Arc The Lad Fan Fiction / Arc The Lad Fan Fiction ❯ Unholy Order ❯ Parallel ( Chapter 4 )

Unholy Order

By: Who dat? Dat be Magenta Fox, yo!

Chapter 4: Parallel

AN: Good, this is all coming together the way I want. And don't worry about any of my OC's being Mary Sues. If you're not already seeing some, their flaws will come through soon enough. Full force. Also, I apologize for the delay, but look how long it is!

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After futile attempts to slow down his pace, shorten his steps and offer to carry his wounded companion, Darc finally gave up and began a system of walking ahead of her, stopping, and waiting. The entire process only served as a reminder that she was a weak, defenseless burden, and had no choice but to follow someone else if she ever wanted to survive. She was supposed to be a leader. . .

"Are you ever going to tell me your name?" Darc asked her as she caught up with him. "Or your race's name?"

"Keyana," she spoke, staring at the ground as she walked. "My people are called Morkeeth. I expect you'll be courteous enough to answer the same."

"Darc," he told her, deciding to lie a bit on the second question. "I'm a Drakyr."

"I've read that name in books, but I've never seen one. Morkeethes, Serifins and Humans basically inhabit this place. Few other races of Deimos exist here."

Darc couldn't help but smile. She was finally offering up the information he needed.

"Your people fight the Serifins?" he guessed, putting up with the uncomfortably slow pace in favor of continuing the discussion.

"They call us 'The Creatures That Crawled Out Of Hell,'" she explained, lifting her chin and facing forward again. "For years now they've considered it their duty from God to fight us and send us back to the pits of Hell they think we came from. They believe they evolved from humans, not monsters, and therefore have the right to do whatever they please with all the 'lower beings' of the world."

Humans that evolved into Deimos? Not only did Darc not understand the concept, he didn't understand why it would give a race a superiority complex. Still, he was in a place completely isolated from his world, and therefore any school of thought was possible. "I take it you don't agree."

"Of course not. For years they've been slaughtering my people, and for the past few months they've had me locked up as their slave just to humiliate me. They…they burned off my wings. They killed their own princess. They're monsters, not angels."

"That girl you were with, she was the Serifin princess?" he asked her, finding her story hard to swallow all at once.

"Yes… but she always hated the title. She never wanted to be a princess. She just wanted… she didn't want to be their princess." Keyana suddenly shifted directions with the conversation, unexpectedly hitting Darc with the question, "Who have you buried?"

"Excuse me?"

"You look at me as if you know. As if you have buried people yourself," she told him, staring up into his eyes as she stumbled along beside him. "You can't expect me to stand here and give without receiving."

Crimson eyes shifted to the surrounding trees, listening as his footsteps began producing a high-pitched, squishing noise. He'd arrive at the Pyron soon, and he'd be able to get out of the woods. He contemplated ignoring her question and waiting until they reached the mythical creature, as childish as he knew it was.

"Your lover, maybe?" she guessed, knowing she was wrong, yet wanting to strike up some sort of need for correction within him.

It worked.

"No, I didn't bury my lover," he snapped, thinking Keyana needed to mind her own business before reminding himself he wasn't in Aldrow anymore. Snorting, he gave in and answered her question shortly without facing her. "My parents."

The demon-woman offered no response, choosing instead to walk alongside her rescuer in pained silence until breaking it once again, this time with another seemingly random question. "What's its name?"

"What's what's name?" he wondered, looking down at her.

"Your Pyron," she answered, bringing her right hand up to point in the direction of the creature snacking on the green growths of the marshlands.

"You know what a Pyron is?"

"Of course I do. Humans have been using them to fly for ages. Come to think of it, I've never met a wingless Deimos before."

Darc had toyed with the idea of explaining his dual heredity (or the shame of having his wings torn off), but found himself unwilling to expose his side-show freak genetics to someone who believed his blood was that of a pure Deimos. This desire was also the reason why he wouldn't explain that Kharg was his brother. When the two met, she was bound to ask questions.

"Serifin armor is built to accommodate winged combatants," she explained, walking ahead of him and eying the Pyron. The creature looked back and forth between the two, confused as to why the tall, blue-clad boy had been exchanged for this short girl in dark clothing. It circled her, poking it's long nose into her long, coarse, black hair. "Can I help you?" she asked it flatly.

"I think I confused it."

"With my hair?" she wondered sarcastically, lightly swatting the Pyron away from her.

"No, I arrived on this island with someone else," he clarified. "I probably doesn't understand why you aren't Kharg."

In response to the name, the Pyron twirled about excitedly and clapped its hands.

"Is she yours?"

Darc had never known the gender of his pet, but answered anyways, "Yes, of course it is."

"Then is Kharg your wife's name?"

The question caught Darc so off guard that he nearly tipped backward in shock, his eyes widening of their own accord. If Lain had been there, she'd have called the expression "adorable," a word non-existent in Keyana's vocabulary before her imprisonment. After having the meaning explained to her, she was confused as to how the word could be used to describe her, but Lain brushed it off by saying, "I see it, and that's all that matters."

"No, he's not my wife," Darc corrected with a forced steadiness.

"Oh I'm sorry, your husband."

As the Pyron flew off to grow again, he stared down at his companion, searching her expression for any signs that she was acting up on purpose to get a reaction out of him. The look that greeted his close inspection was stern, serious and unwavering, meaning she thought she wasn't doing a single thing out of the ordinary.

"He's a human I'm traveling with, nothing more. Why would you ever ask such a question?"

When the Pyron landed before them, Keyana answered his question, but did not move toward the creature. "Pyrons are deeply connected to those who raise them. It's excited to see Kharg because you want to see him, whether you know it or not."

Shoving the idea aside, Darc climbed into one of the outstretched hands and waited for Keyana to do the same. She simply stood there, however, scowling at the ground and gritting her fanged teeth together loudly.

"Do you expect an invitation?" he asked sharply, impatience already having worn down his nerves.

"No, but in case you haven't noticed, you nitwit, I can barely walk. Do you think I can climb into that thing's hand? My oh my you sure are dense."

"And you have rude way of asking for help," he replied, jumping off the Pyron and walking toward the girl. Before she could protest he bent over and pressed his forearm against her stomach, scooping her up easily and carrying her to where he needed her to be.

"What are you doing? Put me down," she protested, not flailing or pushing due to the pain she knew would rip through her the moment she tried.

After jumping up into the creature's claw, he carefully placed her on its palm and jumped off without a word. She mumbled a bitter and rough "Thank you," before Darc gave the Pyron instruction to rise.

"What's the nearest town from here if you're headed east?" he asked, pointing to the horizon in the direction that Kharg took.

"Midsia. It's a human town. They won't mind you, but Morkeeth and Serifins are as good as dead if they step into human territory."

***

After gratefully finding that Soluna currency was no different then the gold pieces he carried, Darc purchased a long, black, hooded robe and walked back to the outskirts of the town.

"What did they say?"

"That I didn't need a to hide what I was, as long as I wasn't one of *those* Deimos." After years of discrimination, he found it hard to believe those words were spoken to him.

Keyana let out a slight laugh before sliding into the robe and flipping up the hood. "Without wings, people will probably just assume I'm some old hermit."

As the sun set, the two walked slowly back to the town of Midsia, a small entertainment village to the southwest of Serifin territory that stood divided into three sections; shopping, theater and residential. Figuring Kharg would be looking at armor or weaponry, Darc followed the signs through the residential area where they'd entered and headed toward the various shops and stalls that lined the shopping district. He found no sign of his brother, however, and the people there said they'd seen him before the sun began to set, but hadn't seen him since.

The theater district was rapidly becoming a busier place as the sun set, throngs of people pouring in to check the location and times of the shows they wanted to see that night. It was in front of one of these posters that they finally located Kharg, who didn't even hear his name called as he stared, blocking the others' view of what held his attention so well. It wasn't until a shadow swept over the poster that Kharg finally tore his concentration away from it and turned to face his brother and a small, hooded figure.

"Oh, you convinced her to come," he realized happily. "That's good."

"What have you been staring at?' Darc asked, turning to the picture of a blonde-haired young woman.

"It says here her name's Ortena," Kharg explained.

"Like Lillia's instrument?"

"Yeah, exactly the same spelling. Thing it is also says she has 'a voice that makes the wind dance.' I asked around and the villagers said that when she sings, the wind blows as if it's dancing for her. I think we should check it out."

The sudden sound of tearing paper abruptly halted the conversation. Keyana swung her hand around and scratched at the poster again, forming four X's in the tattered paper.

"From they way people here talk, a large part of the residential area is inns. You go and watch your little show, I'll get us a room." With that she stormed off, ignoring the pain she was beginning to grow accustomed to in favor of getting away from the voices whispering about her harsh and unexpected action.

"What was that all about?" Kharg asked, pointing in the direction Keyana had gone.

"I don't know, nor do I think it's any of our business."

"Maybe you're right, but it was still rather… uncalled for."

"Maybe to you it was."

Kharg contemplated some sort of argumentative reply, but came up with none and chose instead to change the subject. "So, do you want to check it out or not? It'll be seating people an hour before it opens because of the demand, so if we want to get in we better head there now."

"Fine," was all Darc offered.

***

Though Kharg thought they had a decent amount of time, he was surprised to find he and Darc were among the last few people allowed admittance, and they had to stand in the back. The two said nothing as they waited side by side, Kharg noticing, for the first time, that Darc was no taller than he was. He'd never really thought about it before, but as boredom was beginning to overtake him, he had nothing else to ponder. Yes, Darc was his height but his presence made him seem like he was taller, just as it made him seem older.

The hour-long wait was made more awkward and uncomfortable by the cramped conditions that the standing audience had to deal with. Every now and again the brothers' arms would brush against each other, followed by both of them snapping back like an elastic band. Then they'd stare at each other for a moment before looking away, a process repeated 5 or 6 times before the attendants began blowing out the house lights and lighting the stage ones.

The girl who walked onto the stage was dress rather plainly for such a celebrity, her thin-strapped, jade-green dress bringing out the intensity of her dark green eyes, which Kharg could make out even from the 15-20 row distance between them. The skirt of the dress was short on her right side, but slanted downward until the left side was to her ankle, showing off the black-strapped sandals she wore on her feet.

The audience hushed and the girl took a deep breath. The first note that pasted through her lips was soft and clear, but she soon built up in volume. She didn't sing words, but vocalized different strings of notes that flowed together beautifully. Even singing completely alone, without a single back-up singer or instrument, her voice was magnificently clear and astounding to Kharg's ears. But though her talent was inarguably unmatched, the fact still remained that nothing had happened as a result of it. The air in the room remained as still as the captivated audience, sedating even Darc's usual distain for music. Both of them stood in continuing awe, listening to the crescendo of volume and pitch until, with the rising of one hand and the completion of an unbelievably high note, the wind within the room picked up suddenly, giving the illusion that they'd suddenly been thrown into the begins of a tornado.

Shielding his eyes as the candle lights flickered violently, Kharg focused on the girl's hands, watching as the eloquent gestures she made became a lop of one particular movement. At first, one hand would sweep gracefully away from her heart before it was raised slightly, her knuckle barely brushing her chin. There is would stay for a moment before she stretched out a pale, bare arm and the dying gusts began again.

"Spirit magic," both of them realized quietly to themselves.

"But the spirits are gone," Kharg reasoned, leaning in as their shoulders touched, the wind still whipping around them in all directions, as if it were uncertain as to which way it wanted to go.

"And she's obviously no Deimos," Darc added.

Kharg pulled back, suddenly stepping forward so he was in Darc's line of vision. "So am I."

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"I'll speak with her alone," Kharg stated, lifting his hand as Darc rose to follow him back-stage. "If she is what we think she is, than she'll have an easier time trusting if it's just me."

"Fine," his brother agree indifferently. "I'll go search for Keyana before she scratches someone's eyes out."

The calm, serious tone Darc had while saying something like that made Kharg laugh out loud without realizing it.

"How is that funny?"

He stopped abruptly, clearing his throat as he replied, "It's not."

The other shook his head. "Human's are so weird," he stated before departing into the crowds to find their companion.

Taking a deep breath, Kharg headed back into the now-empty hall, amazed at how fast the stage hands had cleared away the chairs, leaving a hollow feeling about the place. Every footstep echoed back at him, and his mind began to panic slightly. Was it possible that there was someone else like him out there? A half Deimos born to a near completely human body? He never thought he'd ever find another. Darc was so different, his body a representation of both strands of genetics that comprised him, and he assumed that such dominant human characteristics made him the freak. Yet, from what he heard, his brother saw things in a totally different light...

"Are you lost?" a feminine voice inquired as he was snapped back to reality. He hadn't been paying attention, and the sharp clack of low heels was lost to his ears as the girl approached him from the side.

"No, I found you," he replied without thinking of the connotation, quickly moving to correct his meaning. "I mean I was looking for you."

"Ah ha..." she drawled, raising an eyebrow at him. "Do you need something?"

"Actually, can I speak with you privately?" he asked, cringing at how odd he must have sounded.

"Um... Yeah, my dressing room's got a small table and two chairs. Are you, like, okay?"

"I'm fine, I just wanted to ask you about something, I swear." He was actually beginning to sweat he felt so nervous, and he began tugging at his collar.

"This way," she directed, waving her hand and turning to walk back to the stage. He followed her behind the black curtain, stepping around scenery props and costumes until she came to plain-looking doorway.

Inside was just as the door foreshadowed. The table and chairs were simply-crafted, the center point of a white-walled room. Ortena picked up two gold metal bands and slid them up her arms before grabbing a black belt off the a chair back. She clipped it on and adjusted the whip attached to it, staring at Kharg with skepticism and impatience.

"I'm sorry to stall like this. I just don't know exactly how to just ask this," he explained.

"Well try introducing yourself."

"Oh, my name's Kharg."

"Ortena," she replied lightly.

"Your performance tonight was amazing. I've never seen or heard anything like it. And the way you control the wind, it's nearly magical."

The blonde couldn't help but smile, even if she'd heard things like that many times before. "I'm glad you appreciate my hard work and dedication."

"How… do you do it? How do you make the wind do that?"

"Kharg, never ask a lady about her secrets," she answered with a wink, though her voice shook a bit.

"Maybe, I'm wrong," he started nervously, "but I think I know. Maybe you're like me, and you have that one things that you can hide from everyone, but you know it's there. Maybe it's not bones sticking out of your back where wings used to be, or," he reached for the mark on his arm," a symbol of Deimos leadership, but I have a feeling there's something."

Ortena's eyes were distant as she stared off at something just above Kharg's shoulder. "What do you want from me?" she asked, her voice tremulous. "What do you feel the need to tell me any of this?"

"I've received word that things in Soluna are beginning to get out of hand, and the chaos here has the potential to spread to my homeland." He leaned forward, placing his palms on the empty tabletop. "That, and my brother and I are the only half-breeds I've ever even heard of."

"You have a brother… and he's like you?"

"Not exactly. You can tell he's half Deimos and half human."

She slid tiredly into one of the chairs, bringing her hand up to her forehead with a deep sigh. "You still haven't told me what you want," she reminded him.

He took the seat across from her and fiddled nervously with his hands. "Maybe you could tell me your story."

Standing up, Ortena walked over and grasped both sides of Kharg's collar. "Take off your shirt."

"Excuse me?!" he yelped, pulling back in defense.

"I want to make sure you're telling the truth, so come on baby, strip for me."

The expression Kharg wore, with his eyes twice their normal size and his mouth open so wide his chin almost touched his chest, was too priceless not to send the blonde into a nearly painful fit of hysterics. It didn't end until she clumsily fell backward in her chair, issuing a soft and sheepish "Ow…" before climbing back to her feet.

The air of tension around them thinned, leaving both thankful for the feeling. As she situated herself again, Ortena couldn't help but feel relieved that she wasn't a lone freak in the world. "But seriously, I want to see your back," she reiterated.

Drawing a deep breath in through is nose, Kharg stood up and crossed his arms, hooking his fingers into the base of his shirt. Had anyone else asked, be it Paulette, Lillia or even Duncan, he'd never have agreed. As he lifted the blue and yellow material out of his armor belt he turned around to show her the small white bumps. He'd never brought himself to actually look at them, but he could feel their presence whenever his back was against something, acting as a constant reminder of just what he was. Dropping the shirt on the table behind him, he looked back at Ortena to see her reaction.

With what seemed like a hint of pity and understanding in her striking green eyes, the girl took hold of the discarded shirt and stood. Walking over to an ill-organized pile of stage props, she pulled out a dusty red cloth and shook it clean before wrapping it around her waist. Before Kharg could even ask she yanked her skirt up from under the covering, scrunching it up just below her bust. There, tattooed in a scarlet red, were jagged, curved markings the swept across her abdomen and lower back. "My father was a human, my mother a Morkeeth," she spoke hesitantly, settling her green dress over the cloth before discarding it.

"My mother was a human, my father a Drakyr." Yes, the words passed through his lips, but his mind still didn't recognize it as a fact.

Ortena quietly sat back down, motioning for her still-shirtless friend to do the same. She waved the garment about a little. "You'll get this back when I'm done." She began her story before he could protest. "My mother told me once, 'I fell in love with your father before I even saw him. I heard him singing in the forest outside our people's territory, and knew I wanted nothing more than for him never to stop.' The man she had been forced to marry when she was young was this oppressive bastard she hated, and so she felt no guilt for the things she did with my father. She gave that man one child, and so her marital debt to him was paid.

Even before she fell in love, my mother never liked it within the bounds of her territory, so no one noticed when she was gone, because she wasn't ever around to begin with. At the time I was conceived, her husband was off fighting the Serifins, so she feigned illness and stayed in bed until the night she went into labor. I'm still amazed she somehow snuck out and got to my grandparent's cottage, but she did, and that night I was born.

My mother wanted desperately to stay with me, but she knew she couldn't, and my parents parted ways. Of course that just had to be the night her husband returned. Morkeeth have always been obsessed with their belief in their supposed superiority over humans, and sometimes just attack us for fun, like we're toys. My father… he handed me over to my grandparents and told them to run. His grave is in the forest behind their cottage."

"Parents are like that," Kharg mused, laying his fingers across his birthmark.

"Did your father die protecting you?" she asked, tilting her head slightly to the side.

"No, actually, both of them died protecting my brother."

Ortena visibly cringed, kneading her hands together in sympathy for a man she'd never met. But Kharg was a decent man, and she could only assume the same about his brother. "I'm sorry to hear that. I know that after my mother found out, she was completely devastated. And then after having to deal with that, all she had to do was take one good look at me and she knew she could never raise me. Light features, no claws, no fangs, no wings, nothing but these markings on my stomach. For eighteen years I was raised by my grandparents, learning how to read and write and defend myself with this," she remembered, resting her hand on the whip at her side. "They never brought up the markings, so I didn't think twice about them. They basically raised me alone, you know, like they'd take me into town but nothing much more than that. They were always so careful about people finding out, and they succeeded. I didn't even know."

"I can understand how you feel. Ignorance can build illusions."

"The mark on your arm?" she guessed.

He nodded. "I'd always assumed it was just some weird-shaped birthmark. I wore it with pride, and no one questioned it."

"Yeah," Ortena agreed. "You think that, like, if it doesn't hurt or spread then you were fine, right?"

"Heh, I see we think a lot alike."

"They say that great minds think alike," she quipped playfully, winking at him.

"So, how did you come to find out you were part Deimos?"

"Well I lived like that for eighteen years," she continued, leaning back and staring at the ceiling. "That had been the agreement all along. When I was 18, I would be told everything and given the option whether or not to meet my mother, who I thought, at the time, was dead. On the day of my birthday they sat me down and just straight out told me everything. It was so sweet," she droned sarcastically. "Happy birthday Ortena, you're actually half Deimos and your mother is alive. You even have a half sister you've never met."

"I wish I got that," Kharg mumbled bitter without thinking.

"Oh, and how did you find out?"

"I arrived home after receiving information that there'd been an attack. People ran away from me in fear, and I couldn't find my mother anywhere. Next thing I knew, one of my traveling companions and closest friends was telling me my mother had been killed by a Deimos, who was supposedly my brother. After I saw her grave for myself, the town confronted me, and then there was the pain ripping through my back like fire. All of a sudden my back felt heavy and people were screaming and running away. I'd… just sprouted wings out of nowhere."

Ortena recoiled, feeling guilty that she's even tried to compare her pain to his. "Ouch, okay, you win in the bad announcement department."

Kharg smiled cynically at his victory.

"Either way, it doesn't mean I wasn't still shocked when they told me. I didn't even believe them. 'What is this, some sick joke?' After I said that they just kind of bowed their heads. They wouldn't even look at me.

It was like I'd be physically hit by something and that impact turned my entire existence into a lie. I left without a word and visited my father's grave and just kinda… yelled at him. I was so angry and hurt and confused and there was no one there to help me with it. I don't think I'd ever felt so alone before.

Eventually I returned and they asked me what I wanted to do. After sleeping on it, I decided I wouldn't be able to live with myself if I never met my own mother. Apparently, she'd been waiting to see me all this time. Arrangements where made without my knowledge, and an uneasy week later, I was lead into a clearing close to my father's grave and left there to wait for her. I couldn't help be feel like I was waiting to be attacked or something.

She showed up behind me, which kinda nerved me up even more. I mean, I turn around and there is this dark, winged… creature… and at the same time, there is my mother. I had to face I was part of this, that I had been since the day I was born.

After the shock wore off I immediately asked her to tell me about my father. My grandparents had told me plenty, but I wanted to hear it from her. I wanted to know if she loved him. All I had to do was mention him and she burst out in tears, saying that she wished she had died with him and she hated every day she had to spend without him. I couldn't help it; I cried with her.

We arranged to meet the following week, and she promised to bring my sister with her. I thought she'd be… nicer? She was very short with her words, obviously a product of the same bastard that killed my father. She knew I was her half-bred sibling, I knew she was loyal to her father, but my mother would not stand to see us fight. In time we forced ourselves to get along, finding that we had opposing traits that we could use to help each other.

Morkeeth can't sing, you know. Their vocal cords aren't built for it. Serifins can, but Morkeeth can't, so they're obsessed with music and dancing. I was always a klutz, and my sister was graceful, so she taught me how to dance. The problem was she taught me how to lead, so I've had issues dancing with guys ever since." Ortena's eyes darted to Kharg as if she had just remembered he was in the room, changing her nostalgic tone to an inquisitive one. "Do you sing?"

Kharg smiled at the memories that question brought up. His mother sang, and she had a beautifully soothing voice, but he was another story. "In large groups, during celebrations, but otherwise, I'm not much of a singer. I think the world is better off if I hum quietly."

Ortena casually pushed her chair back and propped her now shoeless feet up on the table, shifting until she was comfortable enough to continue. "Well I don't think there's been a day in my life where I haven't sang something. My grandparents said I sang before I spoke, and they knew music would be my life. My mother loved to listen to me sing, said I sounded just like the instrument my father played, the one they named me after. My sister, on the other hand, detested the sound of my voice, and usually left or scowled the minute I opened my mouth.

I looked just like my father, and she looked like hers, and there was no question as to which man my mother loved more. I won't deny it, my mother showed me thousands of times more love, affection and praise than she did my sister, and she was too blindly happy to realize what she was doing. Deep down, under her whole calm, indifferent exterior, that girl hated me with a passion."

Without warning, Ortena pushed back her chair and turned her back to the man listening to her, inexpertly and angrily punching a clenched fist into the white-washed, concrete wall before her. "I'll bet you anything that she told him. I'd stake my very life on it in a heartbeat. Her sadistic fuck of a father was too stupid and blind to notice his wife was pregnant. How the hell did he find out about me then?"

Kharg couldn't answer, and swallowed hard as the girl's voice continued to get louder and more venomous.

"She didn't show up that day, I should have known something was wrong the but nothing seems all that different. I preferred having my mother to myself, so it wasn't really that big of a loss to me." He watched her still-turned back shake a bit, not knowing if she was more apt to cry, scream or collapse. "It took one damn second and she was just… just… gone. She was right there, just listening to me sing. Right next to me!

Those Morkeeth wings are so silent…"

The girl wound her fingers in her hair, and for a moment, Kharg selfishly regretted ever asking for her story. He didn't know this was what he was in store for.

"One second, damn it, and that bastard took her away from me. Three years was all I got. Three years to not feel like some discarded orphan while everyone else had their mommy and daddy… or at least one of them. It was…," she let out a frustrated yell and brought herself back to the table, burying her face in her hands. "I can still hear that sound. He," she motioned with her fingertips, pressing them against her throat, "skewered her. She died instantly…. there was blood everywhere… and he laughed about it!"

For a moment, he thought he was going to be sick. Deep within his mind, Kharg pleaded that the story would end quickly. He was obviously going to be denied this, as the girl took a shaky, deep breath and continued.

"I don't remember most of what happened after that. It's all in angry, confused blurs. My grandparents came rushing out, but they were too late. He… he killed them, too." Her voice was eerily hushed. "He took everyone away from me that had ever loved or cared for me. I just couldn't like him get away with it. I took my whip and cracked it to get his attention and then there was this feeling inside me, like everything was tearing free that had been building up for years.

I thought it was going to consume me from the inside, because everything suddenly went black and all I could hear were these tornado-like winds. The next thing I knew I was on my knees, curled up with my hands over my ears, screaming to drown out the wind. When it all finally stopped I looked up and he was sliced to ribbons. I'd… I'd killed him.

And there she was, with the gall to look shocked. Right then and there my half sister and I vowed to take each other's lives, and I haven't seen a single member of my family since. If I never see her again it'll be too soon."

Sensing she was done, Kharg's eyes darted around the room, resting on his shirt still in her hands.

"Oh, I'm sorry," she apologized, snapping back into her usual speaking tone. She was about to give him back his shirt when the door was suddenly pushed open by an irritably impatient Darc, who was shocked, to say the last, by what he found.

"Why aren't you wearing a shirt?" he immediately asked.

"You must be Darc," Ortena interjected, shaking his Deimos hand. "Hi, I'm Ortena."

Darc shifted his gaze to his brother and gestured inquisitively to the girl, asking a silent question.

"Yeah, she is," Kharg answered before looking to Ortena without showing his back to his brother. He'd prefer to keep that section of his past away from him. "Now can I have my shirt back?"

"Not unless he forks over the armor," the blonde bargained playfully. "One of you needs to be shirtless, or else it's just no fun."

"Excuse me?" Darc shot back, bringing his hands up to his armor.

"That's what I said," Kharg droned, snatching back his shirt and hastily sliding it back on before tucking it in.

"That's also what you did," she pointed out. "My, you two are brothers."

Opting to change the subject, Kharg looked out the window at the moon, high in the night sky. How long had he been talking to her? "We should get going."

Leading the way, Ortena took them back to the empty theater hall, inquiring whether or not they had a room yet. Kharg turned to his brother for an answer and got a shrug in return.

"I can't find Keyana anywhere," he replied.

Ortena stopped dead in her tracks. "What did you just say?"

Kharg had a bad feeling he knew where this was going already. "No…"

"Did you just say Keyana?"

"So what if I did?"

Long fingers wrapped around the whip at Ortena's side, yanking it out and unraveling it with a sharp snap. "Where is she? Where is that little Morkeeth bitch?"