Apocalyptic Reunion

Subject: Mortimer | Classif.: Sirath

The air in Tim’s lungs was sucked out in a single, sharp gasp. Disbelief replaced his breath entirely. His vision blurred for a brief moment as the realization of Harlow’s demise caused his knees to buckle.

His mentor. His friend. Gone.

All that was left were bones. The dragon’s massive ribcage arched upwards, half-buried in the ground, crushing Tim with the weight of his old companion’s absence. These fossils were preserved perfectly, as if the cavern took pity on Harlow. Some might even mistake the dragon’s remains for natural stone, mineralized over the years. Lynn could probably even manipulate them with her Geokinesis.

The only condolence Tim had was knowing how Harlow died. Not a single sign of battle or damage could be seen on the bones. No Aberration, monster, or person alive could have taken the mighty dragon down. As his fingers touched one of the ribs, the Lord of Death knew right away the identity of the dragon slayer.

Age.

Harlow was practically unkillable. A monster that survived three apocalypses. But never once was the dragon immortal; a fact that hadn’t crossed Tim’s mind until now. So great was the dragon’s power, the notion of a literal god eater dying of old age felt impossible.

The smiling dragon was always so spry and youthful. The concept of time seemed foreign to the big guy. Having originated from the Age of Monsters, he was a hundred thousand years old at a minimum. Possibly millions. Never in recorded history did a dragon die of old age. He always believed his mentor was eternal. He was wrong.

That was the thing about mortality—Tim was so used to murder and suicide around him, death by natural causes felt unnatural. It was tranquil. A rarity in these tense, fragile times. He wasn’t sure how to react. He ought to feel relieved, knowing Harlow passed on in a way most could only dream of.

But how could he when he never had the chance to say goodbye? His emotions cursed him for taking his friendships for granted. His logical mind admonished him for ultimately bringing Mia here for nothing.

He felt like an utter jerk for even thinking of that in the first place. His friend died. And yet, something deep within the folds of his brain told him it was a waste. He lied to Mia. She wouldn’t be able to turn into a dragon. She wouldn’t be able to fly. This entire segue into the mountain was all for naught.

What a selfish, absolutely inconsiderate thought.

Tim looked away from Harlow’s remains, shame hanging around his neck like a noose. He wanted to speak, but his words were stuck in his throat. He wanted to cry, but he wasn’t sad enough. In his friend’s final resting place, he found none.

Mia tugged at his sleeve, concern plastered on her face. But he couldn’t bring himself to look at her either. His eyes wandered from his shoes over to Lynn, a few feet in front of him.

His mind imagined the abuse she’d hurl his way for taking them on a pointless detour. Maybe he’d actually feel better once that happens. At least he was used to her complaining. Not this.

As if sensing his gaze landing on her, Lynn snapped him out of his rumination. “Talk to me. What’s wrong?”

Not good. If even the princess was concerned, he must be looking like a complete mess. He had to keep it in. Respond to her without breaking down. Taking a deep breath, he forced the answer out of his twisted gut.

“Harlow’s… dead.”

He prepared himself to be lambasted. Not just for wasting the party’s time, but as penance for not saying goodbye. Maybe even get punched in the face. Something, anything—to validate his guilt.

But it wasn’t just Lynn or Mia who reacted to his answer. The cavern itself responded.

Its west side wall collapsed. For a split second, Tim had hope in his eyes. That somehow, Harlow’s spirit shook the cave just out of spite. But he was wrong. Spirits do not knock robots through walls.

A lone mech-human was struck by some kind of attack, sending its rusty, iron body flying through the wall to the other end of the chamber. What Tim found more shocking was the fact that it survived. From its appearance and equipment, he surmised it was the robot Mia claimed she met.

His daughter immediately rushed to the damaged bot’s side. But before Tim could even speculate about their relationship, his heart stopped beating. It trembled. All semblance of rhythm vanished. Even the whispers inside of him went silent.

The one responsible for attacking the mech-human hovered into the chamber through the hole in the wall. An unfamiliar face at first glance. No eyes. No nose. No mouth. Tim no longer recognized her appearance, but there was no way he would mistake her soul. And to see her in this automaton-like state broke him.

Beneath the faceless visage and solid mercury-like skin was a being who could hardly be called a person anymore. It was like molten steel forged into the image of a goddess. The only recognizable human features were her form and long, disheveled white hair. The last organic clump of living, human cells left was tucked away inside her chest. A beating heart—the container for a soul Tim had not seen for centuries.

“Leave.”

A lone word was uttered. She could not verbally talk, but her voice was as clear as daylight. Even if it sounded like the cavern itself was speaking, Tim’s doubts vanished.

“Weiss… is that you?”

But there was no answer. She didn’t even look at him.

“Leave. Us. Alone!”

Us? Tim wondered who else was there.

Raising her left arm, she formed an Ancient Magic circle around her palm. Platinum light danced around it, much like how Lynn conjured her Noble Crest, but the pattern was completely different.

“Weiss! It’s me, Ewantree!”

The circle dissipated. Hearing that name brought her pause. She turned to face him, still floating in midair.

“E… wan… tree?”

“Yeah. That’s me, remember? End-times Protocol Number Thirteen. E-One-Three. Ewantree!”

“Ewantree.” The voice grew warmer. So warm, it exploded. “You’re the reason Harlow’s DEAD!”

The instant the accusation reached Tim’s ears, Weissilde’s arm shot through his chest. It was no longer an arm, but an appendage that extended halfway across the cavern, morphing into a spear.

Even as warm blood poured out, Tim was more surprised by how cold her arm felt.

“Dad!”

A barrage of bullets struck Weissilde like a swarm of angry bees, only to fall lifelessly to the ground. The malleable metallic skin that was wrapped around her body was more than just bulletproof. It was as if the silver coating were some kind of force field. Even Lynn’s stone spikes and projectiles met the same fate. That unknown metal stood above the laws of physics.

But the material her skin was made of was the least of Tim’s concerns.

“Mia! Run! Get the hell out of here!” He shouted, only for it to come off as something between a croak and a gurgle. It didn’t matter that an elongated spear was stuck in his chest, preventing his regeneration. This was not a battle his daughter could take on yet.

Before Mia could even react, Weissilde turned her free arm into a tendril. The vine-like limb sliced across the cave at lightning speed. Even as Lynn conjured pillars to block its path, it hardly slowed down; it simply undulated around them like an eel dancing in the air.

But that was enough. Lynn bought just enough time for Tim to spit the blood welling up in his mouth like a projectile. A concentrated stream of darkness intercepted the ever-growing tendril milliseconds before it could disembowel Mia.

Bang!

The speed of the silver whip was turned against itself. It was like a fuse that ignited the flammable Blackblood. Kinetic energy turned explosive as Weissilde’s left arm was knocked off course.

And yet, the faceless god did not even react. But Tim didn’t care. He gave his daughter enough time to escape.

As the dust from the blast faded away, shock replaced the relief from his bleeding mouth. Mia was gone. But she wasn’t alone.

A Demonelk ran out of the cavern, Zaffre’s crumpled body on its back. For a split second, his gaze met the eyeless socket of the shapeshifted monster, who gave him a wordless nod. Reassurance.

Mia rescuing the missing hunter might help give more context for the unfolding chaos, assuming Dr. Awesome could fix the bot up; the damage was too severe for Tim to heal. Hopefully, there was some kind of logic behind all this. How did “looking for his missing daughter” turn into “slaughtering cave bots and fighting Weiss?”

“EWANTREEEE!”

The entire cavern shook as a bloodcurdling scream echoed through stone and salt. Weissilde pulled her right arm backwards with immense speed, yanking Tim together with enough g-force to snap his neck. It was like being sucked into a massive jet engine. But just as it started, it was forced to shut down.

Lynn dashed between Harlow’s ribs, slamming her transformed Regalia into the retracting arm. Despite being unable to cut through the metal, the greatsword’s unfathomable weight outright killed the limb’s momentum. The ground quaked as it became an anvil. The princess’s sword turned into a hammer. Pinned between the two was Weissilde’s arm, no longer able to stretch or move freely.

“Just what sorcery are you made of!?!”

Yelling in frustration, Lynn let go of her weapon, grabbing the elastic limb with both hands before hurling its owner into the right side cavern wall. She reversed the whip’s direction and slammed Weissilde into solid rock. The impact sounded like a car crash. Deafening.

Tim’s neck snapped back into place. By this point, his blood had dyed the section of the arm in his chest jet black. The corrosive jaws of the fluid ate through the unknown steel. Dissolved and digested. He pulled out the chunk of metal inside of him, now no longer connected to the rest of the arm. His thoracic cavity closed as flesh and bone weaved together once more.

Tossing the foreign object aside, he found it hard to believe that this was Weissilde. From skin to “bone,” she was forged out of a metal unlike anything he had seen before. Even diamonds did not take this long to dissolve in Blackblood. Factoring in its malleability, she was essentially a living, indestructible weapon.

And at that moment, Tim realized:

The dragon you once knew is gone. Inside the cave lies a creature that seeks nothing more than the destruction of existence itself.

Old Gold’s vague words clicked in his head. The Aberration was not referring to Harlow. It was referring to Weissilde.

But why is she in his cave in the first place? Tim knew they were close, but that still didn’t explain it. Why did the warm, motherly lady in his memory need mech-human sacrifices? And how did she end up looking like that?

“So? What’s the plan with this ‘friend’ of yours?” Lynn asked.

“We take her down.”

“Her?”

“Weissilde, Mage of Ruin.”

“That thing’s a Mage?!”

The Immortal’s shock was understandable. Most Mages were not made of metal.

“EWANTREEEE!” Once more, the cavern roared on her behalf. “You took my Harlow away from me! You took everything from me!”

Lynn shouted at him. “What did you do?!”

“My guess is as good as yours.”

Using the edge of the Immortal’s greatsword that was partially rooted in the ground, Tim amputated his hand.

“Take it.” He offered his severed hand to Lynn.

“She’s after you. This is your fight, not mine.”

Floating back to the center of the chamber, Weissilde’s arms were normal. She had detached the extended sections like a lizard would its tail. Thankfully, the delimbed arms didn’t wriggle or thrash around, still lying motionless on the ground. But they didn’t need to.

A magic circle appeared beneath Weissilde, expanding with no end in sight. The black lines stretched beyond the cavern, clipping through the walls entirely.

“Sorry, but once she casts that spell…” He sighed. His next words were hard to swallow.

“... the world ends.”