Celestial (The Tower)

Flames blazed to life on Abigail’s fists as she awoke with a start. She was quickly pacified by a hug from her white-haired friend, who beamed up at her. “You’re alright!”

Looking around, she saw that she was with Mandruzzo, Amy, and Grace on a train much like the one they had come here on. “That’s… not the first time I’ve done that,” Abigail admitted, the memories of her absorbing and releasing too much fire returning to her instantly. “Where’s John?”

“The hydra had a friend. John led it away from us so we could deliver the merchants safely and return. He somehow wound up back at the capital before us,” Mandruzzo informed her, gazing away from the window for just a moment.

“So… we’re all okay? And we won?” Abigail asked, looking to Amy for confirmation.

The beast tamer nodded slowly. “Yes… but you shouldn’t be reckless like that! You were passed out but… the hydra’s master was much scarier than the hydra.”

“But we did win! Nice!” Abigail looked around the booth, and noticed Grace glaring at her intently.

“Just barely! That was absolutely terrifying! We didn’t sign up to be attacked by a hydra and an evil god champion bloke,” Grace retorted, and Amy nodded along.

“She’s right. The dossier we were given mentioned nothing about the man we encountered after you passed out. His aura was… repulsive. And his abilities went beyond anything I’ve ever seen. We stood no chance against him, let alone just John. My first contract went much smoother. I hope this doesn’t become a trend…” Amy explained, terror coming over her face at the prospect that each future contract would be as trying as the Valvian disaster they barely escaped.

“It’s going to be fine! We’re strong! John’s strong and smart. He got away from that guy and next time we’ll beat him together,” Abigail said, smiling broadly. Her relentless optimism was a cold comfort to the beast tamer and sticker star.

Neither could get another word in, however, as Abigail was distracted by a speck in the distant landscape. “What’s that?”

“A Valvian tradition. They set a route through the most dangerous forest in their country, and have different mercenaries and local heroes fight their way through it. It’s also their pest control system.” A twinkle of light appeared in the sky, and a blinding streak of white light crashed into the ground in the distance. For the briefest of moments, Abigail felt herself float out of her seat as smaller objects in and around the train lost gravity. “This year they’re letting Rider-Waites compete for the first time. I see a King of Swords training in the distance.”

“Cool!” Abigail exclaimed, pressing against the glass beside him to get a better look at the far-off action.

Crossfire’s head swam as Strength released his grip from the pyromancer’s throat. He gulped down air, the next insult already burning on his tongue. “You’re losing your edge, Wally. What, not punching me anymore? You knocked me out with a single punch before. Collar too tight?”

“Why. Won’t. You. SHUT UP!” Strength rained punch after punch down on his fiery captive’s gut.

The pain was worse every time. Blood flowed down his beaten and broken body. His armor and weapons were inside of him, ready to be called upon at a moment’s notice. Pushing the pain further down, he smiled at his captor. “You’re pathetic.”

Strength let out another grunt of frustration, but suddenly backed off. He exited the cell and slammed it shut, looking over his shoulder as he walked out. “You’re in for it now. You’ll wish you submitted to me.”

Never have I met anyone with resolve such as yours. Offered your greatest desires and an escape from terrible pain and still you refuse. Why? Nairis probed his mind but still couldn’t find any reason for his actions, nor any enchantments to bolster his will. This was all his doing.

“I’ll answer your question if you answer mine. Why all the theatrics? Surely you could use some sort of psionic magic to **** me to submit to you. For that matter, why bother with me at all? With Strength under your heel and your necrotic minions, you could be a power player somewhere else in the States,” Crossfire asked, shaking his head as the shadows around him coalesced into a hideous woman. She wore a gray robe which hid most of her body. Her hands ended in blackened digits with long, curving nails. Pure, white hair spilled out of the hood of her robe, falling down to her waist. Sickly yellow eyes glowed, piercing the shadows that hid her face. As she walked toward him, the smell of ammonia filled the air, and he tried his best not to wretch.

She took his chin in her hand, talons pressing into his skin. She slid her hand down his bare chest, nails carving deep grooves into his skin despite the light touch. Crossfire pulled desperately against his chains as his whole body was set alight in a deep, burning pain that made him wish for Strength’s beatings. He felt more than saw how his flesh shrivelled and blackened at her touch, rotting away to nothing. Despite the **** that seemed imminent, he went limp in his chains instead of calling his armor and weapons to rebel. You know how to stop this, darling.

The Tower stood over them, piercing the sky of the world that hated it so much. The enormous doors, big enough to fit their stone vehicle through, opened automatically at the duo’s approach, revealing the inside walls to be adorned with brass and copper. Nothing like the darksteel exterior that shielded it from the dangers of its environment.

“Hail, Prime!” A man bowed before Alvaro and Nahemia as they entered, and The Magician bowed back to himself. “I’ve restored the Tower as best I could in your absence. The lack of resources is… frustrating, but I’ve staved off and repaired most of the corruption to the structure itself and its essential systems… the magitech ones anyway.”

“Yes… non-magic technology has never been our strong suit,” Alvaro whispered to Nahemia along with a sidelong glance. “Excellent work.”

“This being has the same soul as you. Is it one of your clones? How long has it been here?” Nahemia asked, looking between the two men. Alvaro was clean-shaved, and wore robes befitting a mage. The clone, on the other hand, had a well-kept beard that made him near-unrecognizable on its own. He wore a form-fitting jumpsuit that showed off his rugged muscles. Though Alvaro was by no means unfit, his clone had more definition and tone.

“He has been here for a few months. None of us suffer this place for too long. Do you care to rejoin me, Caith?” Alvaro asked, extending a hand to the smiling man before them.

“Certainly. I’ve remade it as best as I can here, but I long for our study,” Caith admitted, illuminating the Tower with a silent spell before taking Alvaro’s hand and rejoining him. Though he did not gain his copy’s beard, he did become noticeably more muscular.

“Caith… why does that sound familiar?” Nahemia asked, taking in the immaculate entrance hall before them. Dozens of doors lined the walls, though only a few were open. Most were welded shut, and on the closest she detected the stubborn, enduring mana signature of a sealing spell.

“The Adamic word for fourth. The individual personalities that they take on identify themselves as such,” Alvaro explained, walking toward the nearest door on the left, completely ignoring the giant magitech machinery in the middle of the room and the ambient magic buzzing around them. “Come, the database is this way. And make sure you don’t wander too close to any of the sealed doors. The Tower had an extensive bestiary in its day… and those same beasts still roam it.”

Crossfire hung limply from the wall, head hanging back and neck slack. Decay burned in his heart, and with no path of resistance, he began to meditate. Pushing the pain down, he took refuge in the space where his soul used to be. The walls crumbled around him, even this relief moments away from being torn down.

“Surely you don’t mean to just toss him away as you did the other?” Strength’s voice echoed down the hallway, the pain inside Crossfire instantly disappearing. He brought one chained hand to his chest, and found it unblemished.

If she can do all that without actually hurting me, she’s stronger than I imagined. I have to escape next chance I get, Crossfire reasoned, listening intently to the duo just out of view.

“Oh please, she was a used husk. He’s full of desire and ambition. We just need him to submit.” His torturer’s voice felt like nails on a chalkboard in his ears. “Have your fun with him. I’ll be in the armory.”

Concentrating on his two captors, he felt the heat in the air on his skin and tried to feel them. Strength was easy enough, the goliath felt like a furnace even outside his holding cell. His heart pumped fiercely, sending warm blood through the goliath. The other turned Crossfire’s blood to ice. She was the exact opposite of Strength, a cold spot in the hallway. He could only feel her at all because it felt as though she sucked all the heat out of her surroundings. He felt her walk away as Strength opened the door.

“Time for your pummeling,” Strength snickered, and Crossfire stared back at him. “Your resistance is futile. Eventually you’ll break.”

“The service here is terrible,” Crossfire replied, smiling at his tormentor, “I asked for my wakeup call an hour ago.”

“Have you gone insane?” Strength asked himself more than his captive, the mirth leaving his face as he knelt down to be face to face with him, looking in his unhinged eyes. Crossfire took the opportunity to headbutt Strength as hard as he could.

Though this hurt about as much as a warm summer breeze, the disrespect enraged him anyway. He backhanded the soulless knight in response, nearly snapping his neck. “Insolent fool!”

For an eternity, Crossfire was rendered incapacitated as punch after punch rained down on him. His insides felt as though they were beaten to a pulp and his limbs felt like jelly, but he grinned at Strength anyway. “Hey, I’ve got an itch on my left cheek. Think you can get it for me?”

The giant reared back, and Crossfire smirked. He manifested his armor, instantly feeling stronger and faster. He cocked his head to the side as Strength buried his fist in the stone wall behind him, then melted his chains onto the behemoth.

Strength smacked Crossfire with the back of his free hand, sending the pyromancer through the cell bars and three walls. Crossfire touched his sword to the ground as he flew back, leaving embers behind as he careened through the wall. He saw some skeletons and some humans on his way through, and his head swam as a dozen grunts surrounded him in an enormous hallway.

He slashed his way forward, his blade once again leaving embers behind. He sprinted down the hallway, leaving a fiery trail in his wake.

Not a second later, Strength crashed through that same wall. He trampled the necrotic underlings, following Crossfire’s trail toward the entrance.

Meters away from the exit door and the sunlight beyond, Crossfire felt Strength smother one of the fires he had left behind underfoot. He turned to see his enemy round the corner. The tiny trail of fire began to swell up. Crossfire wheezed through a punctured lung as he shouted, “Crossfire - Detonation!”

Each spark of fire he left behind exploded like a bomb, bathing half the facility in a blast of hellfire.

Strength resisted the **** of the explosion, cursing under his breath that he allowed such damage to happen. Crouching low, he rushed forward towards where Crossfire had been, but the man had been thrown back by his own attack. Sprinting forward, Strength saw a flash of red as Crossfire escaped the barrier.

Crossfire was blown through the door behind him by the explosion, the massive propulsion enough to **** him out of the barrier. As he slowed, he activated his teleport ring, crashing to a halt against a well-reinforced wall in the Springfield base’s infirmary.