Ruby stepped back panting. She dropped her sword to her side. Her ribs ached. Her forehead beaded with sweat. Her heart beat so heavy in her chest she swooned with every pulse. Her anger abated somewhat, and in its place, calculations and plotting took over.
“Why now, Oblivion? What is so special about today?” He had all the time in the world to break free from the reliquary. The troupe were all too aware their defeat of Lucian, one of his shadows, was only a temporary cessation. War would always find them.
“The one you call Jensen Ambrose,” the creature smiled. He clicked his fingers, and the final piece of his costume crackled into existence. A mask, draconic in appearance, levitated a few feet in front of him. “A little misadventure with a bullet, an elf, and bravado unbound gave me self-belief.”
Ruby raised an eyebrow. She wiped her forehead. She snorted phlegm. “I find it hard to believe you need any ego boost.”
“Sleep dulls the senses.” He took the mask and slotted it into place. For the first time in centuries, he was whole. He stood before Ruby as he had done before his exile. “No longer will I allow my fear to rule. I am untested. I am unopposed. I am the sole wielder of The Tap.”
Ruby scoffed.
Oblivion cocked his head to one side. “What is so humorous?”
The falter was all she needed.
“You think you’re the only one who can manipulate the wellsprings?” She sorely wished he were. That way, when they defeated him at last, the realm beyond realms would be lost to Althanas for good. “A few friends of mine would like to put that misconception to rest.”
She crossed her arms, disbanded her blade, and unleashed the rage in her heart. All the hesitation that had prevented her from making her promise to Duffy faded. Two wings of fire, as hot as lava, and mightier still, erupted from her fingertips. She loosed them as she shot her arms wide. They scoured the air from the streets, and warmed the autumnal chill into a summer swelter. Oblivion, surprised by her potency, flickered from the island in a web of blue ribbons. A melancholic minor scale lingered in his wake. Music as sour as it was toneless.
“We will find you!” she screamed. She fell to her knees.
The wings left two blackened swathes of destruction across the street. They lanced over the white privet fence of her neighbour, and undid weeks of hard work on their pristine jade lawn. Thick black smoke trailed up from stubs of evergreens. The street glowed white-hot where the Phoenix had formed strongest.
“I promise to do what is needed, Duffy…,” she wheezed. “I’m sorry I doubted.”
She struggled to breathe. Only when at her weakest did she realise just how injured she was. She looked at her dress, which smouldered but remained intact. She saw patches of blood trickling down her bosom, arms, and fingers.
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