Paramythi III: Prometheus

“Over here!”

“Are they okay?” Psykhe ran forward, losing her footing as she followed Helios over the dune banks towards the coast where she had ironically woken up to Damara only hours ago. “Can you see them?”

Helios practically leapt over the heap. He toppled and rolled on his right shoulder. It was a natural motion, he landed on his feet as soon as gravity stopped him from rolling and he nearly crawled the rest of the way.

Psykhe was a tad more majestic. She shoved the end of Atlas into the bank and hiked herself over the edge. She and Helios had gone their separate ways from Damara and Selene. After Hermes had appeared to pull them out of the Colosseum, they had said their goodbyes and had to find Riyo and Elias.

“I found them!”

Psykhe floated the rest of the way, Magick fuelling her movements until she reached Helios’ side. Her hand gripped his shoulder and she peered, seeing their best friends wrapped up in each other’s arms. Their chests were moving, and although they were covered in blood and ash, they were alive.

Helios knelt, dragging them up from the water’s edge and along the sand. His shaky hands went to Riyo instinctively and he pulled them up into his lap, running a hand through their matted, blood-stained hair.

Psykhe had retrieved Sytry’s trident from the water before moving to Elias. As she knelt, her eyes scanned across his bony chest and arms. She inwardly cringed at the gashes and heavy wounds he had sustained and shuffled along the sand to place her open palms against his stomach.

Elias Kara opened his eyes for the first time in two years and cried. His hands went to Psykhe’s wrists, cutting her healing spell short as he pulled himself up to sit and stare at the trio staring at him. An apology; it was all he had replayed in his mind for this very moment. It felt dreamlike when Psykhe leant forward and pulled him into a hug.

Helios bit his lip, lacing a spare arm around Elias and Psykhe, pulling them against the stirring Riyo. The four tired rebels sat like that for as long as they could, pretending it was the only solution. In that moment, it had been.

War waged on. A riot upon riot for all the little, unspoken grudges against each other. It consisted of Tentrail and Capitol, versing in the middle of the plaza. Even the most refined nobles had called their battle cries, torn clumps of hair from their foes’ heads and had their pearly necklaces snapped off in return.

When Kaira Vallis entered the fray, control took shape. She met Maxa with narrowed eyes, catching the gun thrown to her. It was a silent command, informing her to take charge as Maxa backed up and ran for the Bank.

“The souls from Tentrail are climbing Capitol walls!” A screech soared, turning heads and flexed forefingers towards the border.

Pale, tangled corpses were tumbling into Capitol territory. Their mouths hung wide, teeth jiggered, and forehead encased in Remiel’s shattering veil. Some of them landed on their face, smashing their veils to pieces – they kept walking, moaning and groaning. It was the kind of catastrophic realisation the riots needed to stop their fighting.

“Fire!” Kaira whirled her arm in the air, calling upon her people; Rebellion and Junior R alike.

Bullets flew, corpses fell. It was an endless cycle as each twisted body picked themselves back up, adorning just a little less blood than before every time. Their bones audibly creaked, grating together under the strain of their wasting flesh and muscle.

Kaira recognised a collection of those undead faces. She felt like the eleven-year old girl, standing in the Lion’s Mouth pub, watching as her friends and family were torn apart. Her gun turned slack against her hip, fingers shaking when the silhouette of someone so familiar and foreign peeked from the dust and debris.

Ivana Vallis had been one of the warmest members of the Rebellion in her time. Her greying features were handsome – a strong indicator to how beautiful she had been in her prime. She was always willing to give her fellow Rebels words of encouragement, who often found those who felt they could no longer go on in this crazy world and shed light on a future that could be if they worked together.

She had been the mother hen of the Rebellion, the light in the dark, the laughter in silence. Now she was a tall corpse with greasy, blue-dyed hair spilling across her encased face.

Kaira’s throat had gone tight. “Damn the Gods.” She sobbed, lifting her gun.

Ivana’s footsteps did not stop. She had made a beeline straight for her daughter, long arms reaching and bony fingers cracking. Her mouth opened to an impossible size, baring purple gums and black teeth. It was almost mocking; as if she knew her daughter would never pull the trigger. No-one should have to end their mother’s life.

A high whistle pierced Kaira’s ears. Ivana turned her head to the noise as two, drooling Prowlers leapt from the rooftops around them. Their claws dug into Ivana’s rotten flesh, pulling her away from Kaira. Shiny teeth, gleamed with blood and drool, dug into her shoulder and chest, thus earning them a high scream from the corpse.

Kaira’s vision was blocked by a man’s chest and she instinctively dropped her gun to hug him. Her arms shook and her tears stained the tattered lace on his dress-coat. She did not look up, afraid to break the illusion of warm skin and steady breath. Her thoughts ran a mile a minute; replaying the same scene that had haunted her sleep for the past four years.

Deimos had never been hugged like this. He was unsure what to do at first, wary for their surroundings as more corpses filled the gap between Capitol and Emvolo. Without turning to face those hideous snarls, Deimos puckered his lips and whistled.

A Prowler pounced nearby, tearing corpses apart. With every whistle, a Prowler would appear from their hidden shelter beneath slabs of stone and dusty crevices. It kept Deimos and Kaira safe until the latter stopped crying and stepped back.

With puffy red eyes and blotchy cheeks, she looked no more than ten. Her hair was matted around her face and shoulders, grubby and tattered. The gun hanging by her hip looked too big for her, like a toy in the grasp of some foolish child.

“Buck up, kid,” Deimos tutted. “You’re the leader of an alliance, so act like one.”

Kaira’s eyes were shiny, laced with unfallen tears. When she looked up, her heart jumped into her throat. It took all her ego not to shout and force words of savagery as someone finally acknowledged her. A leader? She could do that. It was too late to be a kid.

“Let’s clear this place.” Deimos whistled, sending a Prowler to throw itself from the ground and roll across a sloping roof, taking two corpses with it. “Lead the way.”

Inhaling, Kaira hoisted her gun back to her chest and turned, jumping across stonework and into the fray of corpses, nobles, rebels and Prowlers. War waged on as Kaira Villas and Deimos Enyo took back their kingdom from the God’s unholy wrath.

Enzo had taken his own path, ducking between the crowds of corpses roaming towards Capitol. He had witnessed half of Remiel and Sytry’s fight, wincing at the flashes of golden and black sprouting up from the Colosseum. He guessed half of Galaxis could have seen it, if they were not so busy burying their own heads in their problems.

The Colosseum was a death-trap, Enzo had decided. He turned to the East, tracking along the buildings settled into their hollow shells. His legs were tired, and he had limped through the most part, dragging himself over a low wall and slipped down, back pressed against the dusty surface. He used the shelter to count the bullets in his gun. Kaira had been generous when helping them escape Capitol prison, he made a promise to congratulate her heroic success when all this was over.

When Remiel and Sytry had fallen into the ocean, the air turned still. Enzo had barely noticed, too busy rummaging through the pouch at his hip to realise. His lack of attention only broke when a cold snarl filled his ears. He moved, pointing a gun upward to the corpse hovering over him.

Syra Rhines. The Rebellion’s former Unit Commander and the only woman Enzo had really loved. She had been an energetic soul, always smiling and offering snippets of advice. Her smile was charming, her singing was enchanting. Enzo had worked up the courage to speak with her after three weeks of Syra’s starting post. She had laughed, taken his hand, and together they snuck into Tentrail to dance in just about every pub until the sun came up.

Sweat formed upon Enzo’s brow. He took a shot – the momentum of the gun sending his elbow to rear back and scrape along the bricks behind him. The bullet dug into the side of Syra’s cheek and her head snapped to the side. With a quiet groan, her head recollected itself and her eyes bled black, pooling against her jaw.

Enzo pulled the trigger again, again, again and again. It did not stop Syra from walking and it certainly did not slow her down. Enzo grit his teeth, holding back a whimper of frustration when his gun clicked empty sounds. There were no more bullets left to shoot and his arm fell with a heavy clatter as the gun bounced along the ground.

Syra reared her head back, eyes turning skyward. Raining fire enveloped around her, pouring over her head like a waterfall. She cried out, hands running through her hair as if it were enough to get rid of the stream of lava burning her to a crisp.

Enzo was unable to differentiate between the two; whether the fire was a coincidence or if it was connected to the zombie wailing in front of him. He could not escape either way. The space around him was hot and heavy, swarmed with ash and charcoal skin. Crates stood high on his sides, pressed down by the weight of rubble.

Syra’s peeling arms had reached out once more. Her face was filled with fire, streaming from above Enzo’s head where Tovi perched upon the lip of the stone wall; pouring flames from the centre of his palms until Syra was nothing but a heap of ash and bone.

Tovi hopped down. He kicked the pile of smoky char with the toe of his foot before turning, expression blank as his eyes met Enzo. The man was sat with his knees bent, chest heaving. His lips opened and closed continuously, bobbing like a fish out of water.

“Vincent,” Tovi knelt, tapping Enzo’s cheek. “Focus.”

Enzo’s eyes were hazy, rattling left and right. The tap was enough to ease his shoulders and draw a low breath past his lips. His hands flew up, clutching the back of Tovi’s neck to hold him closer. Their foreheads bumped and Enzo held him there, eyes shutting as the air went quiet yet again.

The howls, whistles and gunshots began to die down behind them. Neoma and Reidonn soon entered the fray, Neoma with a boisterous sound of voice as she jumped onto Tovi’s back and Reidonn tossing her empty guns to the floor.

“Tovi, where did those super nice wings come from?!” Neoma squealed, running her hands just above the flickers of flame. “This some kind of ‘second-wind’ power Guardians get when they hit middle-aged crisis?”

Tovi snorted, pulling Enzo to his feet. “I snorted phoenix.”

Neoma’s mouth hung. “Look, man… most of the time I can understand what you mean, even with your accent, but you really gotta start adding more words to your sentences.”

“No, really.” Tovi’s eyes were serious. “I snorted phoenix.”

Reidonn cackled a laugh, thumping an open palm against Neoma’s back. “Magick around every corner, right?” She inhaled, propping a hand on her hip to examine the abandoned area. The sounds in the distant were all but gone now. “Guess we won.”

“Guess so.” Neoma cocked her head, running a finger across the base of her handgun. The boisterous tone died down. “I wonder if the Cap’n made it.”

“He made it,” Tovi said. “Twyla did not.”

As if on cue, Kane Ruskin joined the group. In his arms was Twyla Tychi, limp against the bridal style Kane held them in. They looked peaceful, despite the so-obvious bullet hole in their skull. Their lips were quirked, smiling even in death.

Enzo looked on with dead eyes. He was grateful for Tovi’s support, otherwise he would have landed to his knees from the shock. Neoma struggled a low cry and dropped her gun down to cover her face with both hands. She was pulled into a half-embrace by Reidonn who looked anywhere but the captain’s face.

From behind Kane came Hermes, Dite and Peitho, along with Selene, Damara, Ares and Calix. The group formed a circle around Kane as the man knelt to the ground, laying Twyla to the barren surface at their feet. It was not the most ideal of funerals, but who were they to know the future? How could they be sure tomorrow would be better? Their fortune was black now that their Teller was gone.

Tovi had done the honours, spreading flames upon Twyla’s body. It was not a horrific experience such as Syra’s most recent execution. Flesh did not peel away, and bloody muscle did not break from above splintered bones.

Twyla was laid to rest with respect, by burning up in a flourish of golden light and whirling into the open air above.

Maxa beat the heavy winds and smoke as she turned to the Bank. The run was nothing exciting – the fights were taking in place behind her in the plaza and leaving no room for riot elsewhere. As the Prowlers and corpses began filling the square, attention shifted and Maxa was left without unwanting eyes to follow.

The area was abandoned, with only a gust of wind strong enough to force one of Emvolo’s flags to waft along the pathway. Maxa reloaded her gun, gripped the firearm low, and took a defensive stance when someone walked out of the Bank and strode down its tattered, carpeted staircase.

“Outta the way, little sis.” Maxa grit her teeth, keeping the gun low. “This whole thing has nothing to do with you.”

Nino scoffed, hands propped upon her hips. “I think you forget who my husband is.” A roll of pretty mascara-laced eyes. “You were living in the tunnels underneath my city and you could not even send me a wedding present? Some sister you are.”

“Really? That’s what you’re mad about?”

“Of course, it isn’t!” Nino’s hands balled, her foot slammed against the brittle step. “I’m mad because you did a piss-poor job of keeping this family safe! You should have just told us about mom and dad, you could have mentioned the God of Wrath sooner! He picks off the Kara family and you knew that!”

“It wasn’t my job to carry the whole family!” Maxa barked. “It wasn’t my fault mom was possessed by Remiel when she was pregnant with Elias!”

“Sure, but you made the phone call using your stupid thugs, Junior R. You told the Rebellion about mom and they killed her!”

“Kane Ruskin saved us!”

“Kane Ruskin destroyed us!” Nino screamed. A silence landed, calming her fury before she spoke again. “…he killed mom. She was one of his own Rebels, and he blew up her aircraft. Remiel possessed dad straight after, but he wasn’t strong enough and Remiel killed him from the inside out. It was all I could remember, seeing dad lay there in bed with black eyes. He was a skeleton in the end.”

“I know,” Maxa grit her teeth. “I was there, too.”

“Were you, though?!” Nino practically laughed. “You were too busy going off with your girlfriend, Athena! You had a secret club cooperating with the Rebellion. Pepi and I were the ones taking care of Elias!”

“I tried my best, Nino!”

“Then you should have taken us out of Emvolo! You should have taken us far away from this place! Somewhere Remiel could have left us alone, somewhere the Rebellion could have cut ties! You made the choice to stay here! You killed us and now you have to live with it!”

“I love you, and Pepi and Elias… mom and dad.” Maxa ground her teeth together. “But I will not take the blame for what a whole family should have done together.”

“Then you should have acted like we were a family.” Nino hissed. “Now everything’s over. My husband is gone, Elias is gone. Pepi is gone in the head, and you’re standing on my doorstep with a gun in your hands. The choice is yours, Maxa. Like always!”

The Kara sisters were consumed by a sweep of black mist and ash. They covered their mouths, eyes stinging against the hazy wind. Footsteps pounded against their ears. Maxa narrowed her eyes against the faint image of a third figure, skulking through the darkness.

When the smoke died down, the God of Wrath stood between them. His newest host was tall, with blond hair tousled against his newly made crown. The veil was still broken, despite swapping hosts. His eyes were swollen and sore, damp with inky black fluid running down his sharp cheekbones and when he moved, his legs wobbled with the weight of a man who used to carry his pride on his sleeve. Merine Trezla.

Maxa drew her gun and Nino turned to run. Remiel was quick to pull them both down, forcing them flat against the ground with the force of gravitational pull through his fingertips. His head cocked to the side, audibly clicking.

A dull thud collided against the back of Remiel’s head and he stumbled forward, tripping over a clump of stone. His hold on Maxa and Nino ceased, the former darting up the staircase as soon as she could to jump her sister and wrestle her to the ground.

Remiel swiped his arm out, whirling to face his attacker. He was met with Atlas, Psykhe Trezla’s staff. The blunt head jabbed his chin, turning his head up as he glared at the woman with flared nostrils. When he moved to take a swipe, the soft clicks of guns cocking filled his left ear and warned him from taking another move.

Beside Psykhe stood Helios, arms stretched, twin guns aimed at the exposed flesh along Remiel’s host’s face. His face was grubby and tired, laced with the old stains of his make-up from Merine’s party.

Three sharp blades glinted from the opposite side of Remiel’s head and he turned, noting Sytry’s trident jabbed against the empty side of his face. Riyo’s frown was full of bruises and dried blood. Their brows knit together in a mature fashion, nothing like Sytry’s carefree pouts or smiles.

Before Remiel could bare his teeth, he felt a dull pain surge up from the base of his spine. He did not need clarification to know who wielded the knife pressing against his back; he could feel the familiarity baring down on him.

Elias Kara stood on weak legs. Sweat riddled his forehead, his eyes were sunken with purple rings looping around both sockets. Lips had turned blue; his hair was pooling around his face, and he looked ready to fall.

“Sytry is gone.” Riyo hissed.

Helios’ jaw turned tight. “Time to go, your holiness.”

“You have nothing left here, Remiel,” Psykhe said between sighs. “You sent Sytry back to the sky. It’s your turn to go, to follow him like you always do.”

Remiel grit pearly, white teeth. “How dare you hold weapons to your own God. How can you be so reckless?!”

“Because you made us this way.” Elias’ tired voice hit the air. “When you created Emvolo, you turned its people cold. Me and Psykhe, we’ve always been hollow on the inside. Riyo and Helios only turned out this way because of the people you cursed in Emvolo. Its why we’re able to do this, to banish you back to the sky; because it’s what you wanted all those years ago.”

Remiel’s breathing had laboured, hands turning to fists. He turned to strike Elias but Riyo clonked him over the head with the end of their trident. When he moved for Riyo, Psykhe spun her staff and whacked his knee. Drooling with fury, Remiel bucked for Psykhe and Helios backhanded him across his exposed face with the steel of his gun.

The ex-rebels defended each other every time Remiel moved, weakening his host until he caved and fell to his knees. Merine Trezla was not fit to withhold the soul of a God and it showed, splitting his cheeks and knuckles whenever Remiel grew furious.

As he came crashing to the ground, the skies opened up at long last.

Glimmering rays of light broke along Merine’s face and his mouth opened, releasing the howling echoes of Remiel ascending. Black mist blew up, gushing from his mouth, eyes and nose. A red line of clotted blood ran down his gaping mouth and with the final wisp of black gone, Merine’s eyes rolled back into his head and toppled back, defeated.

Elias dropped his knives. “It’s over.”

“Hey, man! Watch out.” Helios jumped over Merine, catching Elias before he could meet the ground. “You okay, Elias?”

“We need to get him out of Capitol.” Riyo announced, jabbing their trident towards Tentrail. “There are still riots going on. We can’t get caught in the crosshairs now.”

Helios had already hoisted Elias’ arm over his shoulder and began leading him away from the Bank before Riyo had finished talking. Psykhe had paused, staring down at the barely breathing man laying at her feet. She could not recall feeling anything as Merine lay there, quick gasps escaping bloody lips. Karma came in all shapes and sizes, she supposed.

“Trezla.” From atop the Bank’s staircase stood Maxa. Nino was kneeling on the step below, sobbing into her hands, but otherwise completely harmless. Maxa’s eyes were fixed on Psykhe. She looked sad. She sounded sadder. “When I first met you, you were covering Elias in my harbour and treating him like an equal. I knew someone like you would treat him better than I ever could. You and the rest of the Rebellion treated him more like family than I ever could.”

“You did your best, Maxa Kara.” Turning, Psykhe followed her companions. “We all did.”

Helios moved quick enough to escape the gunfire and crosshairs. He was practically carrying Elias by the time they stepped into Tentrail. The whole town was abandoned and ghost-like, devoid of anyone and anything lurking in the shadows. Riyo darted forward, covering them from any ambush or sneak attack and when Psykhe caught up, they ducked into the most sustainable building standing and knelt among the leaning wooden beams and toppled tables.

“Watch his neck,” Psykhe murmured, kneeling to cup Elias’ head and rest him against her lap.

Helios tucked his guns into the back of his belt, dropping to one knee. “Hey, how ya doing buddy?”

Riyo shoved their trident down. “I can find some water. Should I get some water?” They ran their hand through their hair, biting their lip. “What should we do?”

“You can’t go anywhere on your own, Ri,” Helios shook his head. “You’re super hurt, too.”

“I’m fine.”

“Guys,” Psykhe piped up. “We’ll stay here, just for a little while.”

Riyo reluctantly dropped to their knees, gripping their trident with their lonesome arm. They watched Psykhe’s thumbs rub against Elias’ temples, soothing him until the labouring breaths turned calm. It was strange to see his eyes open and not be staring into the abyss.

“…this is where we met.” Elias whispered. He stared at the broken ceiling, the show of sun peeking through the breaking clouds, and the remaining droplets of rain rolling down the sloping roof inside. “The Lion’s Mouth.”

“Oh, yeah…” Helios surveyed the dim room. He smiled, recalling the way Elias had cowered at the sight of Psykhe’s serious eyes and the constant way he would stare at Riyo. “Man, you were such a little shy dude, Elias.”

“You really liked to stare, too.” Riyo grunted, sliding their arm from their trident and over to Elias’ hand. They squeezed. “I thought you were gonna drop out before training even began.”

Psykhe shook her head with a smile. “I knew you’d stick around, Kara.”

“Thank you.” Elias smiled back. He felt his other hand be engulfed by Helios’ warm palms and he sighed, staring up into the faces of his best friends. His closest friends. His family. “I love you guys.”

“Elias?” Riyo murmured, leaning forward. “Elias? Please don’t close your eyes.”

“Hey, man! Just hold on, ‘kay? We’re gonna get you help soon!” Helios held Elias’ hand against his chest, running his thumb across the pale, bony knuckles. “Jeez, come on! We got tons to talk about. I’ve got so much to tell you!”

“You can’t expect to leave now!”

Psykhe squeezed her eyes shut. Helios and Riyo continued to babble until they had nothing left to say. They bawled, dropping tears across Elias as his breathing came to a still and his eyes fluttered shut.

Elias Kara died one second after the Rebellion ended. The war no longer went on, Emvolo had been freed of its selfish morals. The light shone down on a new law, a new day that Kane Ruskin and Elias Kara had worked so hard to achieve.