Much as Earoni spoke The Word to create life, Descist can speak The Word to end it. This Word of power is old and ancient, a divine breath known only to the gods.  And upon which shall transmit their will.

Book of the Gods 12:105

The ride through the nighttime air did wonders to clear Daphney's thoughts.  Something about frigid wind striking the inside of nostrils, all while mingling with the scent of pine, was remarkably efficient at keeping the one's thoughts alert and working.

"I could literally hear the wheels in Gwen's mind grinding around during today's meeting with whatever plot she has in store ." Kilan's signature bitterness reminded the cleric she was not out here alone.

Upon the back of her mare carrying her onward, Daphney ignored him.  Instead, she gazed at the night sky through the breaks in leafless branches intermixed with those of evergreens.  Above them, watching them, most of Earoni's eye was obscured below the southern horizon.  But what remained of the great swirl of stars still shone light upon the world, kindling a spark of hope in the cleric's heart.

And she needed it, for hope was in short supply.  A sizable force of Imperial troops was cutting a swath across the land and northward towards their current location while forces from the west were advancing as well.  On top of that, word had recently been received that General Nightwing, who now led the armies, had issued a proclamation of no prisoners.

Gwen Havarston had held up her end of the bargain, however.  Once Daphney agreed to the demands of the more seasoned rebel leader, and they had begun coordinating with the remaining factions, Gwen's military prowess had paid off.

Despite being severely disadvantaged when it came to troop strength, and the threat of no mercy upon the battlefield, she'd already begun constructing a formidable resistance between them and the Imperial Army.  All while being nowhere close to the front lines.

"It bothers you, doesn't it?"  Kilan seemed determined to not let her think in peace.

"What?"

"That Gwen's telling lies to try to hold the Rebellion together.  And that what aren't lies are definitely exaggerations?"

Daphney continued to stare at the sky.  "I guess it probably should."

"Does that mean it doesn't?"

Their new ally had taken to constructing some falsehoods Daphney wasn't entirely too fond of. That much was an absolute truth.  As Gwen sent word out to the different remaining factions, at least those with functional leadership structures still intact, she would claim larger victories than were being had in order to rally support.  In fact, there had been no victories.  Not yet.  Stalemates, yes.  Tactical retreats were also plentiful.  But nothing even close to resembling a success. The best that was able to be accomplished was a severe hindering of the enemy's advance.

The only whole truth that had been told was that Daphney had defeated the demon who had come seeking her out.  And even that achievement had been stretched into a tale of her defeating an entire horde of the monsters streaming from the mouth of The Dark rather than just one, lone demon; heinous and foul as it may have been.

Daphney felt as though she should be guilty about all this.  Those sorts of lies could easily come back to destroy what remained of the fragile Rebellion if people discovered the truth.  "Worrying about it is not something I feel I have the luxury of at this time," she said.

"The second the lies are discovered, she'll throw you under the cart and let the horse back over you."

"I know I will be blamed.  Branded a liar.  Possibly even a charlatan."

A prudent suggestion followed Kilan's brief silence.  "I think it's time to put some safeguards in place."

"What kind of 'safeguards'?"  Daphney wanted to turn and look Kilan in the eye as she asked, but still found herself unable to tear away from the beauty above her.

"Well, I've got this two-part poison.  We start by lacing her food with the first half.  Sticks around in the body for months.  Then, if she gets too bold, we give her the second part and..."

"We're not poisoning anyone."  Now Daphney did place her full attention on Kilan, giving her bodyguard a glare of admonishment.  "I can handle myself if the time comes."

"Just saying."  He shrugged, deciding to not push the suggestion.  "It's an option."

"And I do thank you for your counsel." With a smile, Daphney concluded the debate.  "Have some faith in me. I—"  Kilan was quickly out in front of her, blocking her path with his own horse.  The suddenness of the move startled Daphney's own mount and caused it to buck as they hit the rise of a small hill.  "Kilan!"

"You don't sense that?"  The tattoo on his chest was itching, nearly burning.

Daphney sensed the same thing.  There was again something dark and foul amongst them.  She'd let her concentration slip during their ride, but it was clear now.  "Yes."  Daphney prepared herself, but found nothing in the darkness to latch that feeling on to. The sensation was not what she'd call minor, not by any stretch of the imagination.  More like distant.

What followed during the next moments of both rebels trying to ascertain what they were sensing was an explosion that tore open the darkness with a brightness akin to raw daylight.  Far down the path they were currently traveling, a fireball climbed up into the sky. 

Seeing the pillar of fire as it rose before her eyes, Daphney did not hesitate.  "Yaw!"

"Miss Crenst!" Kilan whirled to follow her as she raced towards, not away from, the unknown danger.  "Miss Crenst!"

Daphney heard him, and all too clearly.  She just chose to ignore her bodyguard as she plowed ahead like a stubborn mule.  Parts of him were rubbing off on her.  Perhaps not the best ones, but Daphney knew the sensations coursing through her.  She knew that lying up ahead was something not of this world and someone needed her help.  And there was no way she was about the stop.

As they tore down the path together, Kilan gave up on his protests and readied himself for what they would eventually find.  Based on the glowing plume they had seen, he assumed whatever awaited them would not be pleasant.

And he was correct.

It was about two miles down the wooded path when they were upon the scene previously witnessed only from afar.  Trees on either side and for a hundred feet all around burned, while flames climbing up their bark set the carnage laid out before them in an eerie flicker.

The remnants of somewhere between six and ten, it was hard to get an accurate count, decimated transport wagons littered the road, while fragments of oak barrels and their shrapnel intermingled with the corpses of both men and horses in various states of completeness.  All were dismembered beyond any recognition, and most of the remains could not be determined as belonging to man or beast specifically.

"By Earoni's Eye," Kilan muttered.

Daphney recalled one of the topics from the previous day's meetings.  "This must have been the shipment of that stuff Gwen was talking about."

Kilan immediately remembered what she referred to.  "The stuff from Pelsa she bartered for?  The stuff they call Heaven's Flames?"

"What happened?"  That was all Daphney could think to say further on the matter. The awe of the destruction was in someways worse than any battlefield she had ever set foot on.  There wasn't anyone the cleric could pinpoint that she could even help.

"Well, she did say it was explosive.  Looks like it blew up.  She isn't going to like this, not after what she gave up to get it."

"Hello?"  Calling out into the night, Daphney was desperate to hear a response to her call.  Any response.  "Anyone alive?"  As she dismounted, the cleric took her time to drink in the horror of what she was seeing.  The entire landscape around her was like a description of The Dark itself, blazing and eternally hot; pools of burning liquid scattered about.  "Hello?"

Kilan kept his guard up. The sense of something foul and evil being among them was all too prevalent.  There was no need to wait a moment longer to determine the source as, out of the flames, a lone red-robed woman strode.

Unaffected by what had transpired here, her garments remaining in perfect condition, the woman known to many only as The Red Witch of the Darklands, while to others she was Lady Noranda, stepped through the carnage as though she were out for a leisurely stroll.  "I am so pleased you saw my signal."  Tracing her hand over the remains of one of the barrels, the demonic woman rubbed some still flaming residue between her thumb and forefinger.  "Foolish that you thought something like this crude weapon could affect the outcome of this war."

Kilan was already reaching to pull Daphney back, but she fended off his hand with a flinch and a look.  "What are you doing here?" the cleric demanded.

"We have unfinished business, child."  Her words were like eternal damnation laced with a hint that the outcome of this meeting was predetermined.  "Ever since you fled Ishenvol, I've been waiting to conclude our inevitable confrontation."

"I've already bested your demon," Daphney said. "He was equally confident in his victory, only to be disappointed."

That proclamation drew a smirk from Noranda.  "Ah yes, my pet.  He is strong, indeed.  But in the end?  He is nothing compared to my power."  With that, Noranda flicked the flames from her fingers with a snap, multiplying their intensity and sending forth a rushing torrent of fire toward the cleric and her bodyguard.

The reaction from Daphney formed in a split second as her shield of light once more surrounded both her and Kilan.  However, while it protected her from the direct assault of the flames, it did not divert the heat that threatened to suffocate the air from their burning lungs.

Sweat pooling down her face from the intensity, she would not wait to be roasted alive.  Daphney pushed back, sending the shield collapsing before her and then thrusting forward into the fallen angel.  It dug a path out of the earth as it parted the flames, impacting with a crushing thud that threw the Red Witch to the ground and ended the assault.

While Daphney drew in breaths of air no longer heated by demonic flames, Noranda recovered.  Pausing on her knee before rising fully, the fallen angel touched a small trickle of blood leaking from the corner of her lip.  "I see you've learned some new tricks."   Without a hint of concern over the minor setback, the woman in red robes climbed back to her feet.

"I think you'll find I'm full of surprises."

"But not enough of them, I'm afraid."  The annoying man accompanying the cleric attempted to advance, but Noranda put a halt to that.  With an outstretched hand, she froze him there.  Raising it slightly, she lifted him off the ground.  There was a stern, almost unyielding resistance to her spell, but not one she couldn't overcome.  "Be a gentleman and let us women settle this.  Will you?"  With a swipe, she cast him aside, crashing him through the flaming remnants of one of the wagons with a cracking sound of wood and perhaps even bone.  "Now, where were we?  Oh yes, I was about to kill you and end your troublesome existence."

Daphney's back straightened at the taunt.  She wouldn't run.  Not this time.  "I will pit my light against your darkness."  In her hand, the cleric once again brought forth the gleaming sword of divine purity, the same as she had against the demon.

"Primitive."  With her toe, Noranda traced a neat and symmetrical arc in the soil before her.  Kneeling down, she touched the freshly drawn symbol and spoke a command. "Almagumus."

Drawing her hand away, dust swirled up to meet her hand as if being drawn to a magnet.  As the tightly wound flurry of earthy material followed her command, a divot formed in the ground.  The mass hovered, coalesced, and hardened into a cold iron long sword, allowing Noranda's fingers to wrap around and grasp the hilt of her response to the cleric's impetuousness.

Light as a feather, she turned the weapon over and displayed it to her foe, while black tendrils to ooze out from beneath her robes.  They twisted and encircled the blade, engulfing it in darkness.

Noranda would not wait to use it.  Without hesitation, she planted the tip of the sword into the soil.  Shuttering and heaving, the darkness coursed into the ground.  Below the surface, like black serpents tunneling underneath the dirt, they raced toward the cleric.

Daphney stood, suddenly petrified by the unplanned attack and as the darkness erupted forth..  Like bars on a cage, the tentacles crushed around her, her sword of light dropping to the ground and useless.

The Red Witch seemed unsurprised by the outcome.   Stepping forward, Noranda collected up the fiery weapon, even as the cleric struggled against the bonds now containing her.  It was not, however, without great pain that the fallen angel did so.  The heat of the purity from the light seared her flesh, but Noranda would not relent and drop it.  It had become a show of will, a statement that she wanted to make before crushing this child and all hope for the Rebellion.  Even as her skin burned in the light that sought to destroy her, Noranda held fast to the purity it represented.

More darkness coursed out from under the arm of her robe, fighting against the light.  Tenderly, repulsed by it, yet forced to proceed, it patiently crawled along its length, working to extinguish its very existence inch by inch.  And when the final ounce of the light was gone from it, she discarded the hardened, smoldering mass of char like the garbage it had become.

Forced to endure the display of power superior to her own, Daphney struggled against the bonds holding her. Before the woman who had served at Lord Hedric's side for his entire reign, the cleric failed to break free as the darkness applied enough force for her to know that death could come with a single command.

But even as the cleric believed this, and as Noranda tried to crush the cleric and snuff out her existence, there was a force fighting back against that end and preventing the fallen angel's conjured servants from fulfilling their assigned task.  The resistance became firmer as the grip tightened to the point where they were now in perfect equilibrium.  Every amount of new pressure applied was met with an equal amount holding it at bay.

Frustration hinting of weakness was visible in Noranda's demeanor, and she sought an answer.  That is when the dark lord spoke to her.  "I will give you The Word to speak, my servant.  Say it, and you will command the power of the gods and find the ability to destroy this troublesome child."

"The Word." Noranda beamed at the suggestion.  Not even Earoni had shared such ultimate power with her angels, and now Descist was offering it to her.  Although she knew she could not wield it with such finality and authority as a god might, it would still be a powerful tool to her.  And she could use it far more effectively than he could from within his prison that severely limited his influence.

"Yes," he replied to her.

"Teach me then."

With the word now upon her lips, transmitted from master to servant, leaning in, Noranda prepared to speak it.

The seemingly unpronounceable concoction of syllables rolled off her tongue with a fluency that portrayed she'd practiced uttering it a million times.  And she felt it take upon itself the form which would destroy this girl before her.

Set loose, it was free to eradicate this impediment in her quest for revenge. The fallen angel could see the now released power she commanded course forth in slow motion to bring this now wide-eyed and frightened human to her doom.

And in the instant that the breath of the word touched the skin of her intended victim, drawing the life from her, it was echoed back at her in her own voice.  Like a roaring thunder from a lion's snarl, the same word that she had spoken also leaped out and collided with itself in an explosion that shook this spot upon Geiha a second time.

Clawing out of the charred remains of the wagon where he had been unceremoniously deposited, Kilan pried himself out of his daze.  Shirt torn, skin lacerated and bleeding, he was tired of being tossed around like a rag doll by the unholy forces of The Dark.  It made him feel weak and useless.

Everything hurt.  Including his leg, which he now noticed had a large shard of wood piercing clean through the meat of his thigh.  Without a second thought, he pulled the debris out, leaving a fresh and tender wound he would worry about later.

Fumbling the last few inches until he was free, the surrounding scene was still a devastated wasteland of burning wreckage.  Just as he had last seen it except for one difference.  His urgency sped up immediately upon seeing Miss Crenst laying perfectly still amongst it and no sign of Lord Hedric's demon queen.

He rushed to her, as fast as his lame leg would allow.  Rolling over her unmoving body, he realized immediately the cleric's skin had turned nearly as white as her robes before the dirt now soiling them had stolen their pristine color.  "Miss Crenst?"  He shook her, but received no response.  "Miss Crenst?"

Instinctively, he checked for a pulse.  Finding one, Kilan allowed himself a sigh at the positive sign, but her unconscious state allowed him no time to take solace in such.  Once more, he scanned the wreckage for the Red Witch, but again could not find her.

What had happened?  While trying to recover from being attacked and trapped under the debris, he had heard an explosion that he thought was the world rending itself open once more.  Now he only saw Daphney, and she wasn't exactly in the best of shape.  What had happened to Lady Noranda?  Had she defeated the Red Witch?

Horse's hooves drew Kilan out of his daze of contemplation.  He stood on an uneasy leg, greeted by a company of unfamiliar riders bearing down on him and weaving among the wreckage with grace and skill.  They numbered close to twenty, and he prayed to the Greater Goddess they were friendly.  Or, at the very least, a uninterested neutral party.  Either would have been acceptable.

Knife at the ready, he wasn't about to let them approach without being identified.  "Halt!"

Hooded in robes of various colors, the riders reigned up their mounts.  A man's voice came from the rider at the fore of this group as they surveyed the scene.  "You don't look like you're in any shape to be giving orders here."

"Yeah, well, identify yourselves.  Then we'll settle who is going to be giving orders to whom."

Drawing back his shroud, the lean figure who accompanied the voice replied, "Roln, of The House of Quilest.  And you are a rebel I take it?  Based on that tattoo on your chest?"  He motioned to the symbol clearly visible beneath what remained of Kilan's shirt.

"Elves?  Oh, thank the Greater Goddess."  Kilan allowed himself to slump and clutch at his leg, but only for a moment.

"What happened here?  We saw the explosion a great distance away and rushed to investigate.  We are seeking the rebel leader Gwen Halvarston, understanding that she has a base nearby.  And also a cleric we have heard rumor of.  A true cleric."

Ignoring the request for information at first, Kilan bent down and slung Miss Crenst over his shoulder.  He knew in his state he couldn't carry her, and only once he stood did he answer.  "Lady Noranda, that's what happened here.  We need assistance.  I have to get this woman back to Telga immediately.  She is the cleric of which you speak. She's badly injured."

"You say the Red Witch did this?  How did you survive?"

Not waiting for an affirmation that they would, in fact, help, Kilan approached the rider he spoke with and transferred Miss Crenst over his lap and the saddle of his horse.  "You'll have to ask her when she wakes up.  But know this... I know it might not look like it?  But I think we won today."

The Word escaped from Descist and lashed at the angel in the pit of fire before him.  It rended her open, tearing her apart and allowing the molten stone to flow into the cavernous wound now in her chest.  He wanted to destroy her with it, but in lieu of not being able to do such without also destroying Noranda, he wanted her to suffer.  And suffer she did.

The dark lord thought about striking her with the power he had available to him again, but held back his passion to end her existence.  "How dare you wield a word meant for gods!"

Lips flecked with blood, her skin burning, the dark-haired angel hung, wailing in incoherent torment as her suffering only intensified with each passing moment.  Among the pain consuming her, she reminded him, "You... you gave it to me."

Deep in The Dark, he returned to his stone throne.  "Not to you.  Not for you."  Tapping his finger on the arm, Descist continued to wage an internal war with himself over this angel's presence.  "I hope it was worth it.  Once you, or should I say, the mortal you, recovers the Tear of Earoni for me, I will not bat an eye at destroying you both."