Kairos 101: Aftermath (Patreon)

Night had long fallen and the harbor still burned.

Having taken the form of a living cloud, Andromache of Scheria floated above a sea of water and purple flames. Her unborn daughter’s essence was merged with her, and the nymph noticed her worry through the magic binding them together. Her little Nessia sensed something was terribly wrong.

Please, Andromache thought as she flew over the wreckage of ships and raging waves. Cetae and sea serpents in her lover’s employ infested the waters, looking for survivors to bring back to shore… and two most of all. My other half, please.

Andromache had stopped praying to the Old Gods long ago, having known nothing but bitterness and suffering at their hands. Only after Lord Orgonos, New God of Magic, helped lift her curse did she find faith again. Yet it was the first time in eons since Andromache had asked for a god’s guidance so fervently.

She knew her other half was alive. When her Kairos had taken her as a concubine, they had shared a blood oath that would bind them in life and death. The link told her that the love of her life was somewhere close and still breathed. He hadn’t passed on.

Yet.

“They’re alive!” someone shouted. “They’re alive!”

Andromache’s head snapped in the sound’s direction, her gaze turning towards the ravaged docks. The detonation of Mithridates’ dragon had turned it to dust, cracked the city’s fortifications, and blown a large number of ships against the port. Their wrecks and husks had formed a wall of wood blockading access to the city.

And yet someone had called from the other side.

Andromache flew towards the port as quickly as she could and witnessed the silent mermaid Nausicaa drag the wounded husk of a griffin onto the shore. A group of men and soldiers had gathered nearby on the sand, surrounding something the nymph couldn’t see.

“Your Majesty,” she heard the soldiers say, “Someone bring Plinius!”

Andromache rushed to the shore and quickly regained a humanoid form. She instantly felt heavier with the months old Nessia kicking inside her belly, but the nymph ignored the pain. Soldiers moved out of her way.

Sertorius had beaten her to the scene and draped Kairos in the [Golden Fleece]… though Andromache briefly struggled to recognize the love of her life.

The right side of Kairos’ body had been ravaged with acid burns, melting his armor with his flesh and exposing the bones of his cheek and fingers. His right eye had lost its eyelid, but it stared up at the night sky without will. The crown of hydra fangs that Andromache crafted for him was damaged, unable to properly help him regenerate. The Dawnspear glowed faintly at his side, as if dying alongside its master.

“Kairos!” Andromache knelt to her other half’s side and immediately shouted a healing spell. “[Heal]!”

Her magic brightened as it coursed through her lover’s body. She immediately sensed a vile, corrupted magical poison fighting her efforts. But still, Kairos’ chest rose slightly with his faint breathing.

“You’re alive,” Andromache whispered as she held back tears. “Don’t leave me alone, please…”

Her Kairos didn’t answer. His left eye was closed, the other staring blankly into nothing. His mind was trapped in a deep slumber that his body was too weak to wake up from.

“Move out of the way!” Agron snarled to the soldiers surrounding Kairos, as he and Nausicaa dragged Rook to his comatose master’s side. The griffin had lost a wing in the battle and suffered the same acid burns as his partner, with half his body lacking feathers and the rest being tarnished. Poison devoured his flesh to the point that Andromache could see organs below the ribs.

“[Zero State],” Sertorius said, using his Legendary Skill to lift the [Poison] ailment off Kairos and Rook; even though the venom had been applied by a [Demigod], the judge’s ability erased it. The priest and other mages immediately bombarded the duo with healing spells, but the results were superficial. “What’s wrong?”

“The wounds are too deep…” Andromache muttered as she clenched her fists so tightly that her nails drew blood. “The hydra crown was damaged in the blast and doesn’t work properly.”

“It’s a miracle they’re even still alive,” Agron whispered grimly.

“Can you repair it?” Sertorius asked Andromache with concern. “The crown? Could it help them regenerate?”

His worried tone caused a surge of anger to erupt inside Andromache. “This is all your fault!” she snapped at Sertorius. “If he hadn’t lent you the fleece—”

“It wouldn’t have changed anything.” Sertorius’ clenched jaw was the only hint of tension on his blank face. “Mithridates’ poison bypasses all forms of immunity and resistance.”

The soldiers brought a new face to Kairos’ side, a tall, crinkled old man with a long snowy beard. He was lean and gaunt, with pale eyes. He wore a tunic covered in pockets full of ointments, plants, and medical tools.

“My, that’s not pretty,” he said as he sat next to Kairos’ burnt half. “Mithridates mixed Drakkon venom with basilisk toxins and black mandragora, and the vital functions are affected. We’ll need to keep him alive with healing until we can stabilize his humors.”

Andromache immediately used [Observer] on the newcomer.

Gaius Victus Plinius

Legend: Student of the World (Hero)

Pantheon: None.

Race: Human

Class: Crafter (Alchemist, Pharmacist, Naturalist, Physician)

Level: 49

“Who are you?” Andromache asked with skepticism.

“Plinius,” the man replied simply as priests cast healing spells on Kairos. Plinius himself looked through his ointments and immediately started mixing a few.

“Plinius is one of Lyce’s best physicians,” Sertorius said. “I brought him to run the war infirmary.”

“Then save him,” Andromache ordered as she gently put Kairos’ head on her lap, her hands moving to his cheeks as she immediately cast another healing spell. “Help me save him, no matter what.”

She would save the father of her child, even if she had to sacrifice all of the Thessalan League and half of the Lycean army.

The Telchine, Andromache thought. Her [Telchine Metalsmithing] Skill could allow her to craft wonderful items at the cost of blood and sweat.

“I will need help,” Plinius said as he opened Kairos’ mouth to feed him his ointment. Andromache instantly recognized the substance as a powerful healing potion. “The poisons that targeted him do not only affect the body, but the soul. Even if the ailments are lifted, he risks not waking up unless we can strengthen him spiritually.”

“All this army’s resources are at your disposal,” Sertorius replied before turning to other healers. “Keep casting spells on him and the griffin, even if you drop from exhaustion.”

Andromache sensed a heavy hand on her shoulder. “We’ll save him,” Agron promised firmly. “He has survived too much to die now.”

Andromache nodded, but she barely paid the minotaur attention. The world around her grew distant as she gazed at her comatose lover. She kissed his forehead softly, and she would have cradled him if she could. At this point, touching his burnt flesh would only cause him pain.

Plinius and other healers immediately went to work at Andromache’s side, bandaging and sewing Rook’s wounds. With little else to offer, Sertorius and Agron turned to discuss strategy.

“... we mopped up the remnants of the Orthian army and my part of the fleet is intact,” Sertorius said, “but the rest of our ships took heavy damage.”

“The Foresight can’t fly anymore,” Andromache whispered. After the dragon blasted and poisoned the hull, the living ship had to make an emergency landing and hadn’t taken off since. The creature had become eerily docile and sullen. Its will waxes and wanes with its master, Andromache thought grimly.

“Most of the ships are wrecked, but losses of lives are minimal,” Agron countered. “We lost five thousand men, maybe seven at most. And we have the Orthian Queen too. She surrendered to our soldiers while under Kairos’ magical influence.”

Andromache could have sworn she saw a glint of interest at the edge of Sertorius’ eye. “Good, but not enough,” he said. “With Euthenia captured and Antipater dead or missing, the Orthians can’t hope to recover from their losses… but the Shield-City will resist to the bitter end, and we can’t move east without taking it first.”

Agron grunted. “We can’t move east at all. Not with the few ships that survived the explosion. We’re stranded in Orthia’s dominions until we can build new ones or reinforcements from Histria arrive.”

“Then we will march inland and besiege the Shield-City,” Sertorius said as he seized command. “The rest of the army will scour this island for trees until we’ve rebuilt the fleet and Kairos wakes up.”

From the way he spoke, that was a certainty.

Yes, it is, Andromache thought as she gazed at her lover’s sleeping face. She hoped he had sweet dreams. Nessia had grown more peaceful in her womb, as if reassured. Your father will wake up in time for your birth, little one. I promise you.

Rook too. She would save them both, even if it meant spending months casting spells on them day and night.

“What about Mithridates?” Agron asked. “We couldn’t find his body in the waters. Maybe the explosion vaporized him.”

“You said Queen Teuta had access to teleportation magic when you fought her in Vali,” Sertorius replied dryly. “I don’t doubt for a second that Mithridates doesn’t have access to it too. If there’s no corpse to show, then he’s alive.”

I hope he is, Andromache thought with a vengeful heart. So I can kill him myself.

—----------

The emperor’s screams of agony could be heard all over the Thalassocrator.

His loyal aide-de-camp Absyrtus waited near the door like a dutiful hellhound, sitting on a comfortable couch of rich linen and feather pillows. The Rod of Talos brimmed with magic in his faithful hands.

His calmness contrasted with the restlessness of his co-conspirator. The pirate queen-in-exile Teuta was walking in circles, her face strained in silent frustration. Sometimes she stopped to look at the vaulted ceiling above her head, before glancing back at the door separating them from Mithridates’ bedchambers. “He can’t die,” she said, half a statement and half a prayer. “He can’t die yet.”

“Afraid you backed the wrong horse?” Absyrtus asked calmly as his emperor’s voice grew only stronger.

Teuta glared at him, the twin axes around her belt glittering to the oil lamp’s glow. “How can you be so serene?”

“Because I have seen His Majesty survive worse ordeals.” Including his own mother trying to poison him to death, Absyrtus thought. “His injuries are severe, but he will rise again. Besides, we have [Heroes] specialized in medicine operating him.”

As if to answer his words, His Majesty turned suddenly silent. Teuta stopped walking in circles and held her breath. Absyrtus, in contrast, waited patiently for the moment of truth.

The door to the emperor’s bedchambers finally opened. A hooded Achlysian witch and an enslaved automaton surgeon walked into the antechamber, their hands covered in blood.

“So?” Teuta asked them, clearly afraid of the answer.

“His injuries are severe,” the witch replied. Absyrtus noticed the shadow of physicians operating Mithridates on a table before they closed the door. “He suffers from third-degree burns and the silver in his armor ate part of his flesh all the way to the bone. Some parts we can surgically remove. Other parts…”

“Other parts will have to be replaced,” the enslaved automaton surgeon finished, its voice devoid of emotion. Its will had been crushed alongside its maker’s, and its intellect now served Pergamon’s interests.

“But will he live?” Absyrtus asked.

“Yes.”

While Absyrtus smiled in triumph, Teuta’s expression remained unchanged.

She isn’t sure if she should consider it good or bad news, her conspirator thought. The Travian Queen had grown less steadfast since she witnessed Thessala’s destruction, and regularly clashed with General Zama at strategy meetings about how to use it tactically. She is such a disappointment.

A shame His Majesty had backed the wrong pirate. Absyrtus had the feeling their lives would have been a lot easier with Kairos Marius Remus in their pocket instead of his counterpart.

“But there is no telling when His Majesty will recover,” the witch warned. “The flames that consumed him were magical in nature, and the attacker bypassed all defensive abilities. He’s too delirious to give orders, and we had to sedate him.”

Absyrtus gritted his teeth. “Can’t you heal his wounds?”

“Yes, but not immediately. Our [Heroes] and physicians are talented, but they have limits. It will take time until His Majesty recovers enough to lead in the field.”

“How long?” Absyrtus insisted.

“I do not know,” the witch replied. “Weeks. Maybe months.”

Queen Teuta clenched her fists before glancing at Absyrtus. “What do we do?”

He snorted. What a stupid question. “Have you ever played board games, Queen Teuta?”

“I have.”

“Then you know the rules. So long as both kings remain alive, the war continues. It will be up to us lesser pieces to move in His Majesty’s absence.” While Teuta answered his words with a sullen expression, Absyrtus turned to the physicians. “You are dismissed for now, but if word of this reaches the outside world or worse, if His Majesty dies under your care…”

He moved his thumb across his throat.

“I understand,” the witch replied before offering a curtly nod and leaving the antechamber. The automaton surgeon followed without a word, a doll unable to free itself from its strings.

“We must strike Kairos’ army while we can,” Teuta said immediately once they were gone. “If your spies are correct and he’s mortally wounded, then this is a rare opportunity to slay him. I can take my fleet west and attack their rear.”

“You shall do no such thing,” Absyrtus replied firmly. As the emperor’s second-in-command and current possessor of the Rod of Talos, he would command the front until Mithridates could recover. “With the loss in the field, Orthia’s hinterlands are already lost… but the city itself is held by loyalists and well-fortified. Without Kairos at the offensive’s helm, his army will take months to bring it down.”

Teuta looked at him as if he had grown a second head. “Months that Kairos will use to recover and bring the rest of his army from across the sea, while his allies in the north gather rebel cities under their banner.”

“Zama will deal with that fool Dispater.” Of that Absyrtus had no doubt. “The Lycean army cannot move east to attack Pergamon or Thessala without taking Orthia and rebuilding their fleet. And to bring it down, we will need to bring the Thalassocrator.”

Teuta sneered. “No need for that. My fleet will be more than enough.”

“It wasn’t enough to defeat King Kairos in Vali.”

The pirate queen glared at him. “I underestimated him and it cost me. I won’t do so ever again.”

“I don’t doubt it,” Absyrtus replied dryly, “but with His Majesty indisposed and the dragon dead, we rely on your fleet to protect the Thalassocrator. If the fleet moves west as you suggest, then the rebels in the east might launch an attack on Talos’ Cradle while we’re distracted. Now that it has lost most of its army, Orthia’s fall will have a negligible effect on our war effort. I cannot say the same for our automaton factories.”

“You will abandon our allies to die?”

“I will leave them to hold the line and buy us time,” Absyrtus replied with diplomacy. Teuta wasn’t fooled, but he didn’t care. War called for cold, rational decisions, not passionate but doomed charges. “We will fortify Pergamon, crush the rebels in the east with the Thalassocrator, and secure Talos’ Cradle.”

“By then the rest of Kairos’ army will have crossed the ocean.”

“Good. Then we can drown them all in one strike.” Hopefully, Mithridates would have recovered enough to lead the charge himself.

Queen Teuta bit her lip at his words, but said nothing.

Her reaction made Absyrtus raise an eyebrow. “Don’t tell me you want to spare them?”

“No,” she replied firmly “But I have lived all of my life on the poorest islands the Sunsea has to offer and have raided richer lands to survive. And now you’re planning to sink wealthy farmlands below the waves? This is an absurd waste.”

“Your shipyards helped to build the Thalassocrator,” Absyrtus pointed out.

“As a weapon of dissuasion.”

“How can a weapon dissuade without having demonstrated its power?” Absyrtus asked mirthfully. “You know very well that we had to test it out on an enemy to instill order and obedience. Nor do we intend to abuse the Thalassocrator’s power.”

Which was why they couldn’t afford to try sinking all of Orthia’s dominions below the waters, even if it would get rid of Kairos and Sertorius for good. The cities of the fallen Thessalan League were held in check by fear of punishment for rebellion. If even allies weren’t safe from the Thalassocrator’s arbitrary strikes, then the cities would rebel because they had nothing to lose.

It was better to be feared than loved; but one had to avoid being hated above all else.

“And here is why,” a deep dark voice said, as the doors leading outside the antechamber slowly opened, “you will lose.”

Absyrtus immediately jumped from his seat and rushed to stand before his master’s bedroom. Teuta was faster, grabbing an ax in each hand. One burst with an aura of flame and the other with frost magic.

The intruder didn’t move, but his sword’s tip was drenched in blood.

“How did you get in?” Teuta snapped.

The intruder tossed two severed heads on the floor. One belonged to a witch, the other to an automaton.

How many guards did he kill to reach this place? Absyrtus thought as held tightly to the Rod of Talos. Or did he manage to bypass them somehow? “Are you here to kill His Majesty?”

“No,” the intruder replied, though he didn’t sheath his sword. “I sent messengers, but you didn’t answer my generous proposition. So I came to ask personally.”

Absyrtus remained silent, which Teuta didn’t appreciate at all. “You can’t be considering it,” she rasped while pointing her icy ax at the intruder. “Do you know who they serve?”

“The enemy of the enemy is our friend,” Absyrtus replied. At least until our interests diverge. “While the final decision remains in His Majesty’s hands, we lose nothing by hearing them out.”

“We will lose far more than this war if they have their way,” Teuta insisted with a glare. “This man murdered my men in Travia, and anything that strengthens his cause hastens our own future destruction! We don’t need his help!”

“Then you will lose the war,” the intruder replied coldly. “The dragon symbol you proudly carry on your flag has fallen into the sea. Your leader has suffered a defeat, and the Shield-City will fall. It is not too late to turn the tide around… but not without the right friends.”

After a moment of consideration, Absyrtus glanced at Teuta. “Lower your weapons.”

When she realized what he had in mind, the pirate queen looked away in disgust. “This is madness.”

Absyrtus ignored her and turned to his new ‘ally.’ “What do you offer?”

“Death,” Romulus of Lyce declared, a dark glow erupting in his funerary mask’s eye holes, “death, death, death.”

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A/N: chapter made possible by you, dear patrons.