NONE SO VILE

25: Blood of Heaven

Albedo, Rennaire, 1809.

Cosette was crying hysterically, and Alabaster did his best to work despite the outpouring of emotion. He drew concentric runes around her stomach with his claws, allowing his sorcery to stitch the stab wound back together.

“How could they? How could they just take him like that, a little boy, my little boy," she sobbed, a paw clamped over her muzzle, tears soaking the bronze fur of her cheeks. “How long until they give up? When will they allow us to simply live in peace?"

“Cosette, please," Alabaster hissed. “Hold still while I work." The rapier that stabbed her was thin, and from the best Alabaster could tell it had pushed right through her stomach, narrowly missing anything vital. There was bleeding inside and some scarring, but he had solutions for that.

Cosette nodded, forcing herself to be still. She sniffed back a sob, showing her teeth. “Who were they? Don't they know it's the Emperor's nephew they came to steal? When Leon finds out…"

“They knew exactly who they were taking. You don't find an Angel child by accident."

“Did you notice the coats they were wearing?" Gabriel asked. He knelt beside them, watching the sorcery and shifting nervously. Alabaster had always warned him not to let the truth of his identity get out, but there was very little risk when it came to Cosette; she was hardly going to recognise the adult version of a crown prince she'd never met. “I mean, the red leather, and all those symbols on their collars, they must mean something."

“They're Imperators," Alabaster said, mopping up blood around Cosette's wound. “Religious soldiers working for the Supreme Pontiff. Elites, trained to deal with rogue Angels and heretics." It was rare for one of the Church's Angels to get out of control, but it had been known to happen.

“Imperators? Here?" Cosette asked, sniffing. Despite the physical pain of her wounds, and the emotional pain of losing her son, she was strong.

“They want your son," Alabaster said plainly. “And not just because he's an Angel, though I have no doubt that's part of it. Émeric is special, because they think they can use him to influence Leon."

“Influence him to do what? He already allows their missionaries into the city to do as they please!"

“Yes, but he does not allow them into his court." Gabriel had found a needle and thread, and Alabaster used it to finish sewing up the outside of Cosette's wounds. He spoke as he worked. “The Church of the One God is the oldest institution in Midland, and Leon rejecting them made a lot of people very unhappy. They're used to having a say in every great power of Midland, and in their mind Rennaire has been a rogue state ever since he kicked them out. Other countries think they can't afford to do that, because the Church has control over all of the Angels. The Church wants it to stay that way, and they'll do everything they can to stop Rennaire from becoming an example."

“Modern armies hardly even use their Angels, Leon is always saying so."

“That's true," Alabaster conceded. “But it's the reason they don't that forms the core of this problem. If Koringrad had Angels and Danegard did not, what would stop the Korin Tsar from unleashing them on Danegard's armies? Nothing." Satisfied her wound was as patched as he could make it, Alabaster leaned back, sighing. “Leon has killed five Angels in his conquests, two of them personally. He seeks to centralise and standardise the entire continent, and the Supreme Pontiff knows he will not stop after subduing Kiberland. There is no room for theocrats in Leon's enlightened future."

Cosette prodded at her wound, wincing. “Damn it, Alabaster, the way you talk you make him sound like a bloodthirsty conqueror."

And how is he truly different? Alabaster thought, but kept it to himself. Cosette was strong, but that was not a grave he needed to dig up now.

“The Church sees a future coming where they are no longer relevant," he said instead. “They believe that when he is done fighting his wars, Leon will turn his focus to prying their bloodied fingers off each piece of the world. They fear the One God of all Men, but they fear losing power more."

Cosette went quiet at that, thinking.

“Alabaster, your claw," Gabriel said, pointing down. Alabaster wished he hadn't – it was almost as if the wound knew it was being talked about, and began to hurt more. The Imperator had stabbed him through the palm, pinning his claw to the wall. The only choice had been to rip it out, bifurcating his claw from his palm upwards.

The fingers on either side mostly still worked, though the middle two were clumsy and weak. He'd bound it in gauze, but had yet to work any sorcery upon it.

“You need your strength," Gabriel continued. “Work your magic already and heal it!"

Alabaster pointed at Cosette. “Her wounds were more pressing, and I am not made of limitless strength. Besides…" He paused, glancing back at the two dead Imperators on the opposite side of the nursery. “...now I have other work to consume me."

That seemed to stir Cosette from her daze, and she shook her head. “What are you going to do? We have to get him back, Alabaster, please, I don't know what to do." Her paw reached out, taking his arm and squeezing hard.

“It's clear they have infiltrated the city," he said, watching the rain outside her windows. “From my limited knowledge, Imperators usually work in small teams. We know they've been watching you and Émeric for some time now, hiding in the pilgrims outside your house. When the rain came, the streets were emptied and they took the opportunity to strike."

“I thought the pilgrims were just a nuisance," Cosette whispered. She gasped. “What if it'd rained a week ago? You wouldn't have been here, and Émeric would be gone with no chance of us getting him back!" Her voice choked up, but Alabaster quickly calmed her down.

“But we were here, Cosette, and we will."

And still it wasn't enough, he thought. I wasn't enough. Alabaster was not accustomed to saving others. Every time he could recall even wanting to, he had failed.

When Lazare massacred the protestors at La Tour de Sel, he did nothing. When the Speaker's lackeys had betrayed Leon to the Angel Leutgard, Alabaster discovered the trap too late, and Leon only survived because he'd fought in the battle personally. Even when Joachim had tried to assassinate them, Leon had done most of the fighting himself.

Leon killed Lazare.

Leon won wars.

Leon was the Emperor.

Alabaster stared down at his claws, the split one aching with pain beneath the wraps. What am I without him? Had he become so swept up in Leon's exceptional ability that he'd lost sight of himself? It had happened to others. Jacques, Deuxmoise, Gaspar, even Joachim and the Speaker, when they were still alive… Leon is a blazing sun, and the nearer you stand the less real you become. It all just burns away, leaving only his light.

“I will bring Émeric home," Alabaster said firmly. His voice was iron, and he was certain. More certain than he had been climbing from the grave all those years ago, more certain than he had been about his decision to spare Gabriel. A stinging stabbed at the back of his eyes, and as Alabaster blinked he realised tears had welled up in his eyes.

“Cosette, I swear to you I will get him back." The old Alabaster would have felt anger. Wrath. He would have fantasised over the horrible, grotesque fate that he would unleash upon his enemies. No more.

What Alabaster felt was serenity. Calmness. An absolute sense of focus and intent. Saving Émeric was not a matter of if, it was a matter of when. The Imperators didn't matter, saving the boy did.

“I just…" Cosette's head fell into her paws, a muffled sob croaking out. “I wish I could believe that. But… Imperators… you know what they say about them."

“They could be anywhere by now," Gabriel added.

“Why didn't you bring him back?" Cosette's words stung like a knife, and for a brief moment Alabaster saw true hate in her eyes. “You went out after him! All your power, your… your damnable sorceries and secrets, but you couldn't stop one man and save one boy?!"

“Madame, he tried his best–" Gabriel began, but she shook her head.

“You bastard," Cosette growled, wiping her eyes. “He trusted you! We both did! This would never have happened if Leon was here, Leon would die before letting them take my son away!" She sagged, the anger fleeting as she began to sob again, choking on the tears and coughing into her elbow. “Again. They took him again. I just wish it would end and we could be left alone."

There was no point explaining that the lion would have killed Émeric if he'd tried. She was a grieving mother who had been through too much hardship. An impoverished upbringing, a husband dead at suicide, an Angel for a baby, then the King's attempt to steal him, followed by Joachim's attempt on their life several years later, and now this.

She should be angry at me, Alabaster thought. He'd never told Leon and Cosette that it was him who first told Phillipe about Émeric. He couldn't imagine Leon's reaction. I was responsible for that pain. A small piece of a larger puzzle, but a painful one nonetheless. There was no forgiving that kind of transgression. It was all he could do to accept it, and move forward, searching for a redemption that would never come.

“I will find him," Alabaster said again, softly.

Inventory. That is step one. Alabaster had Émeric's blood, several litres worth by now. He had pieces of Angels, but no intact corpses. He stood and went to where the two Imperators laid dead. Their bodies were secrets waiting to be told.

Had he forgotten his origins? Had he forgotten who, or what he truly was?

I am a sangoma, he thought, approaching the corpses. I make the dead my clay and shape my power. I am a necromancer, a heretic, a thing that keeps the faithful of the One God awake at night. Now, I am vengeance, I am clarity. He dragged the corpses apart, laying them both flat on their backs. They seemed so plain without their weapons or souls.

“Are you going to do that here?" Gabriel asked, and Alabaster shrugged. He did not blame Cosette for being angry with him, and likewise, he did not wish to punish her with witnessing the sickening reality of his art.

But there is not the time to coddle her feelings. Émeric is still in the city, but he won't be for long.

“It is by will alone that I set my mind in motion," Alabaster whispered. The beginning of an old sangoma mantra his master Fayez had used.

“You might wish to leave for this, madame," Gabriel told Cosette.

“Is it going to help bring back Émeric?" She asked, crawling forwards. “Then I'll stay."

“It is not for the faint of heart."

“Do I look faint to you? I said I will stay."

Alabaster ignored them. Over the past few years he had optimised his work spectacularly. Gone were the days of eight, nine, or ten hours of preparation to squeeze out a few measly minutes of un-life. He worked faster now, forcing himself to be leaner when he had to.

Despite that, it never lost that grisly edge.

Cosette and Gabriel watched silently as he worked. Alabaster could practically feel the disgust radiating from them as he carved, and cut, etching his words into the dead warrior-priest's flesh. It was script in the ancient language, the first tongues spoken by the first Angels.

By the time he was done, the rain had eased but not stopped, and the sky over Albedo was beginning to lighten. Dawn was growing closer by the hour. Alabaster's white scales were streaked red to the elbows, and his split claw throbbed with unending pain, each flex and use of his fingers sending another bolt of agony up his arm.

There'll be time to fix me later. Pain is only a message, and my body is only another resource. There was a purity to this kind of work. It was what he had been trained to do, and as far as he knew, he was the only one in Midland who could do it. It was taxing to work with the other realm, and he had no energy to spare for his own comfort.

He bound the corpses with sorcery, primordial energy stitching them back together into some semblance of life. The souls and the people they had been were long gone, but the meat remained, and it was the meat that remembered. He sunk his claws into the slits across their bellies, their organs squishing as he did.

“HERETIIIIC!" The two corpses gasped in unison, as Alabaster dragged them back into a cruel imitation of life. The intermixed sound of their two tongues was like the escaping of gas, bubbling out of their bodies with a gurgle.

Alabaster pulled on their innards like they were the reins of a horse.

“YOU ARE HERETIC!" The corpses cried again, buckling as they tried to wiggle free. They did not really believe that, corpses couldn't believe anything. They spoke in echoes, echoes of the soul that had previously inhabited them. It was the violence of his process which disgusted the few that had seen this done, but for Alabaster, the true horror was in this thin shadow of the life that had been.

Is this all we are?

“Where did he take the boy?" Alabaster asked them.

“TO THE FAITHFUL!" The corpses railed. “TO THE FLOCK, TO THE GARDEN, TO THE SHADOWS WHERE THE ONE GOD OF MEN CANNOT SEE!"

“An old cathedral?"

They laughed in unison, a haunting bark of derision. “RENNAIRE IS A SWAMP. NOTHING CAN GROW! BUT THE FAITH IS A GREAT TREE, AND ITS ROOTS GO ON FOR ETERNITY!"

“Another weed to be pulled," Alabaster replied. “Are there more of you in the city?"

“ALWAYS MORE. SEVEN. TOTAL." So five Imperators left, including the lion.

“What is the lion's name?"

“FATHER MALACHI. EVANGELISE THIS WASTE."

“And where is Malachi?"

“WITHIN THE CHURCH!"

“Stop avoiding the question!" Alabaster snarled, ripping at their guts. Corpses could not outright disobey or lie to him, but they could be evasive if they were wily.

The corpses cringed, writhing in place and wailing in pain. “WE KNOW YOUR POWER, HERETIC! WE KNOW! WE KNOW!"

“Stop changing the subject and answer me."

“THERE ARE MANY HOLES IN YOUR APOSTATE WALL! SO MANY HOLES! THE ONE GOD WILL FIND YOU!"

“There is no God in Rennaire."

“THE BOY IS NOT YOURS."

“He doesn't belong to anyone!" Cosette cried over Leon's shoulder. “He's just a boy, damn you!"

The corpses squirmed, shuddering as they tried to resist. “HE IS AN ANGEL! THE BLOOD OF HEAVEN. WRATH INCARNATE!"

Alabaster grunted. “I will show you wrath incarnate. Tell me what I want to know, or I'll keep bringing you back again and again until I get what I want." He tightened his grip on their organs, drawing out two cries of agony. “It will hurt the entire time, dying again and again, reawakening in a more broken body every time."

“THE MERCHANT MARTYR AND HIS APOCRYPHAL SCALES!" The corpses exclaimed.

“There is no merchant martyr! Stop dancing around and tell me what I want to know!" Alabaster snarled, leering over them. He'd rushed the revival, and they were already starting to fade. For all his threats, he knew that bringing them back repeatedly wasn't much of an option; reanimation was traumatic, and the corpses would only grow more incoherent as their grey matter continued to deteriorate. I have one more, maybe two before they're useless.

“They're not," said Gabriel, kneeling by Alabaster's side. He lifted his head, veil fluttering as he looked from the bodies to his teacher. “The merchant martyr is apocryphal, but some sects of the Church still recognise his scripture. There's a small cathedral dedicated to his scales in the south of the city, where the Median Canal flows out to the farms."

Alabaster stared at the boy for a moment, blinking stupidly. He had almost forgotten that once, Gabriel was the heir to the Rennairan throne. Since Jules had been excluded Gabriel would have been considered the first-born prince, and so would have been educated in all sorts of manners, including extensive religious teachings.

His upbringing is a resource I have been neglecting.

He glanced back down at the grisly sight beneath him, still elbow-deep in squirming cadaver guts. “Is that right?"

“GOD IS IN HIS HEAVEN," the corpses said, limbs seizing in haunting simultaneity. He was losing them. Their heads paused their thrashing, craning up for both dead eyes to lock onto Alabaster. “ALL IS RIGHT IN THE WORLD."

“And if He is in heaven, then you are in hell." Alabaster tore his claws free, shaking blood from his fingertips. As his arms left the corpses they deflated like bladders of air, sagging onto Cosette's floor with a dying rasp.

He pushed to his feet, wincing at the twinge in his split claw.

“Is that where they took him, then? To this cathedral of the merchant martyr?" Cosette asked, her voice on the brink of panic.

“It's a possibility," Alabaster replied, looking at Albedo through the rain. Dawn was closing in. “Take Madame Valoisier back to the palace where she is safe. Cosette, when you arrive there, wake the District Prefects and tell them what happened. Have them order the arrest of every pilgrim, missionary, and priest they can find. Anyone who openly supports the Church. Tear up the flock and close off the exits the city to all."

“What about you? Not coming with us?" Gabriel asked.

“I know where they might be. I'm going to find Émeric," Alabaster replied.

“You're hurt. I'm coming with you."

Alabaster scoffed. “I'll live. No, you go with Madame Valoisier, stay with her and keep her safe. There's nobody in the palace who will recognise you, just go." He glanced at the jaguaress, her eyes puffy and dry. She was in shock. “Cosette, you're going with him, yes? Get your coat."

She was coming down from the spike of adrenalin, and Alabaster could tell the reality was beginning to hit. Still, Cosette was strong, and she nodded wearily, leaving them alone.

“Listen to me," Alabaster whispered quickly. “When you get back to the palace, go to my laboratory. There is a case there filled with labelled vials. Blood, Gabriel, Émeric's blood. Put one in a bag and give it to a palace courier to bring back here. I will need it."

The veiled badger glanced back at the two defiled corpses, perhaps choosing not to imagine what Alabaster might do to them. “What about Cosette's orders to the prefects?"

Alabaster shook his head. “By the time that begins, the Imperators will be gone. Now is the only chance, and I will not let this boy down."

“Alright then, if you're certain," Gabriel said, clearly unhappy with the decision to leave him out of it. “I hope you find him."

The dragon grinned. “It is by will alone, not hope, that I set my mind in motion, Gabriel. I do not need hope, but they will."

To call the Merchant Martyr's chapel a 'cathedral' was a gross overstatement. It stood alone by the edge of the Median Canal, shrouded by dying trees and accompanied by nothing more than a neglected graveyard and several small tool shacks. The dusty banks beside it would have once been a lovely place to bask in the sun, but time and the canal's water had eaten away at them, leaving only a foul quagmire of mud and rock.

It was a good hideout, Alabaster had to admit. Nobody was coming here for their spiritual needs, in fact he wouldn't be surprised to learn that no one had visited the Merchant Martyr's Chapel since long before the revolution.

They've kept up the appearance well, he thought, staring down at it from the sky. His body was crouched on the opposite side of the canal, but he watched through Bellamy's eyes as the old undead vulture circled in the air, braving the storm as the rain waterlogged his feathers. Only a few more minutes my friend, then you can make yourself dry again.

At a first glance, anyone would think the old chapel was still abandoned. There was no lamplight, that was obvious, but even the front path up to the steps had been left untouched. There were no clear signs of footprints, and the cobwebs clung to the gates in a delicate veil of dust and grime.

But nobody was perfect. The signs of life were there, if you knew where to look. The stone on the back step showed a new scrape from where the door had been forced open, and a tiny stream of filthy water was gathered to one side, likely caused from the emptying of chamber pots. Some of the old stained glass windows had been broken over the years, and Alabaster saw the wooden planks within one of the windows did not match the others – it was fresher, cleaner. Still, if Gabriel had not recognised the thrall's cryptic answers, then Alabaster would have never looked here in a thousand years.

I don't give that boy enough credit. He's a good man, despite his upbringing.

There should be five Imperators inside. Each one was an elite soldier, sworn to the service of the Supreme Pontiff, the ultimate leader of the Church of the One God. Alabaster saw a pile of rags resting in the chapel steeple, and briefly wondered if that was a rifleman hidden on watch. Safer to assume so.

He blinked out of Bellamy's eyes, momentarily swaying as the change in perspective dazed him. The chapel was across the canal, and while he'd get wet crossing it, the water was shallow and the current was weak. Imperators were dangerous. The two he'd fought in Cosette's nursery had almost been too much for him, and Alabaster knew the smartest thing to do now was wait for the Imperial Guard to arrive.

But there's no time. They could leave any moment. He looked to the horizon. Dawn was threateningly close, the clouds above Albedo coloured the pale grey of the dead. The rain was drying up too, and the Imperators would be eager to leave as soon as they could. But they feel safer inside, they assume nobody will find them. Once they make a run for it they'll be on their guard.

His split claw still ached, but Alabaster had used his sorcery for better means. He glanced aside at the creation, hastily slapped together, but hopefully enough to even out the odds.

Years ago, Alabaster had been trapped inside La Tour de Sel while an angry mob tried to get at him. He had combined corpses there, weaving the other around them to build a centipedal-monster that had almost killed Leon. He'd done something similar again now, and the amount of blood it's creation had spilled meant he'd probably need to buy Cosette a new house.

The grotesquerie hunkered next to him, still as stone. Fayez would have called it an abomination, anyone with sense would. It was a flesh-golem, born of the two dead Imperators Alabaster had slain inside Cosette's house. The deer he'd used to form the central body, its eyes clouded over as it stared listlessly into the mysteries of the other realm. Bone had been exposed in its ribcage where Alabaster carved away hide, the slit across his belly stitched back up, the remainder of his body still covered in ancient runic carvings. The wolf was attached to his back, draped around like a muscular coat. The wolf's head was almost unrecognisable, for Alabaster's sorcery had split it in twain, melting it around the deer's neck and jaw in a sickening wield of unnatural surgery. The wolf's legs joined the deer at his hips, and the quadrupedal form would allow the monster to carry the extra weight more easily.

They were healthy bodies. Strong and capable in life, and Alabaster hoped they would be the same in undeath.

“But in case you're not…" He undid the case Gabriel had sent him. Inside was a syringe and a single vial of dark fluid. Émeric's blood. Angel blood.

The grotesquerie remained still as he pushed the needlepoint into the base of its spine, questing for the split that separated its vertebrae. The creature gave an involuntary grunt, and Alabaster pushed the plunger down.

As soon as the vial was empty he felt feedback pulse through their magical tether. The innards of his golem seemed to buzz and boil, muscles twitching and spasming. Heat swirled atop its head in a tiny cyclone, as if the body was searching for a halo that did not exist.

The grotesquerie shifted, joints cracking, blood dribbling from the hastily-sewn stitches riddling its half-naked body.

Alabaster felt a pang that it was not more artful, but there was only so much time he could afford to it. “Shame I could not have done you more justice. But you need not stay together long. Just enough for me to get inside, do you understand?"

The monster rasped at him, pushing to its feet, four legs moving awkwardly.

Alabaster commanded it to stay as he drew his kriss blade, hefting it in his left paw as he descended into the filthy canal water separating him from the chapel. He kept low as he crossed, hood pulled low, trying to place himself so as to keep the dead trees shielding him from that pile-of-rags in the steeple.

When he reached the other side, he felt the mud beneath his boots, creeping up the side bank towards the edge of the chapel grounds. The gravestones had all begun to sag and crumble, the fences and wooden relics decorating the yard all but rotted away.

Finally, Alabaster reached the chapel wall, a claw brushing over an exposed nail. Dawn was close now, there would be light enough to see in less than twenty minutes, he'd bet on it.

Careful, patience. His attack had to be swift. It had to be shockingly fast, too fast for any of the Imperators to properly react. If they could do anything but fight, Alabaster risked putting Émeric's life at risk – they'd threatened to murder him before, and would happily do so again.

Rain running down his face, Alabaster reached up and pushed a claw against the bricks. They were unsteady, and it only took a short, ancient word to dissolve them beneath his fingers, creating a hold. Bit by bit, he climbed up the side of the chapel, inching towards the steeple. Every time he put weight onto his right paw it sang, the split in his palm throbbing. Nothing for it but to push on. He worked a leg up over the gutter, swinging up to the ledge and gingerly testing the chapel's sloped rooftop with a foot. Seemed it would hold his weight – finally some good fortune.

The steeple was ahead. The Merchant Martyr's chapel was poor, and the steeple had no glass, instead forming a tiny open-air gazebo. The pile-of-rags was definitely man-shaped, and Alabaster saw a long extension pointing towards the chapel's front gate that he guessed was a rifle. The pile-of-rag's back was to him, however, and so Alabaster crept towards his nest, desperately hoping his foot did not lose purchase on the slats.

Now. He released his hold on the grotesquerie, and the beast went mad. It was full of rage, and although it was no longer the people it had once been, their dying emotions still flowed through its veins.

The monster braced on its side of the canal, bending low before leaping up, taking to the air as it crossed the canal in a single bound.

The pile-of-rags came alive as the grotesquerie crashed into the chapel-side of the canal, immediately reaching down with four arms and ripping the wrought-iron fence apart, roaring with the haunting blend of two voices.

“ALARM! TO ARMS!" The pile-of-rags cried, rifle bracing against his shoulder. Alabaster lunged for him but as he did, his foot found an old patch of spilled oil. His leg shot out beneath him and he crashed into the tiles, sliding back down the rooftop. Panic shot through him as he slid towards the edge, feet touching empty air, his arm shooting out just in time to catch the gutter's edge, shoulder joint yanking painfully as he swung in the air.

Alabaster hissed, swinging his leg around and hooking his boot over the edge of the gutter. He hauled the rest of his body back up onto the rain-slick roof, a tile exploding near his face as the pile-of-rags took a pot-shot.

“He's up here! Up here!" He cried, the rain snatching away his words.

Panting, Alabaster glanced up and found the raccoon's eyes. For a brief moment they only stared at one another, taking in their measure. Then they both exploded into action. The Imperator's sniper dropped the butt of his rifle to the floor, hurriedly trying to clear the barrel as he emptied a horn of gunpowder down it, stuffing a bullet in after. Alabaster knew he wouldn't get another chance. He seized the moment, feeling the gutter flex as he shoved off it, scrambling up the side of the slippery roof even as he raised his dagger.

“BACK!" The pile-of-rags cried, as Alabaster closed in. He raised his rifle, but it was too late. Alabaster hauled himself forward, vaulting into the steeple and knocking the barrel aside, burying his kriss blade in the man's chest. The Imperator gasped, sagging forward as he coughed blood.

“Herra… Heretic…" The Imperator wheezed. Alabaster turned the blade in his chest, hearing the sound of a rib crack. He pulled his dagger free and the man collapsed, blood pooling beneath him as he writhed his last death throes.

Alabaster wiped his kriss on his leg, looking back at the chapel's front yard. Two Imperators had come to face the grotesquerie. They brandished rapiers and religious icons, to poor avail. The grotesquerie howled, using all four arms to seize the nearer man, lifting him up and splitting him overhead like a wishbone. His ally screamed, drawing a pistol and shooting at the monster. The bullet passed through the undead hide with no effect, another Imperator joining them in the fight

The creature wouldn't hold forever. Eventually Alabaster's sorcery would wear thin, and their wounds would bring it down.

But by then it should be too late.

He shook his injured claw out, trying to get some feeling back into it before he descended the ladder into the chapel. The rain grew muted as his feet touched the floor, wooden planks creaking beneath him. Alabaster kept his eyes open, moving towards the narrow spiral staircase that led down to the main hall.

The Imperators had done well. The windows were all double-barricaded, the interior hall of the chapel dimly lit by rows of candles.

Outside, Alabaster heard more screams, roars, and gunshots. Once or twice, the Imperators tried begging their former allies to stop, to remember the One God's wrath that would come when He saw what they did. The grotesquerie paid the pleas no mind, relentless in its rage.

Émeric was tied up near the altar. The jaguar child laid on the ground, arms and feet secured behind his back, eyes and mouth covered by cloth. His halo glowed faintly in the gloom.

He struggled as Alabaster stopped next to him, trying to pull away from the dragon's touch.

“Hush, it's me, boy," Alabaster whispered, pushing the blindfold up so Émeric could see him. The boy's eyes were red and puffy from crying.

“B… Baster," he all but mouthed the word, voice hoarse.

“It's alright, be quiet now, we're going back to your mother." He reached past, slipping the kriss knife between the ropes tying Émeric's wrists, slitting them with ease.

Their reunion was interrupted however, when Alabaster heard the keen shing of a sword being drawn.

He looked up and saw the Imperator's leader, the lion Malachi, standing between him and the exit. The lion was donned in his red leather cloak, studded collar turned up at his neck, rapier held out beside him, tip facing down.

A fencer's insult, Alabaster thought, rising slowly. He stepped over Émeric, putting himself between the Imperator and the boy, hefting the kriss blade in his left claw. He was ambidextrous when it came to knives, but his left had never been quite as good as his right. He'd seen what the Imperators could do, and the thought of facing such a skilled opponent at any kind of disadvantage was daunting.

But he's between us and leaving. So we go through.

“Angels belong with the Church," the lion said, the faintest Yaravan accent touching his words. “They are born of wrath and to wrath they will go. You cannot seriously think to take him from where he truly belongs."

“I'd say the same to you," Alabaster replied.

The lion smiled, raising the rapier up before his face. “My name is Father Malachi. I am sworn to deliver the One God's vengeance upon earth wherever it may be needed. You are a heretic. You are in opposition to the faith. Prepare to die."

Alabaster exhaled, his old sangoma mantra fresh in his mind.

“It is by will alone I set my mind in motion," he whispered, falling into a knife-fighting stance. “It is by the blood of the dead that thoughts acquire speed, that lips acquire stains, that stains become a warning. And it is by will alone that I set my mind in motion."

The lion smirked. “Touché."

He attacked like a whirlwind, crossing the distance between them in a single bound, his rapier a flurry of steel in the air. Alabaster was immediately on the backfoot, parrying where he could, swiping out if only to try and enforce his own danger.

They were not constrained by the tightness of a nursery this time, and Malachi was free to attack with full abandon, and judging by the grin on his face, he was even enjoying it.

“A rare sight to face a skilled opponent!" He cried, thrusting at Alabaster's feet and making him dance. “You'll forgive me for relishing in the moment!"

Alabaster said nothing, snarling as he took a wide swipe up, switching the blade around in his grip then plunging it down. He nearly caught Malachi's shoulder, but the lion was good, matching Alabaster's steel with his rapier's hard edge, the two blades sliding along one another with a metallic screech.

“Purging heretics–" Malachi grunted, throwing Alabaster off him and attacking with a series of devastating thrusts. “–is what my body was made for!"

They traded again and again, swiping and slashing, dodging. It was a dance, one moving far too quickly for Alabaster to consciously think of his movements. He reacted on instinct, muscle memory, blood pumping through each of his muscles, pupils dilated, teeth sharp. He tried to pull strength from the other, but without time and rest there was little strength left in him.

Malachi adopted a new stance, taking his rapier in two paws and smashing it down on Alabaster with a double-grip. The dragon buckled as he deflected the blows with the flat of his blade, each one sending a shuddering echo down his arms.

Alabaster tripped, falling backwards as he crashed into a chapel pew. Wood broke beneath him and he rolled as Malachi stabbed at the ground, stealing only a piece of Alabaster's cloak.

The dragon stood, keeping a short distance from the lion as they circled one another, true duellists.

“Do you think we have never witnessed the abominations of heresy?" The Imperator asked. Outside, Alabaster heard another two gunshots, followed by the grotesquerie's muted roar. “Your creature will be felled soon, and my men will return. Think you can kill me before then, Alabaster?"

“Let them come," he replied. For all the bravado, he hoped they didn't.

Alabaster glanced at Émeric. The boy had cowered in the far end of the room, and was watching the fight with widened eyes. I don't know if I can beat him, Alabaster thought. He wished Émeric would have the sense to run, but he was only a boy, and he was paralysed with fear.

“Tell me, what is the Emperor's plan?" Malachi called. “As the boy grows, so will his innate power. The power of Angels corrupts, it twists the mind as they see the world for its horrifying truths. They see everything, and only we have the knowledge on how to pacify them! What will Leon do when his nephew massacres half the city in a fit of rage? What will the people of Rennaire do in response to his apathy? They already killed one king, after all, what's another?"

“I will find a solution, by my will, without taking him away to become somebody's weapon!" Alabaster snarled.

Malachi baulked. “Removing them is the only way forward! You know nothing of Angels, you know nothing of all we do to keep Midland safe from their explosive danger! Time will tell, even if you do best me here, heretic, that boy will succumb to madness before he reaches age."

He's playing for time, Alabaster realised, as he caught Malachi glance at the door. Enough questions.

He lunged forward, almost catching the Imperator by surprise. The lion jogged back, knocking away Alabaster's blade with relative ease. Next to the nimble rapier, his kriss blade felt clumsy and heavy in his claw. There were runes in Alabaster's pocket but none of his sorcery would be of use here – things were happening too fast, he could not gather his thoughts.

“You will bring God's attention upon us!" Malachi growled, feinting left, then right, then finally thrusting forward, the tip of his rapier breaking through Alabaster's guard and stabbing into his thigh.

The dragon cried out as pain bloomed, pulling back, blood bubbling up and soaking his pants.

“Limp away, little lamb," the Imperator added, grinning as he twirled the rapier deftly in his paw.

It is… by will… alone…

Alabaster screamed. He threw himself at the lion, abandoning his previous style, going for wild barbarian strikes. He hacked and cut, chopped, slashed, kicked. He spun and flicked with his tail, baring his teeth, jack-knifing his head to try and catch Malachi with his horns. The lion kept going back, rapier glancing as he parried and defended. They were both sapping energy fast, duels never lasted long.

“Damn you, just die!" Alabaster cried, batting the rapier away with his arm, slashing up with his kriss and slicing across the lion's face.

Malachi grunted as red sprayed out, kicking Alabaster back as he stumbled, free paw pushed to his new wound.

Panting, Alabaster watched as the Imperator lowered his red-stained paw. He bore a fresh cut, running lengthwise across from his brow up, over his forehead and ending at his temple. It was a good cut, the blood would drip into his eyes now.

Malachi sniffed, licking his lips. “All that effort for a drop of blood."

“More than a drop, Father."

“I'm going to kill your boy, you realise that?" Malachi chuckled. “The Supreme Pontiff wanted him as a bargaining tool, but I was given permission to end him if the corruption was deemed too far gone to recover. I believe I deem it so."

“You bastard, he's just a child!"

“He's a penance!" Malachi screamed, suddenly infuriated. “A penance sent down upon the Almighty One God's most hated of children to deliver us from our greatest evils! He is selfishness, hate, greed, lust, pride, and filth all rolled into one and spat back out upon us! He only appears as a child, you ignorant fool!"

The attack redoubled, again and again, blows falling onto Alabaster, breaking him down. He wasn't winning, he was barely keeping it off, barely keeping up. Malachi was a storm, and bit by bit, he broke through the dragon's defence. A glance here, a slash there. Alabaster was bleeding from a dozen tiny cuts as he was backed up towards the altar once more.

“I… ah, get back!" He tried to swipe away, but the lion was flowing like water. Alabaster was stupid, clumsy, barely making his hits. Wherever he swiped, Malachi wasn't, the rapier seeming to bend space around itself as it darted and stabbed.

I should have brought Gabriel. I should have brought the whole fucking army. Why had he thought he could do this alone? Stupid fool. Now you'll die for nothing.

Malachi stepped back, then launched himself forward like a spear. The tip of his rapier hit Alabaster's blade, spinning it in his grip as the point of the sword shot through. He shoved down, redirecting the blade. It shot towards the floor, found Alabaster's knee and plunged into the top of it.

Bone shattered inside and he screamed in agony as he collapsed. Malachi pulled the rapier free, flicking it out to wick away the blood. He sighed.

“Not as formidable as I'd hoped," he mused.

“You…" Alabaster rasped, still out of breath. “You cannot have him."

“You don't seem to be in any kind of position to be issuing demands."

Alabaster swallowed. His entire life had been filled with selfish acts. Fear had ruled him from the day he was hatched, driving him to kill, lie, cheat, and betray whoever he could all in the name of self-preservation.

No more. If Alabaster was going to die, he would die here, protecting this boy.

He pushed down with his injured leg, pain exploding as he forced the wounded joint to work, damn it. He locked his muscles, binding himself with what little of the other he could still reach, pushing up from the ground, teeth aching as he clenched them so hard they might shatter.

“You!" He snarled, meeting Malachi's eyes. “Cannot! Have! Him!"

The Imperator sneered, thrusting forwards. Alabaster reached up with a claw and caught the blade, the point only inches from his neck as the sharp edge sliced into his wounded palm.

“No amount of pain will stop me," he said, eyes boring into Malachi's skull. “I am not my pain."

“Only hell awaits you, you are a heretic!"

“No. I am the hate inside you, I am the fear, I am the sin, and I am the sentence." Alabaster released the blade, throwing off the lion's balance. He lurched forward, trying to stab up at his gut. Malachi was quick, and caught the dragon's wrist. Alabaster let his momentum carry forward, opening his jaw and closing it around Malachi's neck.

The lion screamed as the two men went down, scuffling, fighting. Alabaster tried to hit anywhere sensitive; the crotch, the neck, the eyes.

“Baster, no!" Émeric cried, as the lion got on top of him.

“You stupid, fucking apostate!"

I'm sorry, my boy, Alabaster thought, trying to shove the lion back and finding his arms reaching their limit. I'm not strong enough to save you.

“You deserve nothing but the fire of hell!"

“Baster!" Émeric was sobbing now, begging and pleading, and the sound broke Alabaster's heart. “Stop hurting him, please!"

I have done so little good in my lifetime, he thought, closing his eyes. Malachi punched him in the face, once, twice, three times.

I thought this could be something good.

He should have known better.

At least I tried.

“BASTER!" Émeric wailed, his voice ear-splittingly high, choked with sobs. A curling, crunching sound swallowed the church, drowning the sound of rain, the grotesquerie, of everything.

Above, Malachi squirmed. “No, no, damn you!"

Alabaster cracked his swollen eyes, and saw the chapel was green. Malachi knelt above him, looking up at the rotten vines swirling around every surface in sight. They raced over the ground, sparing Alabaster and instead wrapping around the lion like snakes.

“Boy, do not do this! This is a mortal sin!" Malachi barked at Émeric. “Stop this!"

Alabaster had seen this once before, when Joachim tried to have Leon killed. Émeric was an Angel, and this was what came when the people he loved were in danger.

As pink flowers bloomed across the sickly-green vines of rot, it was almost beautiful.

“You can't have him!" Émeric cried.

Malachi opened his mouth, but it was too late. In an instant, everything dissolved. The wood, steel, bodies, the pews, the glass, even the blood, all of it exploded in a puff of green and pink smoke and dust, swirling in the air.

Alabaster sighed, feeling the rain drop onto his face. He blinked, woozy, and then smiled as he saw Émeric's face appear above him. The boy looked haunted, but otherwise unhurt.

“Baster?" He asked, tentatively.

“Yes, my boy, I'm here." The dragon reached up, cupping the jaguar's face. “Thank you."

Slowly, he pushed himself to his feet, wincing at the pain in his leg. That would take time to fix, joints were complicated.

As he looked around, Alabaster realised that Émeric had taken everything in the immediate vicinity. The graveyard, the other Imperators, even the grotesquerie were all gone.

“How do you feel?" He asked the cub.

“I feel…" Émeric swallowed, shaking his head. “Weird." He held up a paw to his eyes, and Alabaster knew he was seeing the other. “I'm tired."

Alabaster nodded. Émeric had saved his life, but this was not a good development. He was seeing the world for what it truly was, staring into the primordial connections that bound every piece of matter. One second of the other realm had driven Fayez completely insane… what would a lifetime of the Angel realm do to a child?

A question for later.

“Is Mama alright?" Émeric asked, and Alabaster nodded.

“Yes, she's…" He coughed, his body replaced with one big wound. “She's waiting for us at the palace."

“Thank you, Baster," Émeric said, burying his face in Alabaster's leg as he hugged him. Something pulled at the dragon's chest, a wound, a feeling.

Did you really believe it? He wondered to himself, blinking away tears as his paw stroked the boy's head. That you are not your pain?