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Chapter 211: Interlude — Cannot Lose
🕑 Added 2025-05-12 17:09:19 +0000 UTCWelp, there we go, this chapter is finally finished.
The reason for the delay is kinda simple—I got tragically stuck with how to write this. This chapter went through several revisions, with me writing from scratch and with completely different concepts each time, and what we ended up with is nothing like what was originally in my notes. It was a little discouraging, and as the weeks progressed without progress, I got additionally blocked/anxious about how to do this... What I can say, at least, is that I managed to write something I feel like I can stand behind, rather than the mess that the earlier drafts would have become had I stuck to them.
Either way, new chapter finished! I hope you enjoy. Thanks to everyone who ended up sticking around for so long 🩷
“HAND OVER THE CHARGE AND I SHALL SPARE YOU.”
Omiaradne flinched at the booming words. For the first time ever, she found herself on the opposite side of an ensuing fight with Fen — although Fen herself probably didn’t even perceive it that way. Fear blossomed in Omi’s stomach as her wings began to tremble and her legs weakened. If she didn’t call this off now, one way or another, she would witness a slaughter.
At the fringes of the breaking world, where Fentanyle’s fingers clawed in, clouds of black dust spread out. The crows were pouring inside.
“Not up to us!” Dema shouted. “It’s all Omi’s choice!” She turned around, beaming. “You wanna go with her?”
Omi opened her mouth to respond, but no words escaped her throat.
Dema ruffled her hair. “Don’t worry. We’re gonna hold her off while you think. No pressure!”
Omi was still dazed when Poxie stepped up to shield her with her own body.
“FIGHTING ME IS FUTILE. YOU KNOW I CANNOT LOSE.”
Despite having heard these words many times before, they resonated deep within Omiaradne’s bones. Fentanyle did not echo the truth, she commanded it.
“We don’t have to fight,” Theora answered, without raising her voice. She spoke like one would in a small and quiet room. Yet, somehow, her words carried, and Omiaradne was sure Fentanyle could hear them clearly. “But if we do, your truth may falter. Dema is adept at mischief.”
Ignoring them, Fentanyle kept breaking at the shell of reality until the hole was wide enough to let her hand through. She extended her arm into the world, grasping for the group. Grasping for her charge. Omiaradne stepped back in terror at what was about to unfold.
When Fentanyle fought, she always left a mess. Not necessarily of her opponents, although that could happen, depending on who they were and what they had done — or what they were intending to do. But, often more saliently, the fights would cause a mess because Fentanyle was never reluctant to sacrifice parts of herself in them. Crows would fly everywhere. Get into the smallest spaces, cover the sky, clog machinery with feathers and flesh. And when caught in the mechanisms or attacked by opponents, the crows would bleed, if the enemy was strong enough to decommission them.
Because every single crow was still strong. Every single one was sturdy, resilient, and had a sharp beak.
That alone should have been reason enough for Omiaradne to call this off. To abandon the attempt and recuse herself. Poxie and Log were used to distance; surely, they could make things work. Would meet again one day. Perhaps Fentanyle would come around too, if Omi could talk to her more quietly, without intrusions.
Omi doubted it, but it was better than whatever this would become.
And yet, her legs didn’t carry her across the devastated fields, did not make her utter the words to stop the conflict just yet. It felt, more than anything, selfish. Omiaradne had always been safe with Fentanyle. This was true even today, even after all that had happened. It was just — sometimes, feeling safe wasn’t enough. Sometimes she wanted to feel safe with other people too.
Fentanyle’s fingers crashed against an iridescent plane appearing right in their path, and Bell let out a wail. Undeterred, Fen formed a fist and punched through the barrier, and Bell collapsed as it crumbled. Theora caught her before she hit the ground. Omi winced and wanted to hurry to Bell’s side, but Poxie grasped her arm — the grip was not strong enough to actually prevent her from going, but Omi heeded Poxie’s wish, and stayed for now.
Meanwhile, Dema was tearing at Theora’s clothes to let out a torrent of blood. Over the next few seconds, the wave of red rose to plug the hole toward the Campanella. At the same time, Dema jumped far into the sky, propelling herself on a boulder. Fentanyle’s hands whirred toward each other. Dema yelped for help before she got caught in an ear-rending clap between giant palms. After clapping her flat, she flung Dema toward the ground with a flick.
Omi winced again, but Poxie held her. Log, meanwhile, grew to her true size, and sauntered off. By now, the crows had turned the sky a shade of dotted black. They didn’t fly in chaos, but in a uniform swarm, like a fish in a giant ocean. They came closer and — and were diving down toward them. Many of them headed straight for Theora… Fentanyle wouldn’t waste her efforts on people that were far beneath her. On people she could kill anytime. On people who couldn’t stand in her way.
When Theora noticed she was being targeted, she jumped, leading many crows away. A mistake, because now, the crows would no longer hold back. Omiaradne shouted after her, but was ignored. Enticed by magic, chunks of earth floated up into the sky, and Theora hopped from one to the other to get closer to Fentanyle’s face. But she never got there. The crows formed a giant sphere, clicking into formation, entrapping her. Omi closed her eyes and tears broke free.
“END THIS.” The caw was sudden and close. “END THIS.” The remaining crows were circling closer and closer, shouting words into her ears as they whirred by. “I AM AWAITING YOUR RETURN.”
Debris began crashing down closer to the group. Many had dispersed now, and Omiaradne saw fighting in the distance. How — how were so many passengers joining the fight? Just to give Omi ‘time to think’? Omi grabbed her wings. It was cruel, for there was only one conclusion to come to. After all, Fentanyle would never lose. This was but an exercise in futility. Prolonging the inevitable…
Bell, who was barely conscious, shouted a warning. Poxie dragged Omi aside, and they got separated a second later by a flying log. Omi landed alone, away from the group. She was surrounded by carnage… A giant clay golem had joined Log in fighting against Fentanyle’s main body, and they were taking heavy blows. Crows clicked into formation again and again, hindering their movement, pushing back the other fighters. The blob of crows that had formed around Theora was concealing her completely — it was a sight Omiaradne knew well. Sloshes of blood and pieces of fabric fell down from its center where they were devouring her.
Omi’s heart thrashed in her chest as she watched in horror — blood and clothes. There was no trail of birds falling to the ground. Barely even a feather. Theora was completely overwhelmed; she could not even defeat a single crow.
Slowly, Omiaradne set out to move. Every step hurt, but had to be made. Bell shouted for her to return. Montaparte did too, as did a few others, but Omi paced onwards. This wasn’t worth it.
“Stop running away!”
That voice, among them all, made Omi pause. Her legs stopped obeying her.
“Come here. Don’t you dare walk out on me!”
She looked to the side, to the source of the voice. A little away from the others in the group, placed in a safe location by Theora, hidden beneath a rock.
It was Treeka. It was difficult to see her expression because her body was so small, but she was beckoning Omiaradne over, potentially in anger. It would have been easy to keep walking, to abandon Treeka like the rest of them, but… Omiaradne would never forgive herself for walking out on someone who couldn’t follow her.
“Wow,” Treeka said, staring up at her. “I didn’t think you’d listen.”
“I have to stop this,” Omi hissed. “It’s — it’s too much.”
Treeka eyed her for a moment. Her gaze went over to the others, then back to Omiaradne, and then she snapped her fingers. Suddenly, the entire world shifted, proportions changed, and Omi found herself… smaller. She stared at Treeka, who now sat on a giant pot, and then jumped down. Peddles had grown to boulders, wood chips to debris. With a zap, a dome barrier appeared around them. The sound from the outside world dulled. They were completely cut off.
“What—”
“I made you smaller. And asked Bell to shield us for now. You clearly need a moment.”
“I—”
“Sit down,” Treeka said, and did it herself first. Omiaradne reluctantly followed. “Do you want to go back with Fentanyle?”
“How did you ask Bell to…”
“Don’t get lost in the details now,” Treeka chided. “We’re back on our home planet. Means we can send each other instantaneous messages.”
Omi frowned. “Messages?”
“You’re still getting lost in details… But, yes. Think of it like telepathy. Whatever.” Treeka waved off, and shrugged. “Either way, it’s time for you to take a moment, and think very hard about what it is that you want to happen now.”
“I want… the fighting to stop.”
Treeka kept Omiaradne in her gaze for a few seconds. Her deep, brown eyes were staring intensely, as if waiting for Omi to realise something. When she didn’t, Treeka went on to say, “You’re not currently fighting.”
“I know, but the others are—”
“—doing whatever the hell they want,” Treeka supplied. “It’s up to them. Not your fault that Fentanyle is refusing diplomacy, and not your fault that the others want to spar with her.”
“Spar?” They were getting dismantled. Sure… nobody on the train had actually harmed Omiaradne, so it was fairly unlikely that Fen would kill them, but…
Treeka didn’t respond. They fell into a prolonged silence
“You know, I…” Treeka fell into a short silence. “I used to have difficulty accepting help, too.”
Omi’s gaze snapped to her, her eyes wide. It wasn’t that she had ‘difficulty accepting help’ — it was that nobody could help her. And even if they could help; if it meant hurting Fentanyle—
“And then I met those two buffoons,” Treeka continued, not unkindly. “And Theora — well, she has flaws, of course. Sometimes she will disappear, suddenly, for long periods of time. At least she feels sorry for it, despite having trouble learning from it.” She blinked, seemingly having lost the thread. “Well, what I want to say is: Dema is more reliable. When she says she will give you time to think, she means it. She will always make good on her promises. Will return to come save you, experts in tow. You should have witnessed her when Theora got stuck in space…”
Stuck in space? “Theora got stuck in space?”
“And didn’t think anyone could help her, either.” Treeka nodded. “But that’s just the thing. Sure, we can’t always be saved. And both Theora and I had to wait centuries for someone to come for us. But… in order to be saved, we had to endure first. Right?”
“Right,” Omi murmured, only really understanding half of Treeka’s monologue. But it was difficult not to get swept up in it regardless.
“And,” Treeka continued, “I know you’ve only just met them, but…” She looked to the side. “Don’t tell them I said this, but… they barely knew me, and they… ultimately, did not let me down.”
Treeka fidgeted with her fingers. This seemed to be difficult for her to share. But then, she found resolve, and looked right at Omiaradne with a vulnerable look on her face, before she continued speaking.
“I’m sure that if you place your trust in them, your life will become better too. You just need to think it possible. It’s like with learning a new Skill — you need to think a better life is possible, and take the gambles needed to attain it. So, do that.”
“Do that,” Omi replied with a husky, laden voice.
Just a short while ago, she had cried her heart out over Poxie keeping her terrible secret from them. What if Poxie had never said anything? What if, suddenly, Poxie had unravelled in Omi’s and Log’s very arms, just like that? It wouldn’t have happened the same way, of course. Poxie was always a little reluctant when it came to skinship, and only witnessing Dema and Theora had emboldened her. Still. One day, just like that, it could have happened.
Outside the barrier, Poxie had shielded Omiaradne, and Log was now fighting for her sake for the second time. Neither of them was willing to back down.
A necessary gamble.
A few seconds passed. Omiaradne hid half-cloaked behind her wings when Treeka’s eyes lost focus for a moment.
Then Treeka said: “I’m getting notice that it’s time. Are you ready? You can make your choice soon, if you want.”
Omi bit her lip, nodding imperceptibly.
The dome barrier was lifted, and Treeka returned them to their original sizes. The heat of battle soaked the landscape; flying boulders, waves of demonic blood, targeted barriers. Omi’s eyes grazed along the ground. She couldn’t find any dead crows. She almost flinched at the sight; with how unexpected it somehow still was. Finally, she raised her head. There it still was, the giant clay golem. Somehow, Omi knew exactly who was conducting it from the inside. Held together by blood, moving with sudden and powerful grace.
And then, with bleary eyes and snot streaming from her nose, Omiaradne watched Dema win.
Comments
Little Help
Tysm!! I'm very glad to hear that
sebsebs
Thanks for the chapter, from an outsider's perspective it was perfect ! I missed everyone, especially quiet, lovely and strong Theora that (probably) refuses to even hurt a single crow :)) I hope you're doing well and can appreciate the current Spring ! It's my favorite season
