Trypp made his way across through the Ghul village.  It was abandoned.  A perverse cottage made of maritime wreckage rested on a small hill overlooking the village and Trypp knew this would be Caliban’s abode.  His heart quickened as he contemplated a confrontation.  The Sapphyrro held all life as sacred.  In Skyfall Town it was an easy ideal to uphold, but in the crimson light of the Endless, things did not seem so defined.  Would he kill Caliban?  Would he take a life to save many?  

          Had not Remiel made that very mistake?  He had temporarily forsaken his principles for the greater good.  And as a result the world had been plunged into chaos.

          Trypp did not know the answer.  He wanted to close his eyes and lose himself in a dream that would bring him back to a world of blue waters and tall cliffs where the only black shapes that appeared in the sky were those of kestra and haaks soaring above the Skyfall in the warm light of day.  But no such dreams would come.  They belonged to a different time.

 

 

Remiel had remained in the cavern where he had been reunited with his twin, held firmly in place by his father’s statue.  Little had changed.  Cribella still hung in the centre of the cavern and the shatterbugs still fluttered above, although there were fewer of them now.  Many had flown to Usnach so that Remiel could watch the fall of the Myr with his brother by his side.

          Remiel on the other hand had changed much since he was taken captive.  He had not eaten in weeks.  His body had faded away to little more than a collection of bones wrapped in sallow skin.  His face was gaunt, partly due to the loss of weight but also because he felt nothing but despair as he watched the terrible battle unfold in the countless facets of Cribella’s abdomen.

          Caliban had dispensed of his Pryderi guard.  He did not need them.  Arinna had cast a protection spell over him – in the unlikely event that Remiel found the strength to use his Morgai abilities, Caliban would be unharmed.  He could feel her protective energies upon his skin, a mystical suit of armour that Remiel’s Morgai powers could not hope to penetrate.

          Caliban had not left the cavern since the battle had begun.  He was delirious with excitement as he watched the twists and turns of the confrontation on the frozen island to the north.  He provided Remiel with a comprehensive commentary of the conflict, occasionally breaking out into obscenities whenever the battle shifted momentarily towards the Myrrans.

          Over Remiel’s neck and shoulders Caliban had draped the serpentine beast that had fed on Gamelyn Blake’s blood for so many years.  Remiel’s skin had been punctured so often by the creature, it was caked in a layer of dry blood that occasionally cracked to reveal small but deep wounds.

          Remiel was finding it hard to focus upon the images that danced upon Cribella’s shimmering skin.  Caliban had struck his brother many times across the face and Remiel’s battered eyes barely opened at all under the weight of their bruising.

          Occasionally he caught a glimpse of Pylos, Jehenna and other heroes who refused to buckle under the weight of opposition, but Cribella’s facets had increasingly displayed depictions of good people dying and it was almost impossible to look upon the scenes without a sickening sense of dread.

         Tilting his head to one side Remiel glowered at his brother.  ‘I have seen enough Caliban.  Kill me now.  It is over.’

          Caliban feigned concern.  ‘Oh please don’t look at me that way Remiel.  You make me feel terrible.’  He cackled with glee to see his brother breaking.  Soon he would be nothing more than a husk.  

          Caliban separated Remiel’s robes so that his torso lay bear.  He walked over to where a long spear of bone rested against the cavern wall.  It was no coincidence the weapon was there.  Caliban had planned the day down to the finest detail.  What happened next was not a cruel act of whimsy – it was a pre-mediated act design to further crush his brother’s spirit.

          He held the spear in his hand and rested on it as he would lean upon his staff.  He knew Remiel was waiting for his next move and he drew the moment out with poorly suppressed glee.  Then with a swiftness that seemed beyond him, Caliban lowered the spear and rammed it under Remiel’s rib cage.  Remiel bit hard on his lip so that his cry of pain would not escape his lips.  A thin spout of blood shot from the wound.  Caliban dropped the spear and picked up a goblet that was sitting at the base of Gideon Grayson’s statue.  He thrust the goblet over the hole he had made and within seconds his chalice was filled with his brother’s blood.

          The green beast that Caliban had slung around Remiel’s neck slithered about on his torso so that one of its coils lay under the fresh wound.  One of the creature’s many mouths opened and a small pink tongue flicked out to lap up the blood running down from the incision Caliban had made.

Caliban swirled the blood around the goblet like a fine red wine.  ‘Perhaps I might be lucky and get a taste of the Morgai power that has been running through your veins all these years.’  He laughed and raised the cup up high.  ‘To fraternity.’

          In an obscene gesture, he endeavoured to swallow the contents of the chalice, but much of it ran down the pitted skin of his chin.  Caliban winced at the taste of it but kept his mouth open under the upended cup.  He gulped as he swallowed the last of the blood, struggling to get it down his throat.  ‘Well what do you know – it is thicker than water.’

         Remiel’s eyes showed only disgust.  He opened his parched mouth to speak and the dark green beast around his neck quivered as if agitated.  A number of its mouths snarled but it did not bite him.

          ‘You want to say something don’t you?’ Caliban hissed.  

          Remiel grimaced as he tried to find the strength to speak.

          ‘What do you want to say to me brother?’

          ‘How did you become such an impure thing?’ Remiel groaned.

          ‘Impure Remiel?  Are we not alike in that?  Every creature you see on and under the Myr is nothing more than impurity.  The stuff of which we are made, each element that has been brought together to compose our bodies, is nothing more than a cancer upon the void.  They say that only emptiness is pure Remiel, and if that is true, then I have the purest heart of all.’

          Remiel had no response.  There was nothing to say.  Caliban no longer resembled the man he once knew.  He no longer resembled a man.

 

 

Having found Caliban’s cottage deserted, Trypp made his way down to the black lake at the heart of the Endless.  There was something about the cavern that compelled him to explore it.  He couldn’t say what it was but he was drawn to it.  Something there was calling out to him.  He considered that he was experiencing the onset of madness, but he knew he couldn’t leave the Endless until he had returned to the lake that had caught him when he had fallen into Caliban’s world.

It had not been hard to find.  The crashing downpour from the Worldpool and the foul-smelling odour coming from the eggs encircling the lake lay down a path easier to follow than a paved road.

         When he entered the cast cavern, there was no sign of Succellos and no sign of Caliban.  The great space was empty.

 

 

He sat down on the deserted dais and considered his situation.  An overwhelming sense of disappointment rose up within his breast.  ‘There’s nothing here,’ he muttered to the lake lapping the stones at the edge of the dais.  ‘Perhaps I am going mad after all.’

          He decided that he should not waste any more time on thought, not whilst Gamelyn Blake and Samuel Melkin were awaiting his return.  He would find them and lead them up into the sunlight.  He had failed in his mission but his discovery of these two souls was more than enough for the Sapphyrran to feel that his efforts were not in vain.

 

 

He stood to leave but something on the edge of his hearing made him pause.  There was a sound that could be heard amidst the tumult of the torrent crashing down upon the lake.  It was not a voice, nor was it the sound of an animal.  Oddly, it hummed.  It had been there when he and Gerriod emerged from the lake months ago but he had failed to register it.

         And yet, there was nothing in sight that would produce such a sound.  Nothing but the strange eggs that encircled the lake.  Gerriod had said something about the eggs when he spoke in the Cloud Chamber a year ago.  A lifetime ago.

          As Trypp approached the eggs the noxious smell grew more potent and the buzzing grew louder.  Trying to stifle the urge to vomit, Trypp knelt down beside one of the eggs and placed his large blue hands upon its shell.  Though the surface felt like solid rock, the egg was most definitely hollow.  His hands tingled as he touched it.  He felt intense vibrations rising up from within the egg as if it contained hundreds of flying insects all wanting to burst free.

          A soft tap-tap on the path behind him compelled him to quickly glance over his shoulder.  A sting as long as a sword came sweeping down upon him, slamming into his back like an executioner’s axe.

          Luckily for Trypp, his rock-hard carapace was more than a match for Succellos’ sting.

          The impact of Succellos’ attack sent him flying twenty feet into the air.  He slammed into one of the eggs further down the path.  He hit it hard but did not shatter its strange stone shell.  A small crack appeared and from this crack shot out silvery rays of light as if the egg contained the Myr’s moons.  Moments later a stream of small, delicate creatures broke out of the egg, fleeing its confines for the vastness of the cavern.  At first Trypp thought they were shatterbugs as they had wings and glowed, but the creatures were not similar at all. Their bodies were insubstantial, as if they were composed of light rather than merely producing it.  They were not animals – they were far too beautiful.

          Strangely as Succellos at him with her needlelike legs flailing about malevolently, he felt surrounded by happiness.

 

 

'Stay still, little blue beast, so I may taste you,’ Succellos hissed, frustrated by the ease with which Trypp had managed to evade her furious attempts to stab him with her legs and sting.  She was accustomed to her victims being held in place but there were no Ghul about to do her bidding. She would have to work for this meal and that did not please her.

She shrieked with rage and her scream echoed across the chamber.  And then it was joined by another scream and it chilled Trypp to the marrow.

          He had heard that scream before, atop the highest reaches of the Skyfall.  From the violent heart of the waterfall burst forth the Morrigu.

    Trypp was stunned to see how it had changed since he had encountered it that dreadful day atop the Skyfall.  Its oily black fathers had been burnt off leaving behind blackened flesh that made the beast look even more frightening.  What was most intriguing was the long sword was wedged deep in the Morrigu’s throat.  The sword seemed to be made of glass and though Trypp had no recollection of any of the Myrrans in the other squads having such a weapon, he hoped dearly that one of them had delivered the blow.

          He hopped onto one of the eggs and noticed a look of fear cross Succellos’ hideous face.  She bent low and snarled, ‘Get away from my babies!’

          She moved in and Trypp leapt at her, catching her around the neck.  She rose up high and tried to shake him off but his grip would not be broken.

          The Morrigu’s black eyes twinkled when it saw the Sapphyrran – it recognised him.  Though over a year had passed since it had last seen him, it remembered Trypp, remembered his defiance, remembered how he had escaped its clutches.  It spread its featherless wings and thrust its talons forward.  He would not escape a second time.

          Trypp swung himself behind Succellos’ torso and clasped his legs around her waist.  She had no way of removing him and she spun around in a frenzy, vainly trying to shake him free.  She tried scraping her back against a wall in an attempt to knock him off, but her thick abdomen restricted her movements and Trypp was in no danger of losing his purchase.

          ‘Get off!  Get off!’ she cried in a thin and furious voice but her demands went ignored.

          Trypp looked up to see the Morrigu bearing down upon him.  The creature looked so incensed that it seemed obvious to the fact the Sapphyrran was straddled upon Succellos.  It opened its sharp claws ready to tear him apart.

          Succellos twisted around so she could see him.  ‘You are a wily one!’  She had realised what he had planned for her.

           Trypp stared back into the black soulless pits of the Succellos’ eyes.  A silent shape grew in those orbs – the reflection of the Morrigu silhouetted against the dull glow from the waterfall.  Its long talons were fully extended.

          Trypp let go of Succellos and fell.  Her vision was momentarily filled with the sight of six needle-sharp talons as the Morrigu careened into her. They effortlessly sheared through her skin, separating her head and torso from her araneidan body.

          Trypp had landed badly, twisting his ankle on the uneven slope between the path and the lake.  He rolled onto his knees and tried to stand.

          The Morrigu quickly jumped across the space between them.  One of its talons crashed down heavily upon Trypp’s shell.  He was pinioned to the rock.  He twisted his head around, so that he could face his nemesis before it stole his life away.  Thirty feet about him, the Morrigu’s sharp beak hovered, ready to strike.  It would skewer the Sapphyrran in his shell.  The beast was assured of its victory and protracted the inevitable execution, leering at Trypp with a degree of malice he could never understand.  

          Suddenly, inexplicably, the Morrigu’s expression changed.  Its eyes rolled back and an ear-shattering scream erupted from its mouth, to be followed seconds later by thick wads of purple blood.  And then she fell dead, rolling to one side to reveal an old man holding a shatterstone sword.  

 

 

‘Captain Blake!’ Trypp exclaimed.

          Gamelyn stood proudly and bowed to the Sapphyrran.  ‘I got tired of waiting for you to come back,’ he said with a wry smile on his face.  ‘I found this sword by the lake.  Sticking it into that monster seemed the right thing to do with it.’

          He fell to his knees and the sword clattered on the ground.  His withered hands splayed out on the ground as he leant forward.  Trypp crawled over to him and lay him on his back.  

          ‘I am dying.  There is no hope for me now.’

          ‘Not if I have anything to do with it.’

          Lara Brand slithered forward followed closely by Gerriod Blake.

          ‘Gerriod my boy!’ Gamelyn cried.  His voice shook with joy.  ‘I knew you would come back for me.’

          ‘Dad!’ Gerriod rushed forward and clutched his father to his chest.  He held him hard as if worried that his father would slip out of his grasp.  He looked up at Lara.  ‘Can you help him?’

          Lara smiled warmly and lay her hands upon the old man.  ‘He will be fine.  Leave him with me.’

          Gerriod stepped back to let Lara cast her spell.  He picked up the sword and examined it.            ‘Trypp – this was Pylos’ sword!’

          ‘He must have lost it when we entered the Endless months ago.’

          ‘We are indebted to him then,’ Gerriod remarked.

          ‘Perhaps we can pay him back,’ Trypp said excitedly.  ‘Gerriod.  The eggs – I think I know what they are.’

          Gerriod gazed curiously at the Sapphyrran.  ‘The eggs?’

          ‘Yes.  Look around you.  I think the eggs are vessels containing the souls that Succellos has stolen.  She attacked me and I collided with one of the eggs.  It broke open and…’  He pointed at the shimmering silver lights that were darting about the waterfall in the middle of the cavern.  ‘They’ve been freed.’

          Gerriod smiled as he slowly appreciated what Trypp was suggesting.  As fantastical as it seemed, it all made sense.  When he had first arrived in the Endless, he had touched one of the eggs and he had felt something inside.  Something alive.  Now he understood why Succellos never left the chamber.  She was protecting her hoard.  The putrid smell must have been her way of warding off any who would come too near.  But Succellos was dead now and the smell was not strong enough to drive them away.

          ‘Free them Trypp,’ he said, handing the sword to the Sapphyrran.  

          Trypp nodded.  It was a most astounding proposition.  He would use the shatterstone sword to liberate Succellos’ victims.  

          He took up the weapon and limped his way to the nearest egg and without pause drove the sword into the shell.  Searing light burst forth and a cool wind escaped as countless trapped souls were freed.  Suddenly he felt an uncharacteristic surge of passion flare up inside him.  Ignoring all his injuries, he swung the sword like a blood-crazed Helyan, moving about the chamber, breaking the stone eggs and setting free the spirits within.  As more and more souls were emancipated, Trypp could feel an incredible strength build up inside him.  Hundreds upon hundreds of eggs were smashed under his blade as he made their way around the vast lake.  It was like a dance.  The cavern became a blinding maelstrom of swirling silver.  The shimmering vortex of souls built in intensity, circling round and round the cavern before sweeping up through the Worldpool and out into the Myrran skies beyond.