself. "I trust you are all fine?"

A quiet murmur goes through the crowd. She smiles. "Good. That's good." She pauses. "We need to march out at dawn. Whoever survived the siege will be coming for us. Of that I'm certain."

More quiet words go around the room; words of exhausted understanding. Saanvi smiles some more.

"I… Saanvi?" Azad says as he comes closer. "What do we do, now?"

She turns towards him, and, for a few seconds, they both look out beyond the cave and at Adytum.

No matter who was left standing in the heart of the city, Kalmaktama has fallen. Those who died defending it will not be remembered. No songs will be sung for the children buried beneath its ashes — only for those who sent them to their deaths.

Saanvi takes a moment to consider. "Like I said — we head for one of our safehouses. We used to hide out somewhere between Adytum and Amoni, but, well…" She shakes head her. "I doubt anyplace this side of the sea will be safe, now. Maybe nearby the ruins of Daev—"

"Right, but… I meant it more in general. What do we do?" He looks her directly in the eyes. "I… I threw everything I knew away. I can't just go back, even if Ion was the one to succeed. I'm no longer one of them. I—"

Her hand falls on his shoulder, and she gives him a very tired smile. "We do the same thing we always do." She looks out beyond the horizon, right at the sun rising above a ruined world. "We live to die another day."