[Duncan/Irena/Mal/Nova] - Proof

[inchesofevil]

Who:
Duncan
Irena
Malachai
Nova
When: 8/13, Saturday
Where: Omid's Castle
Before/After: Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, Part 4, Part 5, Part 6
Warnings: I don't even warn for Duncan's language anymore, lol. Aside from that, this one's tame.

~*Finale*~



Getting Nova's body into Mal's humvee was a little more public and thus more stressful than getting the Vahishta's body down the fire escape. They managed it, somehow, despite Duncan's nervous glancing and obvious guilty conscience making it perfectly clear something was amiss.

As soon as they were in the car, pulling away from the apartments, he realized another important detail. But his demand to go to the dorms first ("I can't go to Omid's castle looking like this") was handily solved with an application of Irena's magic. She took the blood out of his clothes and repaired all the damage they'd suffered in the swordfight through transmogrification, negating his need to go back to the dorms to change into something presentable. (And his need to buy a new $500 motorcycle jacket, so that was nice.)

They arrived at the castle gates and Duncan hopped out to address the guards on duty. He was running on pure adrenaline at this point, which was the only thing that kept him from letting himself be daunted by the situation he faced.

Before the guards could even ask what their business was, Duncan said, "The Vahishta would like to see the cleric in charge around here."

The guards, paladins dressed in the distinctive plate armour of Omid's detail, exchanged glances. "I don't see the Vahishta," said the ranking one, a burly woman with sharp features.

Duncan gave her a nervous smile and held his arms out in something that was maybe kind of a shrug. The meaning was clear enough.

They exchanged another glance.

"I know, right? It's been a hell of a day, believe me." He folded his arms, trying his best to seem personable, but mostly just coming off as anxious and manic. "Prepared to prove it, though, if you can get me someone with some authority to make sure it checks out."

Obviously skeptical, she nonetheless told him, "Wait here," and pulled her partner to the side to discuss it with him.

Hardly daring to breathe, Duncan leaned against the driver's side of the humvee, between the front where Mal was seated, and the back where Irena rode with Nova's body laid out in the trash bag along the seats. "I really fucking hope this works," he muttered.


There was a corpse in his truck.

Oddly, that wasn't Mal's biggest concern of the night. Missie was blind, Duncan was the Vahishta, another body had been burned, and he had no idea what was going to happen at the castle or if they'd all be lynched or something. And there were other things, things he'd only glossed over and hadn't had time to think about, like that Missie had died.

"It has to," he said, leaning out the window to look at Duncan. After reconsideration, he added, "It'll be fine," as reassuringly as he could.


Irena couldn't care less if it worked for Duncan or not. So long as it resulted in Nova being brought back, she'd be happy. She was growing more impatient as things dragged out, and Duncan trying to make a detour had irritated her enough to fix his clothing problem without even thinking that she was doing him a favour.

Now all she wanted to do was tell the clerics Duncan had killed her friend and ask if they could bring him back. But if they couldn't, and someone decided Duncan needed to be 'taken care of', she'd be at a loss for what to do.

She climbed out of the humvee to stand beside Duncan, trying to ignore the proximity to the jerk she felt so much resentment for. She couldn't wait for it to be over so she could get away from him, get Nova away from him.


Duncan was trying not to worry about Irena, but the truth was that she was making him nervous, too. He could feel the resentment pouring off of her.

That was why, when the burly paladin pulled out a radio to call it in, he leaned in toward Irena, eyes still on the two guards, and told her, "Hate me all you want, but just play along with whatever I say, okay? I guaran-goddamn-tee you I am going to resurrect Nova, but if we fuck this up--like if you give them any reason to decide I'm not worthy of this title--they'll kill me and instate one of their own, and you can bet your ass whoever they pick won't care enough about you or Nova to bother rezzing him for you. Clerics don't exactly hand that shit out as charity."


It took all the effort she could muster not to snap at Duncan for telling her something she'd already figured out. She wasn't stupid! All she did was glare at him, then avert her gaze to the paladin, waiting as patiently as she could. She was only here to make sure Duncan kept up his side of the agreement, and to bring Nova home once it was all done with. Nothing more.


Yeah, well, he couldn't tell how much she'd been able to figure out. It was never a sure thing with Irena, he couldn't predict how much reasoning power Alison had actually left her with. She seemed pissed enough to do it just to spite him, so he was just making sure.

The response was good enough for him. It did not make him any less nervous, but he at least accepted it as acknowledgement.

The guards returned to them, radio correspondence concluded. "Take it in," the ranking one told them. She nodded toward her partner. "Mirza's riding with you."

Mirza, a wiry youth who looked lanky even in plate armour, went around the humvee to pull himself into the passenger's seat.

Duncan managed a quick, "Thanks," and turned to the door, saw Irena, and wordlessly walked around the front of the car to get in on the other side.

The other paladin pulled open one side of the gate for them to drive in, and Mirza directed Mal along the road, up to the front doors of the castle.


Irena returned to her seat once Duncan began moving. She ignored the seatbelt. This was the first vehicle she'd ever actually ridden and the seatbelt didn't even register as important. She was too busy fretting over Nova and glaring at Duncan and Mal (and now this new paladin, though it was less glaring and more wary glances cast his way) to worry about what use the seatbelt provided.

As far as first rides went, this was probably the least pleasant it could get.


Mal was relieved that they were at least being let in, but still concerned with how things would go. Mostly he was concerned about Duncan. Something had been wrong before, something he hadn't wanted to talk about. Mal had no idea if it involved what was happening now or if it was something else entirely, and this was a terrible time to ask.

Duncan had asked him to drive them there. Mal wasn't sure if he'd be allowed to stay once he'd dropped them off.

He only gave the new passenger a passing glance before turning his attention to the road, getting the humvee moving and following Mirza's directions.


The trip to the church was bumpy in places. Parts of the road hadn't merged over quite right, which resulted in very mundane potholes with very not mundane origins. By the time it arrived, the radio had arrived to the Bishop of Everea, Doukas.

The bishop was immediately recognizable, standing on the steps of the church. He had the white robes of a cleric, but with enough gold and silver adornments to those garments to mark his rank. He looked to be in his late forties, with muttonchops peppered with grey down each cheek. His expression was calm and collected, which utterly hid his true emotions. Doukas knew the truth of the Vahishta; he knew that there was never another Vahishta, and he hoped that this was some joke that he could chastise some foolish children over.

He began to doubt that as they pulled up. He stepped forward, hands sliding inside of the sleeves of his coat, and walked up towards the car. He smiled, politely, and remained quiet. "Welcome, my children," he said after the car stopped and the door opened, but before they could get out. "I have been told why you come. Which of you claims the title?"


Oh my god was that Bishop Doukas. Duncan recognized the robes as a high-ranking cleric's uniform easily enough, and, like the Vahishta's characteristic mustache, the mutton chops were something that translated into a highly recognizable face between render and real life.

That was just a little bit intimidating.

Fuck it, he didn't have room in his head right now to be intimidated.

He had the door open when the bishop addressed him, and distractedly leaned out of the doorway with a hand raised to answer, "Me, that would be me." His attempt to disembark was foiled by the realization that he still had his seatbelt on. He released it, but forgot to adjust his position first, and the sudden lack of tension compromised his balance. He managed to disembark fairly quickly, but in a clumsy, hurried stumble, a lanky whirlwind of nervous activity that didn't stop until he turned to face the bishop, swinging the door shut in the same motion.

He drew himself up, balance finally steady, and raised his hand to shoulder level as though volunteering himself. "New Vahishta, right here. Sorry it's probably not quite what you were expecting."

'Claim' the title. Ha. Ha ha. FUCKING STOLE IT, MORE LIKE.

No Duncan don't think about that right now they might have mindreaders or something. (Zen did not have mindreaders.)


Mal hid the wince he gave from watching Duncan by facing the humvee as he closed his own door, pocketing his keys. He came around the truck to stand next to Duncan, not really sure what he had to offer outside of moral support. He wasn't even sure if Duncan wanted him to stick around or not, or if the Bishop would let him if so.

He looked to the Bishop with a respectful bow of his head, and then stood tall, composed, trying to look like he belonged there.


Irena waited in the truck with the body- with Nova- watching, doing her best not to glare at everyone she saw. Her contempt was meant for Duncan, not for the other clerics. The Vahishta had been kind to her, had offered his aid, had spoken softly. Duncan, on the other hand, had yelled, argued, threatened.

She would only go along with him to get Nova back. And then she'd be done with him.

She was rather amused by Duncan's fumble, though. This guy was a clumsy oaf. She'd be surprised if he managed to keep the title of Vahishta for more than a few days.


Doukas noticed Mal, of course, but he said nothing. The claim of being the new Vahishta was utterly alien to him; something that, at most, the other clerics that knew enough whispered about in quiet tones after dark. It was a hypothetical impossibility, not something that could actually happen. He sucked in a deep breath, refraining from commenting on Duncan's slip-up. If he was the Vahishta, he did not want to start by pissing Duncan off. Just the thought felt a like betrayal.

"I am Doukas, Bishop of Everea, by the grace of Its will." Doukas looked momentarily at Mal, then beyond, to the car. He saw Irena in there, but he left her unremarked on to look back at Duncan. "Do you know how you demonstrate that you have the power you claim to us?"

There would be time. They would need to find a corpse and the idea that they had one with them had not occurred to Doukas. He could send someone out to find the Vahishta and prove the boy wrong, while they fetched a corpse. It seemed impossible; already, he wrote it off in his mind, dismissing those concerns as a childish concern.


"Yes," he replied immediately. He pointed across himself, toward Irena in the van, without looking away from the bishop. "It just so happens that one of my acquaintances came home today to find her friend murdered, and she was desperately searching for a cleric to resurrect him. Pretty amazing on the timing, actually. It was hell trying to convince her to let me drag his body all the way out here so I could use it as proof. No sense in killing someone just for me when we've already got a corpse available, right?"

Oh my god he was the worst at this. The worst. Nothing about that sounded believable. Or innocent. Or even slightly not-con-artist-like at all.

He winced, rubbing the back of his neck underneath the leather of his jacket collar. This was not the weather for leather jackets, but he was perfectly comfortable with the heat. "My name's Duncan, by the way. Duncan Jackson. It's cool if you don't want to call me Vahishta."


Only because you murdered him.

Irena held her tongue, despite wanting to say that, to show to this bishop what Duncan had done, and what he'd made her do. None of that was important, not more important than getting Nova back safely, and it would only start another argument about who was to blame and keep things from happening.

She nodded out the window to the bishop, and let herself out of the truck, coming around to stand near Duncan but not immediately next to him.


The bishop frowned, for a moment, out of surprise. He opened his mouth, then nodded his head. It began to settle in that this was real. He would have his answer soon enough.

"Once you've shown that you are, I shall," Doukas said. He looked at the car, then towards Irena. He needed helpers to manage the corpse, he realized. He folded his arms over his chest. His eyes turned back towards Duncan. He took a deep breath, trying to process this. "You know what to do, then."


Oh boy did he ever. He folded his arms, glancing toward the car, and then flashed the bishop a nervous smile that screamed 'I have no idea what I'm doing.'

Then he looked to Irena, and nodded toward the car, a silent indication for her to get Nova's body out. Better than him dragging it around--she had seemed pretty offended by the idea of that before.


Irena turned to the humvee and opened the door, stepped back, and then held her right hand out towards Nova's body, still wrapped in the black trash bag. It didn't take much to lift him and draw him out of the vehicle towards her until he was hovering just in front of her, but walking would make it more difficult to focus on. She'd need help or risk stumbling and dropping him. If she weren't broken, she might have been able to do it on her own. Perhaps she still could, with more practice.

The more she realized her limitations, the more she hated players.

Asking the Vahishta to help didn't really seem appropriate. Besides, she didn't want Duncan touching Nova any more than he absolutely needed to. Instead, she looked to Mal, and said, "You carry him." It sounded like a command, not a request.


He gaped at her. A command. She wasn't requesting his help, she was demanding it. Not just that, but help carrying a fucking corpse. He glanced at the bishop, then Duncan, then sighed and shook his head.

He muttered, "Bloody hell," under his breath as he stepped over to slide his arms under Nova's body. He couldn't believe he was doing this. But he was doing it for Duncan, not Irena. Certainly not Nova.


She altered the spell from levitation to lightening. It was a similar principal, so switching the spells was simple enough after growing accustomed to the two. The major difference was that she couldn't move something that was merely lightened, which was what Mal was for, but it was much easier to focus on while moving.

Once sorted, she looked to Duncan and the bishop and nodded to indicate they were ready to move.


Duncan wondered what it was she wanted Mal's help for, but then he realized she was asking him to carry Nova for her. Move him somewhere.

Uh.

Were they moving him somewhere? He glanced cautiously toward the bishop and then back to them, and just...sort of...gestured toward the ground in front of him.

Might as well just do it here, you guys. They had everything they needed. Corpse, Vahishta, witness of high authority...


"Inside," Doukas said. He turned and began walking towards the large wooden double doors that led into this portion of the castle. A pair of guards opened the doors ahead of them. The thought of making them do it on the road occurred to him, but he had been cautious to not demonstrate a resurrection to Earthers. There was no need to start now.

The inside of the castle was what one might expect. It wasn't the main room, but an auxiliary hall that led to the castle's private church. It still had tapestries on the wall -- all religious themed, if indistinct, with images of Xumurdad and other moments of importance -- and a long red carpet down the center. He turned around after stopping and motioned to a spot on the center of the floor.

He looked at Malachai and Irena. "There will suffice, I think."


Mal was willing to just drop the body wherever- it was a fucking body, never mind that it was Nova's- but when the bishop spoke, Mal's jaw set and he followed. Duncan better appreciate this.

He moved to set Nova down where the bishop indicated, glancing at Irena to make sure she was fine with it before doing so.


The look Irena gave Duncan at the idea of just... laying Nova out on the street after all this effort, as if he weren't worthy of some sort of dignity after all he'd gone through, was probably the worst she'd given him since all of this started. She was so close to being fed up with this man.

She was thankful when the bishop said otherwise.

She followed behind Mal, keeping the body light to make it easier to carry so there'd be no undignified mishaps, only releasing the spell once Nova was on the floor. Sure, it was just a floor, but it was a nice place, far better, in her opinion, than out in the street.


Okay cool yeah that's fine Bishop Doukas let's just give Irena more reasons to dislike him. God, it was like he'd killed her best friend or something.

He followed behind the others, growing more anxious with every step. He couldn't even be impressed with the fact of being inside the castle, couldn't admire the decor, he just tunnel-visioned on the fact that he was here to resurrect someone and would be handed the church once he did.

This was some stressful shit, man.

And, for the moment, he was putting out of mind the fact that he was going to be plunging himself into the Dark again.

He knelt beside the body, staring blankly at the black trash bag encasing it for a few seconds, before glancing up at Mal to ask if he had a knife on him. Mal handed over a hunting knife; Duncan used it to slice open the trashbag lengthwise, revealing Nova's body within. He handed the knife back over his shoulder, looking down at the body.

Fucking Nova. He didn't want to do this. He had to. Not just because of the clerics, or because Irena would probably try to kill him if he didn't, but because...

Because no one deserved to stay dead. Not even Nova.

He hesitated, though.

Stalled. Looked up at the bishop, eyebrows raised, and asked, "You wanna make sure he's really dead or whatever? I don't want you thinking I faked it just because I brought my own corpse."


"Ah. Yes," Doukas said. It was a good point; one he hadn't even thought of. The lack of components was enough to make him begin to doubt -- or assume that the charade would end when a gibbering madman was left in his stead at best -- but he needed to be certain. He turned his head, looking towards one of the paladin guards. He nodded.

The paladin, a battlefield medic, walked forward and crouched by Nova's body. He pulled up Nova's head, revealing the shattered hole in his skull where the bullet tore out. It prompted a grimace from the guard and bishop alike. "He's dead, your grace."

"I see," Doukas said. He looked at Duncan and nodded his head. "Proceed."


Okay.

Okay, he could do this.

He reached out to take Nova's hand. It was cold and stiff, definitely not the hand of someone living.

He hesitated again, staring down at Nova's face. He'd done this before. He knew what to expect this time. He could do this.

His trepidation may have seemed, to the bishop, as though he was nervous about having his bluff called. But if Doukas had known what had happened in Duncan's first attempt, there would have been no doubt that his anxiety was a perfectly understandable fear of the horrors to be encountered in the Denizen's realm.

Duncan took a deep breath and closed his eyes, worry furrowing his brow. The link was thinner than Missie's had been, but still solid. He followed it down, his mind plunging into the Dark after Nova.

To the outside, he would seem to have dozed off. His expression smoothed out, his breathing slowed to a meditative pace. It could easily have been faked, but Doukas would also know how resurrection looked from without, and if it was fake, it was a very good fake.

This time there was nothing to greet Duncan in the Dark. The chill was nothing compared to the Cold, and he listened closely for any hint of sound hiding under the thick blanket of silence. Nothing came. Nothing chased him. Nothing followed. Still a lump of fear sat in his throat, a concentrated effort keeping it from rising while he hurried to search out Nova's soul.

It took hours. It took seconds. It took years. Miles, inches, lightyears, nanometers. Time and distance were irrelevant, immeasurable.

It took minutes. Three minutes, or two minutes and fifty-four seconds, to be precise. Short, for a resurrection. Even the most experienced clerics couldn't do it that quickly, with or without components. Duncan's relaxed breathing jolted into high gear with a sharp inhale, his eyes snapping open. Nova's hand was cold, but not corpse-cold, and no longer stiff. He dropped it, rocking back on his heels, breaths heaving.

It was cold. It was too cold. He'd unzipped his jacket at some point during the ride over. He rushed now to zip it back up, and wrapped his arms around himself, staring down at Nova's face for signs of life.


Nova didn't know whether to feel hope or terror. Something unknown had seized him and was pulling him through the darkness.

Light came first; his eyes had never closed, and the sudden contrast of the dim room against his memory of the Dark made it seem soaked in sunlight. A moment later, his lungs, deprived of air for quite long enough, drew in an urgent, reflexive breath, so deep that it hurt.

It was worth it, though. He gulped the air greedily for a while before he was willing or able to think of anything else.

When he did, it was two things.

First, he was alive, and it was wonderfully warm now.

Second, the person who'd killed him was still looming over him, not exactly in the same position he remembered from before he'd been shot, but close enough to make his muddled mind doubt he'd died at all and start to fear it was something that was about to happen, not something that already had.


Irena was on the edge of her proverbial seat while she waited, breath held, watching intently. Once Nova started showing signs of life, she exhaled, and a smile crept across her face. She no longer cared about Duncan, or anyone else there- Well, except that Duncan was still awful close to him and she didn't like that one bit, but Nova was alive. That was all that mattered.

She rushed in and practically skidded as she lowered herself to a crouch, leaning over Nova and taking his face in her hands, checking for the injury that had been there. It was, of course, gone, and she threw her arms around him, grateful he'd been freed from the Dark. It was more than just being glad she'd been able to get him out of that place, a place he'd feared. It was... a sense of relief. The relief of getting back someone she'd lost. A feeling so strong it threatened to bring a sob to her throat.

She bit it back to whisper, instead. "Don't die again."


Mal had never seen a resurrection before. Not a real one, at any rate. He had played a cleric, though, and while Zachary had never been able to do it, his research into the guild meant he knew how it was done, that it required certain materials- components- to cast properly, and that it took a while for a cleric to cast at all.

Witnessing it was... well, an interesting experience. Nova had been dead. He'd had a big, bloody hole through his head. Now he was gasping for air and his head was repaired and this had happened to a real, flesh and blood human being, not to a character in a video game. If he'd ever doubted it could actually be done, he didn't any longer.

He looked at Duncan and stepped up to him, putting a hand on Duncan's shoulder. He was silent, though. Just a reminder that Mal was there.


It should have taken far longer. It should have needed ingredients. There was only one man who could do it so quickly, without reagents, and simply come back alive. The bishop stared at Duncan for a long time. Nova was forgotten for a moment; strangely enough, he meant more to Doukas dead than he did alive. All of this pointed to one thing: that the man in front of him was the Vahishta. He drew a slow breath in.

Then, Doukas bowed. The other clerics and paladin guards began to do the same, which left Duncan and Mal as the only people standing in the room, and the various church personnel awkwardly not looking at Nova and Irena's unfolding drama.

"Your all holiness," Doukas said, his voice shaking. This was not supposed to be possible. There was only one Vahishta, but now it seemed that there was a second. It put emotion into his voice that he could not keep out of it. "We never should have doubted you."


Duncan stood when Irena rushed in, backing away a few steps to give her space. He noted Mal's hand settling on his shoulder without any physical reaction to it. A point of warmth, it was welcome.

He only watched Nova and Irena for a few seconds before turning his eyes up to the bishop. His breath evened out, but grew slow and shallow, as though he were so nervous that he didn't even want to be caught breathing.

That was good enough, right? Don't make him do it again. Don't make him duplicate it just to solidify the proof, please, two resurrections on his first day--meeting the Denizen his first time--he couldn't handle a third.

When the bishop bowed, relief flooded him. The noise he made was not quite a laugh, the nervous ghost of one, somewhere in the venn diagram of a laugh/sob/sigh where all three met. "No, you know, it's cool," he said, trying to sound casual, failing and revealing how high-strung he was. "I would've doubted me too, right? Like, shit, this motherfucker?" He gestured to himself, giving a 'what the fuck is that even' look, and then a slight shrug, slight shake of the head.

"Y'all can stop bowing, you're makin' me nervous." So nervous, in fact, that a tiny bit of Texas twang was sneaking into his carefully crafted neutral-American voice.


Irena!

Nova would have said her name out aloud, but it was the concept of Irena he thought of, not what she was called. That her name failed to come to mind was only a bit of passing strangeness, though.

Sweet, adorable, stubbornly clever Irena! He had almost never seen her again!

He worried his arms wouldn't obey him when he asked them to move, but they lifted without trouble, and he wrapped them tightly around her, pulling himself up to a seated position as he did.

He forgot Heimdall for the moment. He was alive, and he'd never been happier, even in the memories of his false life.

...Wait, there were all kinds of things he was never planning to be around to deal with the consequences of Irena discovering.

He was going to be in so much trouble.


Irena was ignoring everyone else, so she didn't even notice they were ignoring her. She was just so glad to have Nova back, almost overwhelmingly so. Having him return the hug made her give a little squee of happiness and she tightened her grip on him, shifting as he sat up.

She did release it enough to pull back and look at him a moment later, saying, "We should go." She didn't even think to see if they'd be allowed to leave. She just wanted out of there, and to bring Nova with her.


There was a time when Mal might have pointed out that Duncan's Texan was showing just to be a dick. Not too long ago, in fact. He realized, however, that this was probably not the best time nor place for that sort of thing, and kept his mouth shut about it.

He muttered quietly, "Guess it worked," to Duncan, and gave him a half-grin. The idea that he should bow never even occurred to him. He wasn't a cleric, nor a paladin, and even if Duncan had been his guild leader, it was Duncan.

He kept his hand on Duncan's shoulder, since Duncan hadn't shrugged it off, hoping to reassure him even a small amount.


Doukas's expression flattened into a look of surprise at Duncan's language. Vahishtas were certainly not supposed to speak in such a way, but things had likely been stressful. He would need to work with him, gauge him, and work on changing his behaviors. He frowned momentarily, before he nodded at Duncan. "I suppose..."

He smiled. It was tired, uncertain, but accepting. "Times are changing. This is simply part of it -- and part of Its will. Just as it was part of Its will that he return to life today." Doukas glanced in Nova's direction, at him and Irena, and then back to Duncan and Mal.

"There is much to do," he said. "We should begin."


"That they are," he replied, with the too-cheerful tone of somebody trying desperately to seem calm. Times certainly were changing. There would be a merge tomorrow, he was sure--what would go where? And his own life--oh boy, that was never going to be the same again. Nope, not thinking about that right now, didn't have the time for the breakdown that would entail.

He glanced at Nova and Irena, noting Irena's intent to leave. "Give me juuust one second though, okay?"

Unconcerned with Irena--she hated him already and there was nothing he could do to make that any better, so fuck 'er--he slid an arm around Nova's shoulders like they were old friends and started to lead him away. "C'mere Nova, you son of a bitch." He said it amicably, like it was the sort of casual teasing you'd hear between friends, but there was a bite to it underneath the cheer, something Mal might recognize through familiarity and which Nova might spot through paranoia.


Focused as she was, she didn't notice Duncan's approach until he was already wrapping his arm around Nova. She did not trust Duncan. He'd killed Nova, yelled at her, used Nova against her to make her do what he wanted, and only resurrected him at all because it had been a convenient corpse to prove his position.

She reacted instantly, moving to grab Duncan's arm and shove him away while shouting, "Don't touch him!"

She didn't care if he was the Vahishta.

Everyone else in the room did.

As quickly as she'd reacted, Duncan's new guards were upon her, dragging her back and restraining her despite her struggles. She didn't want to hurt them, though. She only wanted to keep Duncan away from Nova.

She settled for giving him the worst evil eye she could muster, watching his every move. If he harmed so much as a hair on Nova's head, the guards would have to deal with an angry, spell-flinging mage.


Mal reacted quickly, moving to draw his sword (what good a sword would be against spells he had no idea but it was what he had), but the Vahishta's paladins- Duncan's paladins- were faster than he was, and Irena was dealt with before he even started drawing the blade.

A split-second later, he realized they knew as much about him as they did about Irena, and he stepped back, throwing his hands up to show he meant no harm to their new Vahishta.


"Where are we?" Nova started to ask Irena, tuning into their surroundings just a little late.

Heimdall's voice, and the unexpected arm around his shoulders, were enough to make him freeze, even without the concealed hostility.

The last time he'd spoken to Heimdall, he'd been pleading for his life... He hadn't quite caught up with the reality of the present situation, that Heimdall was unarmed and that Nova's helplessness before had been due to a potion that no longer affected him. It was possible he could have pulled away, but he was convinced Heimdall had the means to make him pay for it if he tried. And watching the armed guards restrain Irena only cemented that idea, increasing his fear and confusion.

He didn't move except to shuffle to keep his balance as Heimdall pulled him forward, his injured leg complaining at the exertion. His attention lingered on Irena, in case her actions had earned her worse than containment. Paladins wouldn't do anything like that, right? But he had no idea why paladins had stepped in at all. Letting Heimdall do as he liked --- did paladins sanction revenge killing? He spun a story in his mind to explain this confusing situation -- that Irena had begged his resurrection while Heimdall played nice, waiting for a good moment to pull Nova out of sight and put him back where he belonged.

He should run, but he couldn't muster up the nerve...


Irena's outburst came as a shock. Duncan hadn't expected her to try anything when they were surrounded by guards who'd just acknowledged him as a guild leader. He yanked himself away from both her and Nova, recoiling defensively, for a second genuinely fearful of her. If she was willing to do this in front of armed guards--he didn't have any guarantee of where her line was.

It took a moment for him to settle once the paladins rushed to his defense. He lowered his arms, breathing fast and deep, and glanced from her toward the bishop. He swallowed, and then picked up where he'd left off, tentatively putting his arm around Nova again.

Duncan led him toward the end of the hallway, not caring if Nova stumbled, not allowing him to slip away. His resolve returned to him with the space he put between himself and Irena.

He stopped before the junction of the hall, lowering his voice to address Nova semi-privately. "You are one lucky motherfucker, Nova," he said, forced casual, falsely friendly. "The only reason you're alive right now is because I needed a corpse to resurrect to prove I was the Vahishta."

He smiled, but menacingly. "I met this guy down there, you might've heard of him--'that which murders the light'? Next time, I think I'll introduce him to you. Way better than coming back from the dead, right?"


Doukas felt confused, at first. Something had passed between these two -- but whatever it was seemed irrelevant, at least until the girl made a move to grab the Vahishta. The guards knew what to do, then. He stood there, patiently, and watched. There was no need to order anything else; for that matter, he might not be able to order anything else. The Vahishta could override those orders and he did not want his first argument with him to be about these matters.

Even after nearly thirty years of service in the church, he could still feel awkward and out of place sometimes.


The word Vahishta was nonsense to Nova, like something spoken too quickly to catch, but he didn't need to understand it to follow his meaning. The heartless Heimdall had been given Xumurdad's heart.

Before, he would have recoiled at that idea, and called it awful, unfair.

Now, he wasn't even sure it was right to go on thinking of him as heartless. That venom in his voice had been well-earned.

But that didn't mean he wanted Heimdall delivering him to the Denizen!

"I'll be very good from now on," he promised, with a fearful earnestness that bordered on comical.

The resentment that had dominated his feelings toward Heimdall for so long was nowhere to be found at the moment, and only time would tell if it resurfaced. For now, he was treasuring this second chance, even it came out of convenience to someone who would just as soon kill him.


"Good man," Duncan said, clapping him on the back. Harder than was necessary, but not painful.

He stepped back, retreating with a cheerful wave and a parting grin. "See you 'round, Nova. Second chance, don't squander it." He glanced toward Doukas, opening his mouth to issue a request. Realization him him before he could start to say anything.

He was the Vahishta. He didn't need to ask the bishop to issue orders for him.

He turned to the paladins restraining Irena instead, jabbing a thumb toward the hallway's exit. "I think they're pretty eager to leave. Why don't you folks show them out?"


She didn't fight with the paladins as they led her out, her eyes on Nova until her arms were freed and she was able to take Nova's arm. She cast a glare back at Duncan but that was it, intent on leaving, on taking Nova away from there. She hadn't gotten to answer his question, but assumed he'd figure it out once they were outside.


Doukas looked after Irena and Nova, before he looked towards Duncan, who was his first concern. He nodded to him, leaving the paladins to it. There was far too much to do and more to learn. He needed to speak with him. He folded his hands in front of him, across his robes, and looked at him.

"Shall we, your all holiness?" he asked.