Harlowe twisted and kicked at Clair, her mind driven to kill the source of divine magic before it could harm her. The half-ghoul's artificial leg impacted Clair's shield, rattling her bones and sending her flying into a wall. The air was forced from her lungs by the impact. Harlowe approached the stunned woman, her eyes burning with rage. 

"Harlowe, stop!" shouted Clair.

The half-ghoul was dimly aware that the woman was saying something as she unhinged her jaw, saliva dripping between the needle-like teeth that filled her mouth. Clair struck at her with the butt of her spear, catching Harlowe in the side. The impact only served to keep Harlowe enraged. She swiped, the air whistling around the glass talons and just barely missing Clair as she stepped back. Her heels hit the base of a console.

 Clair turned and vaulted over the console, trying to get some distance from the berserk half-ghoul. Her mind raced trying to form a plan to both not die and calm Harlowe. Maybe if she just ran her out it would work. Do ghouls even get tired? Perhaps she coul-- The thought was interrupted by Harlowe crashing down near them, claws cutting through a console and into the floor. She ran, but tripped over a ghoul carcass. Harlowe's claw tore through the air where Clair had just been. With her spear she pulled herself back up and then turned to run.

"Need light," said Clair between breaths as she ran.

Harlowe struck again, just catching the side of Clair's calf, then digging into the floor. The sound of Harlowe trying to pull her claws out gave Clair a moment to speak a soft prayer and run a hand over the head of the spear, which began to glow with light. Able to see better, she ran a little further, then turned as Harlowe tore her talons from the floor, the shrill sound of metal screeching accompanying the action. Clair looked at Harlowe; she had cuts all over her body, gashes in the steel of her prosthetics and a few chunks missing from her left arm. The thick, dark red blood stained much of the half-ghoul. 

“You’re hurt…” mumbled Clair as blood flowed down her calf.

Harlowe's eyes burned a steady crimson. The half-ghoul staggered back from Clair, joints in her prosthetic legs creaking. She raised her right arm. Her glass talons receded back inside their housings. Harlowe stepped forward with her right leg.

Clair dared to hope that Harlowe had returned to her senses. She raised her spear vertically, casting its soft light on the two of them. 

Clair reached out with her left hand, the shield still strapped to her arm. "It's okay, Harlowe. I'm here to help." 

Harlowe's lower jaw quivered as her mind attempted to steady itself. What is she doing here? It's dangerous. I'm meant to handle it. Her thoughts began to slow, frenzy abating. 

The console that had been damaged earlier sparked and popped loudly. Both women turned to see the source of the sound. The room they were in was the bridge of a downed Golden Ark, a thing from before the founding of Kasite. As a piece of Tiran artifice, it was powered by stores of quintessence. Raw magic arced inside the smoking remains of the damaged console as lengths of scintillating energy. 

The sight of the quintessence tipped Harlowe back over the edge. It wasn't safe. She couldn't relax here. Her eyes flicked back to Clair. A light tap of metal on metal was audible as her right palm was pointed at Clair, the aperture inside it opening wide. The internal lever pushed the canister in her arm against the firing mechanism.

"Sruthán!" screamed Harlowe.

Everything slowed down for Clair. She turned her sight back to Harlowe as the opening of the half-ghoul's palm filled with light from the canister inside it. The energy blossomed into swirling geometric patterns as if someone had turned bismuth into a flame. She pulled her left arm back and turned. Her legs propelled her forward as she dove for cover. The flames bloomed into a massive fireball, the heat melting glass and metal. Clair tucked herself against a console and desperately muttered prayers of protection. The heat washed over her as a thin sheen of rime covered her, sublimating and freezing again as the inferno raged.

Harlowe stood, her right hand and forearm white hot. The panel that covered the canister slot popped open with a hiss as the spent canister was ejected, landing and melting into the floor. In front of her was little more than molten slag. The glass dome had melted and was now bowing inward as the earth above pushed on it. Harlowe breathed heavily. Her right arm popped as it cooled. 

Clair pushed against the shell of frost that encased her. It has fused to the console and left her with very little room to move. She hit it with the edge of her shield, chipping and cracking the ice with repeated strikes.

Harlowe heard a series of dull thuds from behind a half melted console. She moved to investigate. Her right arm went limp; it was too damaged from the heat. The sound came from a lump of ice. Her eyes stared through the clear ice and at the woman moving inside it. Exhaustion was overtaking the primal rage she'd been powered by until moments ago. Her entire body felt heavy. She watched thin cracks form in the ice. I know that person.

Clair pushed and a chunk fell off, then another and another. Soon she had a limb free and began to rapidly free herself from the ice.

Harlowe stared at her. The power in her prosthetics waned. Her legs gave out, leaving her kneeling next to Clair. 

Clair pulled herself up and looked directly at Harlowe. "Hey…"

Harlowe looked toward the voice. "Why are you here? There's danger here."

"You attacked me, what happened?" asked Clair as she stood up. 

Harlowe's brows knit together. "What? No, I didn't. There was someone with, with…" She shook her head. "Did I?"

Clair nodded and put a hand on Harlowe's left shoulder. "It's okay. I'm not too hurt, but you're looking rather rough."

Harlowe brightened a little. "At least you're alright." She coughed, dark crimson flowing out of her mouth. "I think I went too far." She wiped some of the blood away. "You were supposed to still be in Imerre."

"I know, but I couldn't just let you risk your life alone," said Clair.

Clair felt the magic well up inside her. She couldn't let it get out. Her magic would hurt Harlowe because of the half-ghoul's condition, but the woman was gravely injured. How could she help? Clair wracked her mind for an answer. 

"Don't you have an infestation to cleanse?" asked Harlowe, her voice weak.

“You come first.”

Behind Clair, in the pile of bodies, something began to stir. Corpses slid off each other or fused to the rising form. Harlowe saw it, but could only manage a gurgle before her sight went black.

___________________

 

Bea stood atop the roof of the Elder’s home. Her eyes scanned the treeline for anything out of the ordinary. The other archers on the roof sighed, bows held at their sides. Nothing appeared to be coming. The back of her right hand stung. 

"There!" shouted one of the archers, knocking an arrow.

Down in the snow was a mutated and twisted creature. It seemed to have once been a bear. The hulking thing charged and roared a deep, gurgling bellow as it did. 

Her brother, Berthold,  stood behind the militia as they formed up with spears. He  raised a hand as he spoke and the roots beneath the monstrosity grasped at its limbs. The terror snapped the restraints, but not without losing precious momentum. The front line of spearmen dug the blunt ends of their weapons into the earth and snow, angling them towards the creature.

The hulking mass of flesh hit the spear line, the heads of which sank deep into it. It did not cease its advance, the cross guards on the spears the only thing preventing it from pushing the weapons through and allowing the beast to maul the villagers holding them. 

"Fire!" shouted Bea, loosing her own arrow.

The other archers peppered the creature. Berthold sought aid from the forest, his daily offerings paying off as a spike of wood joined the spears. It erupted out the ghoul-bear's back, fetid blood glistening on it.

___________________

 

Marcus and Vesna walked ahead of a small contingent of wilds knights. At the center of the procession was the warded door, held carefully by four knights. Their pace was limited by the volatility of the wards, something Rene had assured them was as reduced as she could make it without damaging their potency. They had this damn thing in the village; what if it had gone off? Marcus didn't want to think about it and instead looked to Vesna. The fae lord, aspect of spring herself, was seemingly bored by the process. 

"Dear, the branch of ash was useful," commented Marcus.

"Was it?" asked Vesna, her face unmoved. 

The edges of Marcus' lips curled into a smile under his beard. "It let me create one of the finest spears of my lifetime." 

Vesna nodded. "That so?" 

The smell hit them first, a mixture of rot, iron and burnt organic matter. They were close, but there was no rushing the delivery with the wards so easily tripped. 

Vesna wordlessly commanded most of her knights forward with a flick of her wrist. The animated constructs of wood and iron ran forward, stuttering forward as they entered and exited tree trunks. They met with a group of humanoid ghouls, the likes of which were already partially mangled. Hatchets and swords met with corrupt flesh as the wilds knights fought them, guardians of the forest dispatching the intruding monstrosities. Yet many rose again and again.

Vesna, Marcus and the knights carrying the warded door reached a small ridge looking down at the fighting. The fae lord stared at the ghouls with a malice that Marcus had never seen from her before. Marcus turned from her face to the melee below. The forces of the Spring Maiden were in turn watched by dark-shelled beetles clinging to tree trunks.

___________________

 

Rene pulled the ambient aether together into tight geometric patterns edged with arcane script, readying spells to fire off at a moments notice. The arrays wouldn't stay charged without being mounted on an object, so she spent time recreating the oldest ones as she waited. One of the major principles for aetheric magic or arcane spellcraft is memorization. Each sigil component and runic script has meaning and function. To cast without a medium is to have a symbol committed to memory such that you can pull aether together into it with a mere thought. Her own ability to focus governed how many she could maintain, currently she cycled between keeping three spells ready. 

In the distance she could hear the other group had made contact. The others guarding the Folly heard it too. From down one of Imerre's streets came what must have once been a pack of wolves, their mouths now distended and over-full with teeth. 

"Stua!" shouted Rene, releasing the pent up energy in one of the arrays.

An arc of lightning flew from her position on the roof and sought out the wolf-thing in the front. Magical lightning coursed through the creature as it convulsed, tumbling down into the snow. Its skin popped and blistered. The other members of the ghoul pack trampled its corpse.

"Spears forward!" shouted Erich. 

Those with spears and even a couple pitchforks lowered their weapons. Another bolt of lightning caught a horror, cooking its head, which popped like an overripe gourd. The pack hit the spear line, several being impaled, but more getting through. They snapped and bit at the militia, pulling a few down to the snow. Erich charged forward his axe in hand. He brought it down heavily, cleaving a head from one of the creatures. 

Rene watched from above. She was rebuilding her arrays; her spells would need to be more accurate, but she also needed to help fast. She cried out, releasing the energy of another array, the bolt aimed at one to the pack that had momentarily pulled out of the melee. It didn't have a chance to consider this mistake as it was fried.

___________________

 

Harlowe felt lightheaded as her vision returned. She'd lost a lot of blood. Her right arm and both legs refused to respond. She couldn't speak. Am I actually out of Anima? My heart isn't beating. She watched as Clair shook her body. I'm dead. I'm not coming back. I can't even hear what you're saying. Can just barely make out that it's you.

Clair shook Harlowe again. "Hey, wake up. You can't just leave me! I've never had someone who…" Tears welled in her eyes. "Anima, you said anima helped power you; maybe I could… but I don't know how to use it, I can barely use my own magic as it is."

Harlowe looked past Clair, or maybe that's just where her eyes rested. That thing is moving, Need to warn her. She tried to speak again; this time nothing moved enough to even force more blood out of her mouth. Damn it. Behind you!

The horror from the corpse pile stood tall. It was like a ghoul made of the bodies of fallen ghouls. Flesh fused together, clawed hands clasped together acting as joints. It was close, but it would need to get closer to reach Clair. It took a heavy footstep. Clair wheeled around, spear pointing toward it. 

Harlowe watched Clair dive under the monstrosity’s swing. Good, she noticed. 

The beast twisted its arm back, bending at an unnatural angle to strike at Clair. The tangle of claws knocked her away, sending her body rolling across the floor. It turned, body illuminated by the still burning segment of the Ark. The shadows cast its twisted form in terrible contrast. It wanted Harlowe. Of course, I've got that undying crap in me.

Clair caught her breath, wincing as she stood to face the abomination. She saw it reach out toward Harlowe's still form. 

"No, I refuse." 

She ran at it, spear held ready to impale it. Its hand got ever nearer to the half-ghoul. Clair was simply too far to reach in time. She stopped and threw her spear. Vivid arcs of quintessence ran up and down the weapon as it soared through the air. The hand began to close around Harlowe, then the spear connected with its forearm. The magic inside the weapon spread from the impact point. Its elbow joint released from the rest of the body as it howled and pulled away. The impaled arm iced over, flesh cracking and pulling apart as it did. 

The abomination focused its many eyes on Clair, who was now without her weapon. The cleric didn't stop running, wanting to reach both Harlowe and her weapon. The abomination dipped low, pressing its stump against the undying flesh revealed by the earlier inferno. Clair reached her destination as the creature pulled its new arm up from the mass of flesh. 

"It can just make new body parts…" She tugged on her spear, removing it from the frozen tissue. 

Harlowe remained motionless. Just run, you idiot.

The abomination swung its new arm, sickle-like talons whistling through the air. Clair brought up the steel shield from Marcus. The talons crashed against it; Clair's arm buckled against her body and the talons wrapped around it. One tore through most of her bicep. The arm went weak and the follow through of the swing sent her flying. She tumbled through the air and landed on her feet for a moment until the momentum and her calf wound reopening sent her to the floor. Blood poured from her wounds. The blood froze, creating an icy closure for her wounds as she stood, arm frozen with the shield up. 

Harlowe watched as the horror howled from its many maws, none of the sound registering in her ears. It surged forward out of her vision. I'm useless.

Clair angled her shield to catch the blow, ice anchoring her and creating a larger shield. The abomination's claws sunk into the frost as Clair pulled back from it and stuck the head of her spear into its wrist. Her magic flowed up the thing’s arm nearly to the shoulder before it jettisoned the hit appendage. She yanked it out of the limb as it fell to the floor, shattering. The creature reeled back. She pressed on, her spear sliding into the knee made of corded muscle. The limb freezing, she tore the spear out. A claw tore across her back, breaching the chain mail and leaving deep gashes.

The abomination fell back into Harlowe's vision. Cast in shadow by the flames behind her, Clair walked on top of the monstrosity. Where her steps fell, the beast's body froze. She brought the tip of her spear down into the large central mouth of the thing. Ice spread over its whole body. By all the hells… 

Clair felt powerful, even as the wounds on her back froze over. She stepped awkwardly off the corpse of the massive amalgamation of flesh, her frozen wounds stopping the bleeding but making her movements more rigid. 

She approached Harlowe. "You need help; let me help you." She pushed Harlowe's head back. "Now open…"

What are you doing?! The color washed out entirely from her vision.

"Anima is just blood magic, right?"

Yes, but what -- stop, no!

Clair pulled Harlowe's mouth open, her needle teeth wet and glistening in the firelight. "I can't use it, but maybe if I give you mine you can." She slid the edge of her spear over the side of her forearm.

Don't, it's good that I'm dying. This way I won't ever hurt anyone. Harlowe struggled to speak to no avail; she may as well have been a true corpse.

Clair held the wound over Harlowe's mouth. "Please, don't leave me…"

Even with her vision losing color she could see the red of Clair's blood as it fell. I don't want this, stop it… It hit her tongue and she felt something inside her rise up to the taste. It's the curse… I want to bite. Please stop before I come back and hurt you. 

Clair kept her arm steady over Harlowe's mouth. It had to work. "Just a little more." She massaged the half-ghouls throat, making sure it went down. 

Harlowe felt her body beginning to respond again. Why? I'm not worth it. You've spent a pint, maybe more on me. With your injuries…

Clair held her wound. "Just a moment, I found something of yours earlier. I don't want to forget it."

She walked away from the slowly recovering half-ghoul. Her steps were unsteady, gait uneven. She felt so tired, but she needed to do this. Clair reached the door to the outside. Sounds of combat echoed down the hall.

"They did come for us, hah," said Clair, bending down to pick up Harlowe's mask. "Woah." She slumped against the wall. "I gotta get it back to her."

She forced herself up, the heavy mask pulling her arm down. She couldn't hold the wound closed and carry the mask; worse still, however she'd closed her wounds wasn't something she was able to duplicate in this state.

Harlowe watched as Clair left a trail of crimson behind her as she carried her mask. You idiot.

Clair pushed the mask against Harlowe, then fell against her. Her breathing was shallow and slow against the still immobilized Harlowe

Wake up. Wake up, damn it! "I said wake the fuck up!" shouted Harlowe.

Clair didn't respond. 

"This is a cruel damned joke." She grabbed onto the wound Clair had cut to feed her. "Don't you dare go dying on me."

Harlowe's right arm was slag, but she was getting feeling back in her legs. "I just need to let go for a second, I don't want to lose control and hurt you." 

She let go of Clair's wound to close her mask over her face. It felt like she was more in control already. Harlowe compressed the wound again and pulled Clair into as good a carry as she could manage. 

"Going to get us both out of here." Harlowe stepped forward, the armatures and pistons in her legs hitching and screeching as she walked. "We're going back to the Folly." She was nearing the door. "I'll watch you have a meal while I have my sour wine. It'll be like we just met and none of this crap happened, just us…"

Something in her right leg cracked and it stopped working. "Gods damn it!" She fell onto her side and made sure not to fall on Clair.

Harlowe turned and started pushing herself along the ground with her working leg. "You aren't going to die here."