A Worthy Challenger

The walk to return to Lord Brighton’s war room was an interesting one. Aside from her initial outburst – as much of an outburst as Sophia ever had, anyway – there was little to notice about Sophia, at least to one who was not as attuned to her as John was. Her steps were steady, even, and her eyes scanned about as if expecting trouble around any corner. To anyone else, it would have seemed she was as wary and prepared as ever. To anyone else except John, that is.

John saw the unusual gait she took, the way her strides were not as perfectly evened, the way her balance was not always perfectly maintained. He noted the way that her eyes moved around, but often glanced over objects and people where once they might have lingered, searching for threats or allies alike. Most noticeable was the way that she leaned herself onto him every so often – just a moment’s pressure, a slight increase in the weight her hand placed on his arm. It wasn’t much to notice, but Sophia had become such a steady presence in John’s life over the last year and change that the slightest deviation was like waking up one day to find he’d grown a third arm.

“So what prompted Lord Brighton and you to have a duel in the middle of the courtyard, anyway?” John finally asked, the silence and dullness of the trip wearing on him. “I get that he wanted to test your strength, but how did it come to that after just a few minutes of conversation?”

“A few reasons, I guess. Salty old Abyss veterans like us want to have dick measuring competitions more than you’d think, for one. Despite being a woman, I win most of them. Aside from that, I guess I’d have to say… desperation was the biggest factor.”

“Desperation?” John asked, genuinely surprised. The emotion was not one he quickly associated with the stoic Lord Protector of the Brighton Manor.

“Are you really that surprised?” Adantia asked, a look of disbelief crossing her face before it melted back into casual dismissal. “You crossed the country and risked being enslaved, killed, or turned into a Deity’s fucktoy for Moira’s sake, and you’re just a stranger with a hell of a crush on her. What do you think her father would be willing to do? What thin threads of hope do you think he’d be willing to grasp onto?”

John let the comment about his crush fall by the wayside as Adantia made her point about Lord Brighton’s feelings for Moira’s situation, a point emphasized all too much by Moira’s own recent words.

“So you think he’ll be on our side, then? After what you showed him, he must believe,” John insisted, nodding firmly despite the waver in his voice.

“Believe? That’s a strong word in the Abyss,” Adantia said, her voice almost playful. “After what I showed him, he definitely knows I’m strong. But he can’t have more faith than I do in this, and I know as little about our enemies as you do; I haven’t had the time or the resources to reach out and learn about these Northern Ashes. Before the fall of Paix, I’d have told you I alone could handle anyone but a Deity myself. Now? I don’t know much about the current standings of this Abyss, I don’t know how strong the average mage is these days, or how strong their elite have become. If any of my contacts in the Great Plains Alliance are still alive, and if they trust me enough to work together, we have a shot at turning the tide by **** of numbers and strength alone. If not… well, I’ll be relying on you to bridge any gaps between what the Abyss used to be and what it is now. It’s the least you can do after bringing me out into the open like this.”

John didn’t like the way that Adantia said those last words, nor the expectant grin on her face. It was still hard for him to draw the line between serious and sarcastic for her when she straddled the edge, and he had the undeniable feeling she would play whichever side amused her more at the moment.

“So it all comes down to how he thinks you stack up against the current top-tier Abyssals, and whatever Necromancers make up the leadership of the Northern Ashes?” John asked, trying to keep the worry and skepticism out of his voice.

“He’s going to do what every leader does – he’s gonna weigh our chances of winning and losing, and what we gain or lose. What would you do if you were in his position?” Adantia paused a beat, then rolled her eyes as John’s mouth started to open. “Don’t answer that, we both know you’re not thinking about it objectively.”

“Father’s judgement is sound and fair, and you would all do well to listen to him. He has never led us astray, only to victory, and our enemies cower before us on every battlefield we have set foot upon!”

”Wait, is she getting more aggressively loyal?” John thought. The thought was actually amusing considering how steadfast she was normally, though he wasn’t sure how Moira and Lord Brighton would react.

“Yeah, so far. That’s how it works. You succeed and get lucky… right up until you don’t,” Adantia said, rolling her eyes.

“We’ll find out what they’re thinking and planning shortly,” John murmured, shaking his head dismissively. “Once we know that, we can make our plans.”

“You told Moira that even if she left, you still planned to fight for your home. Is that really your plan? Because I don’t intend to let you off the hook that easily,” Adantia said, turning her gaze on John. There was a sharpness to it that belied her dry tone.

“Yes… I’m not going to let everyone else I know and care about get rolled over like- wait, what do you mean let me off the hook?” John asked, quirking an eyebrow.

“Oh look, we’re here.”

Adantia’s words were flat and bored as she strode forward to the double doors to Lord Brighton’s war room. John intended to press her further on why she kept teasing him with the barest of references to whatever debt she supposed he owed her, but before he could she had slipped up to the door and opened it unceremoniously, throwing herself through with her arms spread wide.

John stared after her for a while, even letting the door close fully behind her, stewing a bit in his annoyance. While he was still mulling over how much Adantia’s superiority and bratty behavior irked him, Sophia stepped forward, her voice deep and serious.

“We are going to need to train hard, Father. There is a long and arduous path ahead of us, one I fear we are not prepared to walk, but one that we must walk all the same, for the good of our family.”

John’s mouth hung open a moment as he took in the dire words Sophia spoke. Her eyes were locked on the closed doors, while her face stood as stern as stone.

“Sophia… I didn’t realize you were so concerned,” John said, the shock finding its way through his uncertain words.

“Of course, Father. I believe in you, I will always believe in you, but I recognize the strength of what we are now up against. Never before have we faced a foe as strong as the one before us. Still, with enough time and effort, I know that we can overcome this, as with everything before.”

“Thank you, Sophia. I’m glad that even now, you still-”

“Besides, I cannot wait to see the look on that irreverent woman’s face when you finally overpower her, pin her down, and fuck her until she cries out your name with the same passion she ridicules it now.”

The way the words were spoken with such an unhidden mixture of predatory glee, confident certainty, and an undertone of shameless lust only heightened John’s confusion as he turned his gaze to the Harpy that was now leaning almost lecherously over his shoulder. Her eyes did not waver from the door, even as he spoke.

“Wait… you were referring to Adantia? That’s the ‘long and arduous path’ you were referring to?” John said, doubting his own words.

“Of course. Powerful though she may be, she does not show you the proper respect you deserve, and she belittles you at every turn. Nothing will give me greater pride in you or our family than the day I see you grow strong enough to pin her down, rip off her clothes, and pound her senseless while she begs you for more.”

“Do you think about these kinds of things often?” John asked, fighting the urge to laugh slightly. Sophia was now leaning so far forward her chin was resting on his shoulder, a feat of flexibility for the massively tall woman.

“Are you referring to you asserting yourself over Adantia? Only when she is this intentionally disrespectful.”

“No, I meant in general. You don’t really talk about many of the others this… sexually, or at least not around me. I’ve very rarely seen you seeming flirty or forward with any of the other women. Is this just the ****, or do you think about them like that often?”

“Of course I do,” Sophia said, and despite the confident tones in her voice there was a bit of a blush that colored her cheeks then. “Our little family consists entirely of exceptionally attractive women, all with an appropriate level of dedication to you, all more than willing to share themselves as well as you. But when you are around… well, I simply prefer your company to that of the others, Father. Is that so surprising?”

“I suppose not,” John said, turning his body and gripping Sophia’s head gently so that her chin could rest on his hand as he pulled his body away. “Once more, I want you to know how much I appreciate you.”

A soft kiss on her lips, more tender than their usual passionate embraces, conveyed more than John could with mere words. When they pulled apart Sophia was grinning wryly, an unusual look for the stoic harpy.

“And I hope you feel the same. And I hope you might learn a thing or two about how much you are appreciated by other women, like-”

“Hey, I appreciate you two giving me the satisfaction of leaving you in the dust, but we’re ready for you to join the conversation any time.”

That dry interjection came from Adantia, poking her head out of the war room and glaring unamusedly at both John and Sophia. When she noticed their closeness and the way they were positioned, she quickly rolled her eyes and then tucked herself back into the room, mumbling something about ‘literal lovebirds’.

“We should go, Father. I will do my best to remain silent, and not allow any… wandering thoughts to find their way into the conversation,” Sophia said. She looked strangely abashed, despite not having said anything John would have found objectionable.

“I’m sure things will be fine,” John said, ignoring his burning curiosity at what she’d been about to say. “At this point, I doubt any outbursts will affect their decisions much. It’s a wonder anything can change Moira’s mind at all, but… I suppose if anything can, what just happened might be what it takes.”

The two of them proceeded to enter the war room together, throwing the doors wide enough for them to waltz in side-by-side, with Sophia using John’s arm as a crutch to keep her steps as steady as possible. John wasn’t sure if Adantia would have already teasingly mentioned her inebriation, but he figured it was best to keep things low key, if only so that Sophia truly could relax somewhat.

To John’s surprise it was not only the Brightons there, but Tricia and Etriyya had joined them. Moira and Lord Brighton were standing over the war table in front of a display cast by one of Tricia’s drones showing a map of the United States and – presumably – the current front lines of the war. Tricia stood off to the side a ways, pouring over holographic screens cast by another drone with multiple information feeds scrolling by at a breakneck pace. Etriyya was at the table as well, though she stood farther off to the side, and a look of wonder still crossed her face every so often, particularly when her eyes met Adantia’s. John was surprised, although certainly not displeased, when she met his gaze with a measure of respect, and an undeniable relief, instead of the scorn he’d been expecting.

“Glad you could join us,” Adantia said dryly as she reached the table. “These two have been busy while I was feasting. Quite the information gathering apparatus you two have going here.”

“Most of it is public information, or information traded for coin over the Abyssal Auction,” Moira said dismissively. “But we do have a few scouts in key locations monitoring the progress of the Northern Ashes on other fronts in case they decide to make any unexpected presses against less coordinated guilds. Fortunately, the Great Plains Alliances have managed to **** them to concentrate most of their forces to make any progress; so far the eastern fronts haven’t moved more than a few miles over the last several weeks.”

“We attempted a foray past their lines, but we only made that mistake once. They have many powerful Barrier mages, including some Bound Fateweavers, and some particularly talented aura sensors among their undead numbers. They protect their territory well; our losses would’ve been heavy, had we not been able to extract our men with great haste,” Lord Brighton said, voice dark and clearly frustrated.

“It’s an unfortunate consequence of the surprise with which they struck. They slaughtered mercenaries of all varieties in their initial conquest of the north. Fateweavers, Apothecaries, an entire marketplace full of craftsmen and merchants outside of Winnipeg… that increased the utility of their army beyond mere combat power, and gave them much of the **** they now command. We don’t know much about their motivations or the history of their leaders, but we’ve managed to identify as much information as is public about their leader,” Moira said, giving a nod toward Tricia. The map flicked away, and in its place was displayed an image of what John was fairly sure was a woman, though she looked rather like something that might have come about as one of his purifications.

Her face was humanoid in shape, but her nose was reshaped into a skeletal figure. That is to say, it cut off where the bone and cartilage would end on a normal face, though it still seemed to be covered with skin and functional. Her skin was a white so pale John assumed at first it must be make-up, until he noticed the same shade passed over every inch of skin exposed to the display. Black designs were etched in what could’ve been make-up, save for the faint arcane glow. They ranged from the teeth-like pattern of black upon her pasty-white lips to the arcane sigils stretching all the way from jaw to temple.

The woman’s body was clad in a tight, form-fitting leather chestpiece, likely enchanted although John saw no sigils or runes along its length. There was a long black cloak attached to the shoulders of the cuirass by metal clasps, and a black leather belt adorned the waistline. Below that, instead of a proper skirt were several long leather straps, around two inches wide and falling to just above the ground. They were spaced so widely that they would have revealed the woman’s entire lower half… had she any lower half to reveal.

John’s mind took a long moment to confirm what it seemed to be seeing, but eventually he accepted that the image was not loading, nor was it blurred. Where the woman’s legs might have been was only a misty cloud of black shadows, hanging over the ground with an ominous presence. Her body hung on a veil of vapor, with only the illusion of legs below, surrounded by the billowing leather straps as if some unseen energy were pulsing and writhing below her upper body.

“This is Xanthia Allaquetz, the Necromancer apparently leading the Northern Ashes,” Moira said at last, after giving the room a brief moment to ponder the image. “From what we have gathered, she is one of the most powerful Necromancers in the world, though this is mostly based on the results of her magic, rather than any list of feats or foes she has conquered. Until recently she was a mostly unknown name – the few records we can find indicate no remarkable skill or accomplishments prior to this war, aside from being the lone survivor of an Abyssal guild that was massacred a few years back by a band of rogue mercenaries who had been chased out of most of the U.S. Given the sudden and meteoric rise of this army with no detection by any traveling mages or merchants from that part of the world, we have reason to believe that this strength of hers was recently obtained.”

“What are those reasons?” John asked idly. “And how recently are we talking?”

"The primary reason is the strength of her forces. Necromancy relies on two things: how much mana there is left of the victim or victims being used for the spell, and the talent of the caster," Adantia explained. “Raising more powerful creations like the ones she has takes a lot of mana, and that means a lot of time recovering. If what the old man said about their numbers and power are right, it could take months of dedicated crafting – and these seemed to come out of nowhere.”

"There are some theories about other factors affecting the strength of reanimated minions, like the caster's relationship to the victim, or the method of execution, but that's the gist of it," Lord Brighton added. "From what we can tell, there's no proof of such impressive feats by her in the past, as I already mentioned. Even the battles that were documented by those who sell such information showed only a mid-tier level of skill with Necromancy, nothing on the level of these **** Knights and resurrected mages with nearly their full might behind them."

"Because of this, and due to how long her faction was relatively dormant, we suspect she found some way to massively increase her potential recently,” Tricia noted.

"If she was really dormant for that long, how do we know that she wasn't just preparing?" John asked. "Wouldn't it make sense for her to be training herself and her soldiers all this time, along with creating more minions?"

"Of course. And it goes without saying that she has done that," Lord Brighton said, as if acknowledging a child's question. "But there is usually a much more obvious trail of bodies if Necromancers are preparing for war."

"There were no apparent increases in disappearances or deaths in the regions surrounding the Northern Ashes following their initial establishment," Etriyya said, eyes not leaving the image of the woman. "That goes for both Abyssal and mundanes. Mundane corpses aren’t much use without heavy enchanting, but they make decent cannon fodder – and she’s got a decent amount of that.”

"Given the isolation of Canada's northern reaches, they may have been able to harvest more subjects than we are aware of, but again, to see the numbers her army now boasts someone surely would’ve noticed them by now. Further, it isn't the number of Necromantic creations that is our primary worry,” Moira said warningly. “The strength of them is impressive. Particularly those that were slain in the initial days of the war – which were also resurrected so quickly and with such power that it boggles the mind. Frankly, based on her ability to reanimate such powerful mages, so quickly, and with so much of their original potential…”

Lord Brighton passed a look to Adantia, a look that ignored all others in the room. “She may in fact be the most powerful Necromancer since Wiirzal.”

“Since Wiirzal? But he-” Adantia’s fist clenched as her words cut off, unseeing eyes caught in a memory John could only guess at. “Alright, so she’s kind of a badass. So am I. That’s not the point.”

“No, it isn’t,” Moira agreed. “John, if we’re right about her gaining this much power in such a short time, only a few things can do that. She’s not a late bloomer, and we’ve not received a single report of her using any kind of artifact or newly enchanted items on or off the battlefield. Tell me… what else could give such a boost? What could allow someone to do things that defy logic and reason?”

John thought at first Moira was implying she had abilities similar to his own… but Moira and Tricia had called him a “late-bloomer” and his abilities were a gift that came the first day he could use magic, and had always been shocking to the others. How could Xanthia have acquired so much power in such a short time? There were only a few options that came to mind, and John didn’t particularly like any of them.

“What’s the working theory?” John asked.

“Barring an oversight on our part, either false information or a missing piece we don’t yet know of, she’s obtained the aid of someone far more skilled. Either she has a benefactor we don’t know of, perhaps a Deity who has been dabbling in Necromancy or Fateweaving to hide her growing army…” Etriyya said, fingering her lower lip thoughtfully as she spoke.

“Or?”