Paramythi III: Prometheus

Neriah had begun to lead the small number of survivors through the wreckage of Tentrail.

Whenever a howling dead corpse tried to pounce, Tovi was quick to burn them to a crisp. It took thirty minutes to reach a safe spot; covered by the tarp of a rundown market stall. It was enough to keep their backs covered from lurking Prowlers or zombified mini-Remiel’s.

“I need to get back to the church.” Neriah said, gripping the lip of the tarp above her. She had cast her eyes towards the cliffs, across the ruined pubs and houses. The church stood unscathed above it all. “There will be destruction on the horizon, otherwise.”

“But that’s across town!” Dyson yelled, waving a hand through the air. “We just escaped to get all the way here. We’d have to backtrack just to make it to the foot of the hill.”

“You won’t need to, because you’re going to head for the border.” Neriah turned, hands clasping against her stomach. “Dyson, you need to lead the survivors out of Emvolo to rendezvous with an unacquainted ally, then head to the Colosseum – Tovi, Calix and Ares need to go with you.”

“You will be on your own?” Tovi spoke up, perched upon one of the untattered crates. He had been rubbing the build of charcoal coating his legs, admiring the phoenix’s aid of power when Neriah spoke. He hopped down, meeting the Prophet with narrowed eyes. “…you are going to save him, yes?”

“I am going to do what I must.” Neriah reached out, linking their hands together. “You gave me the chance to live this long, Toviah Thrax. But now I must give back the life I stole.”

Tovi’s reply was a short bow. He squeezed the pale fingers in his grubby, charcoal-stained hands. It was an affectionate gesture to give the young woman before turning away to urge Dyson to leadership.

Together, the group ducked out from the tarp and crept along the visible pathway leading to the border. Their footing was audible, breaking wooden boards and sloping tiles nestled against brickwork. The skies had begun to open, spewing golden streaks across their path.

Dyson stepped forward, darting from tarp to tarp for coverage as he led his people. He threw hand-signs over his shoulder, halting the group if there was a threat ahead or influencing them to move when the coast was clear. Another thirty minutes of constant stops, signs and whispers, the group finally made it to the border.

“Should we fly up and check that we’re clear?” Ares whispered, pressing his ear against the border’s wall.

“No way,” Calix shook his head. “If you fly up, you’ll be totally exposed to that freaky God. I don’t want you to get split in half, or whatever!”

“Silence,” Tovi raised his hand, chin raised and eyes darting. “I hear something.”

They all fell quiet. The wind was low, picking up fliers and featherweight debris. Gunshots were being fired in the distance, over the walls into Capitol. Tentrail was silent as a graveyard; which was all it had become.

“Friend or foe?” A muffled voice echoed.

Tovi lifted his chin, glowing eyes hard against the darkness of their shelter by the wall. “Show yourself.”

“You’re with the Rebellion?”

“Yes,” Tovi pivoted on his heel, hands raised. “Show!”

From the corner of their eyes came three figures. A Feral, a Faeman and an Allawo. All were unarmed, with their hands above their head. There were no mini-veils or horns, no black blood and snarls. The Allawo looked threatened, but their veins were not flared. They just looked annoyed.

“My name is Hermes,” the Feral spoke up. “These are my companions, Dite and Peitho. We are companions of Damara and Selene, we have assisted Sytry's host, Riyo Midas… and, uh, the young woman called Psykhe Trezla? Yes, she has accompanied us, too.”

Ares stepped forward. His eyes were hard. “Where’s Damara?”

“The Colosseum.” Hermes replied. “She followed Selene. I believe we must go there, too.”

“That is what our Prophet said,” Tovi strode forward. He extended a hand to Hermes. “Toviah Thrax, Rebellion’s Weapon Master.”

“Oh, man!” The Faeman cheered, pushing past Hermes to take Tovi’s hand. “Hi, I’m Dite! I’m such a big fan of the Rebellion. Like… Gods! You guys are just so cool!”

Introductions went around the group in a hurry before they set off for their next destination. The usual ritual to sneak inside Capitol walls was forgotten as they hurried on through the wide, golden entrance. Paint and polish were chipped along the metal bars and one gate hung loose on its single, rusted hinge.

The guards had long abandoned their post. They were either fighting off the riot in the plaza or turning tail and running for their lives outside the border. The harbour was probably the busiest sector of Emvolo right now, as cowards and thieves collected themselves and abandoned port. Drawing closer, the gunshots were ringing in the distance and a collection of Junior R left Dyson’s side to join their brethren against the plaza’s melee.

“We must get to the Colosseum!” Hermes shouted. “Half of us are getting caught in the uproar!”

As if on cue, one of the civilians in the crowd threw a homemade bomb across the street. It smashed a window to the nearest shop and the whole thing burst into flame; blowing off the front sign and door.

Dite and Peitho huddled around Hermes whilst Tovi covered Ares and Calix with his wings. Dyson had dropped to his knees along with the remainder of his men, grunting out a course of commands to follow once they were in the clear.

“Dyson!” Tovi snapped, watching the young rebel jump into the crowd with his followers.

“For Emvolo!” Dyson yelled, quickly swarmed by the beaten faces and animalistic scowls. His battle cries were soon lost in the heavy shouts and gunshots.

Tovi spared no time to watch the scene unfold before he grasped Ares’ elbow and pulled his little brother along. Calix was quick to join, along with Hermes and his faithful companions. What was once the collaboration of Rebellion and Junior R was left in the uncertain faces of six tired soldiers.

“Hey! Tovi!”

Hope inflated Tovi’s lungs when he turned his head to the voice. He saw Neoma, standing on a low wall in the distance as she held off several snarling Prowlers. From beside her was Reidonn, covering her back with a wicked smile plastered on her grubby face.

“Yo, when did you start walking again?!” Neoma laughed, shooting a Prowler in the side of its head. A careless swipe to her cheek was enough to swat away the blood of her enemies and Neoma walked along the wall, keeping pace with Tovi. “You and I really need to talk when this is over.”

“Aye,” Tovi waved an arm above his head. “I am going to the Colosseum. We meet up later?”

“You got it, boss!” Neoma threw a thumbs-up before hopping down the other side of the wall with Reidonn. She called into the air, just audible for Tovi’s ears. “Enzo went on ahead, keep an eye out!”

Tovi pursed his lips together, having gained his second wind for motivation. It was enough to keep moving forward and lead the others to the Colosseum where golden lights were sprouting from inside, creating fireworks in the sky. It was no question; Remiel was there and he was not alone.

“There are people inside.” Hermes called, pressing his hands against the Colosseum walls. “Psykhe Trezla, Kane Ruskin, Selene Eos, Helios Artemis…”

“Is Damara in there?” Ares snipped.

“Yes,” Hermes pulled his hand back, motioning towards the entrance. “But we must be wary. Remiel and Sytry are at arms above, we mean nothing to them, but we could surely get caught in the crosshairs.”

“Okay, well, we could always like sneak in, right?” Dite commented, waving a hand to grab their attention. “We could just rescue them!”

“Slip in, slip out.” Peitho twirled a long strand of hair around their forefinger. “No-one will ever know we were there.”

“You’ve done before?” Tovi murmured, holding an arm out when Ares darted forward. He kept his brother back, nestled in the crook of his arm before he did something stupid. “You can sneak in and get our friends out?”

Hermes cracked an awkward smile. “It is sort of our… thing. We managed to sneak into Capitol, Leto’s theatre no less. I have met Helios Artemis in person, I will be able to sneak in and communicate with him through thought. Plus, I will be able to liaise with Damara.”

“Get it done.” Tovi said, patting the man on the shoulder. “We have faith in you.”

Neriah was not a warrior. She liked to think herself as a simple soul who just happened to hear the voices of Gods above and deliver their justice onto those who deserved penalty.

Evil men like Merine Trezla had used her in the past to bend her powers to their own will. It was an exaggeration of greed and power. Merine had been too clever, too cunning. Neriah knew all she had said had been wrong – to watch Sylvannix hang over and over. She had wondered if the Gods would strike her down for it, but she never got her karma.

She joined the Rebellion. She joined arms with Kane Ruskin’s troupes and grew close to the men and women who had a silent dislike for her church. She would always return to the surface to conduct hymns and foretell her prophecies for Emvolo’s people. But she was no longer a part of Capitol or attached by invisible strings to evil men.

Neriah had become a Rebel, but she was still no warrior.

Streaks of sunlight began to crack through, paving the way as Neriah hurried towards the looming church. She had little run-ins with any mini-Remiel’s and had been stealthy during her ascension. Upon meeting the foot of the hill, she kicked off her shoes and hiked up her dress with balled fists.

Her chest was heaving, her lips were dry. The hill was a strenuous climb even on the best of days, with steep steps and overgrown blades of grass. She dared to wonder how her elderly attendees had managed to beat the climb.

Once clear of the sopping ground and beating grass, Neriah slid to her knees. She panted hard, forcing clean air into her stinging lungs. Her legs burned, her knuckles ached. The Gods were granting her no stamina or mercy in these trying times. A handful of minutes passed, and the Prophet stood, wind whirling through her long hair as she shoved the doors to her church wide open.

The woodwork groaned loudly, hinges screeching from lack of maintenance against its rusty screws. Every sound faded before springing back, an echo in low hums. Neriah was reluctant to even step foot inside, if not for the man hanging against the statue in the back centrepiece across from her.

Theo Dante was tied up by his wrists, hanging just in front of Remiel’s statue. The God of Emvolo’s mouth was wide, sharp teeth exposed as if he were about to eat Theo up. The man was unconscious – or so Neriah had hoped. She was relieved to see his chest rise and fall as she drew closer, stepping over tufts of rotten carpet and stones.

“You and Theo Dante met here many years ago, if I recall.” Merine Trezla lilted, announcing his place in the shadows. He was perched upon one of the benches to Neriah’s right, leg crossed and arm hanging over the back of his seat. “The Gods must be kind to have led you here.”

“I led myself here, Sir Trezla.” Neriah replied. Her hands clasped, her hair wafted, and she pivoted with her usual grace. The muck and sweat did not tarnish her reputation. She was and always would be the embodiment of Holy. “I am surprised to see you. I thought you were witnessing Kane Ruskin’s execution.”

Merine narrowed his eyes. “Don’t play coy. You know he lived. Now there’s a whole bloody riot going on in my city.” He threw an arm into the air, wincing. “No, no. I figured I would let the citizens sort it between themselves. The God of Emvolo would never lay a finger on his own house. The church was naturally the safest place to be.”

“You were not harmed by the corpses who roam Tentrail?”

“My skills often define my defence, Lady Kiska. You need not worry for my safety.”

“Good, because I do not worry.”

Merine smirked. “You worry for the Sylvannix.” He looked up at Theo dangling helplessly. “Would I be wrong to assume something akin to romance flourishing beneath Tentrail? Were you laying with a beast in the filthy tunnels? How poetically disgusting.”

“I forgot to congratulate you on your marriage.” Neriah tucked back a strand of hair, lips pursed in a tight smile. “Tell me, did you blackmail her before or after your honeymoon?”

Merine released a low chuckle and moved, standing from his bench to walk up the aisle. One hand lay against his chest, messaging the wound beneath his dress-shirt. Without the aid of shadows, Neriah could see how weak he was. His brow was clammy, his hair had fallen across his face, unkempt and so unlike Merine. His eyes were hollow, lips purple. His shoulders were shaking and Neriah almost felt sorry for him. Almost.

“I believe that wound of yours is infected.”

“Yes, thank you for pointing that fact out.” Merine practically hissed. His brow furrowed. “What are you doing?!”

Neriah dismissed the man as she stepped up to Remiel’s statue. Her hands rested upon the belly of Emvolo’s God as she murmured a prayer. Her words were enough to put slack into the bonds holding Theo above them.

Merine grit his teeth. “You are not in control here!”

Neriah’s hand turned flat against the open air. She did not avert her gaze from her task as she sent a breeze of strength to penetrate Merine’s chest and send him flying through the church, narrowly missing the open doors before tumbling down the hill.

Theo came crashing to the ground without a second to spare and Neriah gasped, catching the Sylvannix. They toppled to the ground together, Theo on top and Neriah flat on her back. The chains rattled, pooling either side of the duo as they lay beneath Remiel’s stone feet.

Neriah sighed into the open air, running her hand through the curly tufts upon Theo’s head. The pad of her forefinger traced the edge of his horns, cut down to his hairline. It was a savagery Neriah wished she could rewind; although she was thankful it had not been a limb to have been sent in a basket to Kane’s doorstep.

When Theo did stir, it was momentary. His single eye blinked up at the woman holding him before he winced and nestled his head against her chest. His knitted brows only confirmed his pain and Neriah prayed for him, kissed the crown of his head and flopped back against the ground for a much-needed rest.