The Battle Majestic (Round 4 - Magpie Skies)

Originally posted on MSPA by Ixcalibur.

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Steven couldn’t tear his eyes away from the imposing shape of the grey queen, still distant but drawing closer with every moment that passed. His throat felt suddenly dry, his body was tense. It seemed as though the world had fallen silent and all he could hear was the furious pounding of his own heart. It was a fight or flight moment, except neither seemed like a viable option. The thought of him attempting to fight a dragon (or near enough) was patently absurd, but what were his other options? Even if everyone could get onto the red dragon before she arrived there was no chance of losing the grey queen in the clear blue skies; it would only delay the confrontation that bit longer. And on foot all he could do was retreat into the castle and hope he wouldn’t be pursued. In terms of survivability it was the best option he had, but it meant abandoning those who he’d been trying to protect to the very thing he’d been trying to protect them from.

He glanced back at the queens, whose bickering and fighting to get their place on the back of the dragon had only gotten worse with the approach of the grey queen, and cursed under his breath. The logical course of action was obvious, but he just could not bring himself to take it, as stupid as he knew that was.

Steven went to say: “Get them out of here, I’ll hold off the grey queen for as long as I can.” and was surprised to find that Violet beat him to it.

“No, I’ll do that, you get the queens somewhere safe.” Steven argued. “I wouldn’t even know where to take them.”

“Just get Jonquil to point you in the direction of her castle. You should be able to hold out against the grey queen there; her numbered knights are really quite effective when she’s around.” Violet replied dismissively. When he didn’t respond she turned and looked him in the eye. “Steven, get out of here. This isn’t your fight.”

“I’m not going anywhere.” Steven replied firmly. There was no time to argue; the grey queen was swooping down onto the rooftop adjacent from where the other queens still clamoured to board the dragon.

“Okay fine, come on.” Violet replied as she darted to put herself between the grey queen and the others. She gripped the Byzantium coloured blade tightly in her hands, a look of grim determination across her face. Steven came to a stop beside her and endeavoured to show that same kind of ‘I shall not be moved’ determination, but it was undercut by the creeping realization of what he was doing.

The grey queen loomed over them both, half again as tall as they were. Her talons were razor sharp, carving into the stone of the roof beneath her. Everything about her was sharp; from the numerous spines running down her back, to the skewer-like blackened spikes that were her teeth and the slit like silver eyes that glared at the purple queen and the would-be hero. But Steven was no hero. It just wasn’t in him. He was just some kid putting on a show; trying to look like he knew what he was doing in front of a group of beautiful women. He’d never felt quite so out of his depth. Nervously, uselessly, he tightened his fists and his gloves did the same as they hung in front of him, as though getting ready for a bout of fisticuffs.

“Charcoal, stop there!” Violet proclaimed confidently. “I will not allow you to take us again.”

The grey queen paid her no heed. She looked past them, her attention resting on the other queens and the candy red dragon they were almost settled upon. She drew back and she roared. It was short; a warning, more menacing than it was angry and more loud than it was anything else. The dragon shifted, turned to face the grey queen and the unceasing bickering seemed to pick up anew. Though it was larger than she was, it seemed less intimidating; a warmer colour and free of spikes and spines and talons and teeth.

A short moment passed and the queen roared again; this one was longer and with it she took a step towards them. Steven took a hesitant step backwards, though Violet stood firm. The red dragon panicked. He roared and kicked and bucked and flung those queens that had managed to scrabble atop him off. As he took flight only the green queen was left clinging desperately onto him. After the grey queen’s roar concluded there was a rare moment of silence between the queens as they picked themselves up and recovered their senses. Of course it didn’t last long before they started blaming one another for taking so long and insisting that they had the best seats, and look at the mess that their dress was in now, this dust was never going to come out.

Before Steven could really react the grey queen was transforming. Her spines and wings seemed to just melt away, her body reshaping itself as though she was as insubstantial as smoke. She became more slender, sleeker; though no less imposing. Though she took the shape of a person she didn’t really look like a person. Her dress, her skin and her hair were all the same shade of inky black; only her eyes of piercing silver, the only features on her almost featureless face, were not. Her dress, thin and figure-hugging and elegant seemed to hang in the air where it trailed after her.

“What the hell is this?” The grey queen demanded; though there was no trace of anger in her honeyed voice. She sounded bitter and hateful and more than a little irritated, but there was no rage there; such would imply that this was a problem that could not be solved at a moment’s notice. “Why is some surface-dweller peasant trying to steal my women?”

“Steven has stolen no-one; he rescued us!” Violet countered angrily. “We’re not your women; we’re not anybody’s women.”

“But you are mine; my pretty little birds, you’ve gotten out of your cage but will you come home or will you try to fly away?” She paused. “It’s such a long way down.”

From somewhere he didn’t know he had, something resembling courage bubbled to Steven’s surface. “Give it up Grey Queen; they won’t be bowed by you any more!”

“Oh look it talks.” She scoffed. “Though nobody told it that I am the Midnight Queen now; grey is such an inelegant colour. Midnight sounds so much grander wouldn’t you agree?”

“It doesn’t matter what you call yourself-”

“Shut up Violet.” The midnight queen interrupted. “I grow tired of this confrontation. Peasant, you say that they won’t be ‘bowed by me any more’? Why don’t we ask them?” She turned her attention to the queens, who were for once silent. “What do you think dears? Do you want to join poor misguided Violet and her earthborn peasant in one pathetic last stand? Or would you rather go back to your room and see another day?”

There was an expectant silence that the queens seemed reluctant to break; mayhap they had been hoping that they could stay out of this fight by simply not picking sides until it was over. Then the confident voice of the white queen cut through the indecision: “You know I rather think I kind of like this old grey castle. Perhaps it would be nice to spend another night here after all.” This was followed by a general murmur of agreement from the other queens and a slight chuckle from the midnight queen herself.

“Pearl!” Violet exclaimed, looking around at the white queen, who responded by folding her arms and turning away. “You’re all going to just let her do what she wishes with you?”

“I thought that you might feel this way.” The midnight queen said with half a smirk. “I’m sure a brace of my minions would be only too happy to see you back to your room while I deal with these troublemakers.”

The minions had until this point just been sort of staying out of everyone’s way, maybe due to a general distaste for conflict or perhaps because they didn’t really want to draw attention to the fact that they might have been helping the queens escape, but they snapped to something resembling attention as the midnight queen barked out a short string of commands in angry minionese. The surrendered queens made their way past Violet, Steven and the Midnight Queen, awkwardly trying not to look any of the three in the eye as they did so and were ‘lead’ by the minions down the stairway and back into the castle proper.

“Well while it has been fun watching you squirm Violet, I think that it is time you put that blade down and went back to your cell.” The levity was gone from her voice now, all that remained was irritation.

“No.” Violet replied simply.

“You do realize you can’t win?” The midnight queen asked. “Nobody is coming to help you, you know. Your kingdom isn’t up in arms, preparing to wage futile war against me. They bowed the knee, they offered me tribute. When you die you will die alone; a pathetic meaningless death. Are you sure you wouldn’t rather be mine?”

“Yes.” Violet’s expression was not one of hurt or hatred, but rather one of grim determination. With a deep breath she tightened her grip upon her blade.

“Fine.” The midnight queen sighed. “Let’s get this over with then.”

Immediately she started to transform again; the same process as before except in reverse. Steven’s stomach sank as he realized that this was finally it; that there is no way that this confrontation could be delayed any further. Violet however had no such problem; without a moment’s hesitation she ran towards the transforming grey queen and plunged the blade into her gut, pushing on it until it was hilt-deep and the blade protruded from the other side of her thin body. The grey queen halfway between forms reacted with something that was somewhere between a scream and a roar, and instinctively lashed out with a slash towards Violet. She dodged back, but not far enough or quick enough.

The midnight queen’s claws sliced through her dress and her skin as though it were nothing, leaving three parallel wounds on her shoulder. She yelped and stumbled further backwards while pale lavender blood leaked from the wounds, soaking her now tattered dress. Violet stared down at her shoulder and winced as she tentatively clenched her fist. She decided she was fine, or fine enough to keep fighting if only, she glanced up, her sword wasn’t lodged in the stomach of a dragon. The midnight queen loomed over her, roaring furiously now. She drew back to attack again, and was punched in the face by a disembodied fist. Steven’s other glove darted all the way around the queen to sneak past her guard and punch her in the hilt of the lodged blade. Her roar of pain was ear-splitting.

The ground trembled beneath them; the sound of glass shattering and stone crumbling drowned out by the deafening roar. For a moment Steven thought that it was the queen roaring so loud that it was tearing the castle apart. He stumbled backwards and tried to steady himself, but there was nothing to steady himself on and so he fell onto his arse. Violet had attempted to use the grey queen’s momentary distraction by Steven’s gloves to swoop in and pull out the sword, she managed to pull the sword free but fell when the ground shook. The sword was knocked from her hand and skidded to rest near the parapet behind her. The midnight queen slashed down, but Violet rolled quickly to the side and clambered up, wincing as she put pressure on her injured arm.

One of Steven’s gloves got a good punch in on the grey queen’s gut wound, staining the glove with gooey silver blood. The grey queen stifled a roar and slashed at the glove; it dodged nimbly aside with nary a scratch. The other glove swooped in and went for her wound and it was at this point that she seemed to realize that attacking the gloves directly was about as effective as trying to swat at flies.

Steven hadn’t even managed to climb to his feet after being knocked down. Even aside from that had been completely superfluous to the entire battle; his gloves were more or less acting of their own accord. He was just standing, well sitting around like a spare part, part shocked at their success thus far and part hopeful that he might just get through this after all. The grey queen turned and leapt at him, moving through the air like a ribbon being pulled after a stick. In but a moment she was standing over him. In a panic Steven kicked out at her spindly legs, but they proved surprisingly sturdy and he couldn’t even knock her off-balance. The midnight queen reached down and closed her fist around Steven’s head, pausing only a moment before slamming it hard against the stone floor.

Violet stabbed her blade into the midnight queen’s flank; though this time she lacked the strength to embed it so thoroughly. The midnight queen responded with a snarl and a swipe of her tail knocking Violet to the ground; her blade skittered from her hands once more. Steven’s head was swimming, his ears ringing. He flailed uselessly, failing to make contact with anything and knowing somewhere in the haze of his mind that even if he had it wouldn’t have made any difference. His gloves weaved through the air as though drunk. They attempted another swing at the grey queen, but didn’t even come close. The midnight queen’s fist was still curled tight around Steven’s head; she raised it, ready to slam it down and smash it rather decisively against the stone floor, when a nervous chorus of chittering minions interrupted her.

They were rather keen to inform her that the castle seemed to be under attack and if it wouldn’t be too much trouble they’d appreciate it if she would so something about the pods crashing through the castle walls, and as if on cue the castle shook once again as another pod smashed its way in. The midnight queen hesitated for a moment, glancing off into the distance where a glinting golden castle was just barely visible. Reluctantly she let Steven go, and with a roar that seemed to indicate that she wasn’t done with them yet, she took flight to deal with the attack.

In her wake everything was silent and still for a minute or so. Violet slowly got to her feet, suddenly feeling a hell of a lot worse now that the adrenaline of the fight itself had worn off. She gathered the sword from where it had fallen and then hurried to Steven’s side. He was barely conscious, limp and plastered with sweat. His head wasn’t bleeding but he was badly bruised. She called for aid from the lingering minions, and while they ran off to fetch a roll of bandages, an icepack and a whole packet of sticking plasters she talked to Steven. She told him to stay awake and reassured him that it was going to be alright though in truth she was less than certain. When the minions got back she applied the icepack to Steven’s head and tentatively bandaged up her shoulder, and eventually with those things done she helped Steven to his feet. He was still a little groggy but more lucid than he had been even if he did need a shoulder to lean on.

“So what now?” He asked.

“You’re asking me? I never thought we’d live this long.” Violet paused. “I guess we go back inside and try and see if we can find another way off of this place?” She tried to sound hopeful, though she couldn’t conceive of any reason why the grey queen would have another means of transport just lying around the place. But despite the forced optimism she hesitated from making her way inside the castle proper and stared out at the endless blue skies, at a small patch of blue that wasn’t quite the right blue and which seemed to be getting closer. A magic carpet… Their ticket out of here! “Hey!” she waved vigorously with her free arm. “Over here!”

As it drew closer it was possible to see that it was being ridden by three hunched figures; the pilot (a blue carpeteer) and two passengers. In an offhanded way Violet noticed that they were, like Steven, not colour co-ordinated, but it was a detail that didn’t seem important when their rescue was here. She didn’t really think about until the carpet landed and Steven’s grip on her shoulder tightened.

“Steven! Excellent, just the man I was looking for.” Talis said cheerfully as he stepped off the carpet. “S, I would appreciate it if you could settle our account with this fine gentleman while I arrange us some further transportation.”

“Steven, are these… friends… of yours?” Violet asked hesitantly. She felt she already knew that the answer to this question was no, but it would have been remiss not to ask.

“These are the two who started this battle.” In principle Steven supposed he should despise both of the gentlemen; they were after all responsible for this whole wretched affair. However he always seemed to be dealing with one situation or another and he’d never really stopped and thought about their role in all of this. So in practice what he felt from the sudden presence of Sruix and Talis was a feeling of wariness. Okay that woman had said that they’d had their powers practically stripped from them but even a fraction of the powers that they’d had had to be pretty dangerous didn’t it?

“Now now, there’s no call for violence here.” Talis spoke in calm, soothing tones that suggested he was here in a peaceful capacity and held his palms up as if to demonstrate this. It was at this point that Steven noticed that Violet had drawn her sword from her makeshift scabbard. Sruix and the carpeteer had descended from the magic carpet, but had paused in whatever business they were doing.

“Violet, this isn’t your fight.” Steven said. “You should just get out of here.” In response she just cracked a smile.

“You really haven’t a clue Steven Taylor. I’m not going anywhere.” She paused. “Besides without me you can barely even stand.” Steven had to concede she had a point there.

“Hold on, there’s clearly a certain amount of misunderstanding here.” Sruix said. “We don’t mean any harm.”

“We are in fact here because we want to help.” Talis cut in. He paused a moment; Steven didn’t look entirely convinced. “Or, well, because we can help one another.”

“Why would I want to help you? This entire thing is your fault.” Steven snapped back.

“It is undeniable that we are to blame, but… you were paying attention during the transition, right? We’re rather unfortunately not in charge any more. Now we are in more or less the same situation as you; one could argue that we are worse off as we don’t have the opportunity to win our freedom. We aren’t contestants; we’re just casualties waiting to happen.” Talis insisted. “Not that I’m trying to cheapen your own plight. These are the just the facts as they stand. We’re both in pretty bad situations here, and since I happen to know for a fact that we can help one another out of those situations, why would we not?”

There was a long pause. Steven had to admit that the former gentleman had a point and that refusing what could be a significant help simply because of who that help was coming from was kind of short-sighted and not in his own best interests. But whatever concessions he might make he could not and would not forget that Talis was still the architect of this unpleasant situation. Reluctantly he said: “Fine, I’ll hear you out at the very least.”

“I’d really appreciate it if we could talk without the implied threat of physical violence.” Talis eyed Violet’s Byzantium coloured blade.

“And I think you should stop wasting our time.” Violet replied. “You know where we are right? You want to still be around when the grey queen comes back?” She paused, mentally reminding herself that this was Steven’s fight and sheathed the blade. “Whatever; just don’t push your luck.” With the weapon out of sight Sruix and the carpeteer went back to their discussion on how exactly they were paying their fare.

“Noted.” Talis replied. “Let’s cut to it then. All three of us want out of this battle and you have the means to get us out; your gloves. As you figured during the last round they have the capability to open up a path between one universe and another, a portal of sorts.”

“So why do I need you?” Steven asked. “What do you bring to this bargain?”

“Did it not strike you as odd functionality for a glove that pretty much exclusively creates and destroys?” Talis asked. “You are not opening a pathway that already exists, you are creating that pathway. Think of it like you’re trapped on one island and for whatever reason you need to be on another island. Your gloves cannot teleport you there, but they could create a bridge. It’s the same principle only on a much larger and more slightly metaphysical scale.”

“That’s… interesting,” Steven ventured, “but I still don’t see what I need you for.”

“Imagine how much energy it would take to create that bridge from one island to another. It would leave you exhausted.” Talis said. “Done on a universal scale you could drain yourself of every last ounce of energy you possess and still come up short; not to mention that coming up short in universal terms would mean that what you’d have would be a gateway to the Timeless Interstice which trust me when I tell you is not a thing you want to have. Now granted S and I have lost the bulk of our power but I’d wager that between us we have enough to open a gateway out of here.”

Steven extricated himself from Violet’s shoulder, though an arm trailed behind for balance. He wasn’t perfectly stable but he was better than he had been. He still kind of felt like throwing up but he suspected that that was more down to the situation than anything else. “I’m not giving you my gloves.”

“Nor should you.” Talis quickly replied. “While S and I have the power, we don’t have the experience at using the gloves to trust ourselves to be capable of such a complex feat of creation. We can channel our power into the gloves whilst you retain control. How does that sound?”

“I don’t know.” Steven replied. “I need time to think.”

“Unfortunately you don’t really have it.” Sruix cut in, having finally dealt with payment for the carpeteer. The carpeteer in question was in fact still hanging around, somehow smoking a cigarette and most likely hoping that one of the four might need a ride out of this bad neck of the woods. “I really don’t think the Executrix is going to just sit around and let us escape from her battle. If we’re getting out of here we need to do it quick before she can intervene.”

“But, what about Jacob and the others…”

“Your loyalty is admirable, but you know Jacob. He can take care of himself.” Talis replied. “And the others, well one of them is an unsociable plant monster, another is a woman you never even met and Blitz, and well… he’s not really a pleasant person. You should have seen how many people he killed in that last round.”

Steven was kind of blindsided. Was this really how it was? Were there really so few people left?

“Is it really worth trying to save the others when such an attempt will inevitably doom yourself?” Talis asked, and instantly Steven realized that he already knew the answer.

“Yes.” He said. “It’s always better to try to be a hero and fail than to be a coward and succeed.” Steven was adamant. His resolve was clear.

Talis scowled. “Damned idealists.” He muttered. “You do realise that you’re as good as condemning us to death?”

“Maybe you deserve it?” Steven suggested. “After what you have done I don’t know how you can have the nerve to stand there and tell me about how bad you have it and expect me to give a f–” Steven had more to say, but he didn’t have the opportunity to say it. Before he knew what was happening he was falling and unconscious. Violet stood over him, a wistful look on her face.

“I thought you two were supposed to be friends?” Talis asked. “I mean I don’t blame you, he was getting rather holier-than-thou.” Violet turned and glared at Talis, quickly reducing him to silence.

“Steven’s a good man. I won’t let him throw away his chance at freedom over a principle.” Violet said. “He deserves better than to be made to participate in your fight to the death.” Talis gestured as if to renounce any ownership of the fight to the death, but Violet continued regardless. “Get out of here, before this Executioner or whatever tries to put a stop to it.” She strode towards the carpeteer, who quickly stubbed out his cigarette and looked to stand to attention. “And don’t you dare harm him.”

“You have my word.” Sruix promised. Violet sighed, but she had things she needed to do for herself.

“Where’re yer off ta?” The carpeteer asked.

“Fuchsia Palace.” Violet said. “And if you get me there before everyone starts dying there’ll be a bonus.” They climbed aboard the carpet, the carpeteer moving with more haste than he had for Sruix and Talis, and promptly they were gone.

“So, what now?” Sruix asked. Talis stopped where he was, turned to look at his companion and raised an eyebrow as if to say ‘really?’

“Take a glove and start feeding your energy in.” He instructed when it was clear Sruix wasn’t kidding. Talis had already picked up one of the gloves from where it had dropped when Steven had been knocked out, and he quickly tossed the other one to his colleague.

“So you were telling the truth then?” Sruix asked.

“Would I lie to you?” Talis asked affecting a mock hurt voice as though it pained him so to have his integrity called into question.

“Of course.” Sruix replied. “I suppose you still can’t tell me how it is that we’re going to avoid the all-seeing eye of the Executrix when we get out of here?” No response. “No I thought not. I’m done.” He threw the glove back to Talis who caught it easily. “How about how we’re going to use the gloves when the only person they respond to is not only unconscious but also unwilling to cooperate with us even if he was awake? That’d be a trick.”

Talis didn’t respond. Slowly he let go of the gloves and they continued to float there. A smile spread across his face.

“How did you manage that?” Sruix asked incredulously.

“I ‘rewired’ the enchantment.” Talis responded distantly. “Unbound the gloves from Steven, bound them to me instead.”

“Oh, huh, nice thinking.” Sruix paused. “Should we, uh, get going then? Don’t want to tempt fate you know?” He could tell from Talis’ hesitation that something was wrong, but he asked anyway, hoping against hope that he was wrong.

“I’m sorry Sruix, but I’ve not been entirely honest with you.” Talis began. “We’re not escaping because as you said, there’s nowhere we could escape to where she wouldn’t eventually be able to find us. Honestly if not betraying you had been an option I would have taken it, but things are as they are I can only be concerned with my own survival.”

“And this helps you how?” Sruix folded his arms irritably. “You now have magical gloves but do you really think that that is going to make a difference in the long run?”

“You weren’t much involved with the selection process were you Sruix? Take a look at him.” Talis nudged Steven’s unconscious body with his foot. Sruix sighed. “Indulge me.” Talis insisted. Sruix did so. “What does he have that makes him a contender for selection for a battle to the death? He’s not strong, he’s not fast, he’s brave apparently but I didn’t know that. What is the one thing that inspired me to select this loser?”

“His gloves?” Sruix suggested.

“Yes.” Talis grinned and flexed the fingers of the gloves. “A pair of extremely powerful magical items; crafted by someone powerful enough to be a Grandmaster himself. They have a sort of rudimentary intelligence you know. They can operate on their own if the need arises; they can think and learn and remember and I think they don’t like me very much but that’s not the point. There have certainly been less intelligent contestants and they have been successful enough.”

“Wait, are you saying…?” Sruix trailed off.

“Correct.” Talis replied. “The gloves are the contestant, or well the core of the contestant. It’s a composite thing, it’s a bit technical. The point is that whoever owns the gloves is at least half a contestant and under the rules you can’t actively kill a contestant. So all I need to do is win the battle and the Executrix can’t touch me.”

“All you need to do?”

“Yes I’m well aware it’s something of a tall order, but at least it’s a chance. It’s more than what she gave me.” Talis focused on the air in front of him, clenched his fists, all four of them, and after a moment a slender black rapier appeared in the air before him. He snatched it up, took a couple of swipes and grinned. “Thanks for your energy old friend. I’ve got to go now; got myself a battle to win, you know. I hope you don’t die too horribly.”