Exhaustion and Defeat: PHOCT Round 5 Part 4

     When Arya awoke at last, the light of a false dawn was shining through the window. Forty-eight was still with Baldur, and Ron Merrit was sat with his back against the wall, knees drawn up and his face in his hands. She thought, for a moment, that he was sleeping.

     Then, when she sat up, his head snapped towards her, and she looked into his eyes. There were emotions there, ones that he was desperately trying to tamp down, to tuck out of sight and away from her, but it was useless. Arya knew more about him now than if she’d known him ten, fifty even a hundred years. She had seen his life and felt his soul, and when she had done so she had found something of herself.

     “What guarantee will I have?” Ron asked, his voice a little hoarse. “What certainty can I get?” How do I know I can trust you?  “What even was that?”

     “A memory of the future. Saturday explained it to you.”

     “But it’s such a contradiction! How can you possibly remember the future? There must be hundreds, even thousands of ways this could all play out. How do you know that’ll be the one we get?”

     “I don’t. Neither do you. But it might be your best shot.”

     They were silent for a while. Forty-eight shifted a little on his roots, seemed to decide he would be better off elsewhere, and moved away to join Baldur in the other room.

     “Why are you doing this?” Ron asked. “Yesterday you didn’t even trust me.”

     “I still don’t trust you,” Arya replied, “but I have seen everything that you are, and all the memories you hold within you. This whole time I’ve been bumbling along, surviving by the skin of my teeth and the deaths and sacrifices of those around me. My life was the same. I’m tired.” And she started to cry. “I’m tired of living. I’m tired of having power, and I’m beginning to realise there is no other end to this for me. I can’t go back to where I came from now, not ever.” Ron didn’t seem to know what to do, how to react. “I don’t belong in the living world anymore,” Arya sniffed, looking up at him, her eyes beginning to redden. "They call me Godkiller, and all I've done since I've got to Hades is destroy. Is that all I'll ever be good at?" She took a ragged breath, attempting to compose herself.

     “I want... I just want to be Arya Anderson again. Things were much simpler back then. Only I can't go back. I've changed, and I'm not that person anymore. The only thing I can ask for now is answers, and if I pick up that thing there,” she glanced towards the golden dagger, “and accept Izanami’s deal… then I get them. After that, I don’t care. I’ll fix what’s going on here. I’ll fight your fight for you, and then I’ll save Paige. I'll do everything in my power to save her. As long as I can know what happened to the people I care about.” Her voice broke and she looked away. “I’ve been without purpose this whole time,” she hiccoughed. “I would love to have one again, even if it isn’t my own.”

     Silence once more.

     “What do I have to do?” Ron asked.

     “You must make a deal with me.”  

     “Make a deal?”

     “It is the power she possesses,” Saturday said, and Arya was unsurprised to find him suddenly seated beside her. She wiped her eyes with the sleeve of her blazer, and turned to him as he spoke.

     “She cannot break any deal she makes – it is a strong compulsion. Only death would prevent her holding up her end of the bargain… unless the deal said otherwise of course. And she is, after all, already dead.”

     “What deal must I make?” he asked. “I will do it, for Paige.”

     “You must vow to stay out of the fight that is to come,” Arya said, “To stay out of the way of all those who matter here in Hades.”

     “Why must I do that?” Ron was frowning, confused.

     “So that I can uphold my own deal. This is my only offer.” Arya looked towards the golden dagger, still where Izanami had left it. She would pick it up once she and Ron had finished their business. “You will be as powerless to break the deal as I will be," Arya added. The compulsion is strong. Izanami wanted you dead, but those were not the words she used. She said she wanted you out of the way, and that is where you will be. Outside of that…. It is not of my concern should your actions have an indirect impact on the coming battle, and the march of the army that approaches.”

     Ron nodded slowly. “Keep the deal on a technical level… Ok. I can do that.”

     “Then we shake,” Arya said, and she held out her right hand. There was no hesitation as Ron reached forward and took it.

     That was it. They dropped hands and Saturday was gone. Arya turned, looking at the Golden Dagger. Her hand shook, and the compulsion to pick it up returned, far stronger than it had been before. The deal had been struck at the same moment she and Ron shook hands. Izanami’s terms had been met, and now only Arya’s price was left to be collected.

     Her hand trembled as it closed upon the handle.

***

     The impression of pain, sharp and unexpected in her chest. Light in the dark, and the glimpse of a face, twisted with pain and anguish.

     Nothingness. A void of neither light nor dark, not of the living world and not of the dead either.

     A figure in a cloak. A boat propelled across a dark river, and a cave that seemed to have no end. The rough feeling of wood beneath her numb fingers.

     A crowded shore, the souls of the dead fighting, shouting and wailing with each other as they were pushed from side to side, corralled within a chamber that, while vast, was not nearly big enough for them.

     A woman with a veiled hat, and a gentle voice. A smile over a cup of tea.

     A pull - a compulsion to return to the shore, to leave this place. She didn’t belong, it wasn’t right…

     The dagger falling from her hand, clattering upon stone. A slow walk to the shore, pushing against the incoming tide.

     The hooded figure welcoming her on to the boat once more, and a glimpse… just a second, barely even that…

     A body… unconscious? Dead. A familiar, black haired figure. Arya. Dead. Dead upon Hades waiting room floor.

     And Kasai wailed. She screamed and she cried and she took in a great lungful of air as she awoke upon a dark, rain washed street in the middle of the city.

     The pain overtook her senses for a moment, and then there was sharp clarity. She was freezing, her fingers blue with cold and her entire body shivering. The trembling in her hand increased as she reached up, touching the crescent scar upon her chest that had moments before been a mortal wound. There was blood, far too much blood for her to alive.

     The dagger was gone. The Angel Blade had fallen where she had dropped it, although her memories of that place were already fading.

     Raphael’s blade, of course. God’s healing. Arya had taken a risk for her, and she lived. But what about…! She scrambled to her feet, turning around. First she saw the body of the boy the demon had chased them in, but even as she watched, he coughed and rolled over, looking fearfully around the street with confused eyes. Kasai turned away, her eyes still searching...

     And there she was. Her skin was pale, her eyes pale and unseeing… her clothes were red with blood, although there was no sign of the blade that had done the damage. Dead.

     “I’m sorry,” a voice whispered, and Kasai looked up, eyes wide and brimming with hot tears. Before her stood a ghostly figure, a woman in blue. She too had tears in her eyes, and there was a familiar sword at her belt. In one hand, she clutched Raphael’s blade as though it was a lifeline.

     “Arya?” Kasai gasped, looking between this apparition and the body… the cold corpse on the street before her.

     “I’m sorry I couldn’t beat it for you,” Arya said, tears in her eyes, and an inexplicable smile upon her face. “I’m sorry I can’t be there to fight with you. But I’m glad you’re alive Kasai. I’m glad I did that right, at least. And I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.”

     "Arya wait!" Kasai shouted, but she was already gone, and the street was quite once more, but for the gentle pattering of rain. She stared at the empty space before her, and then looked down at the body crumpled on the tarmac before her. Gingerly, she reached forward and closed Arya’s eyes.

     Then she stood, pushing herself up and away from the wet ground. There were things to be done, and Arya wasn’t around anymore. It hurt to think that, but Kasai knew that her friend was gone, and wouldn’t be coming back.

***

     Thoth stood three buildings away from the high rise which contained Arya’s apartment, a pencil poised above the page of his notebook. It had been a subtle, difficult shift to make. A slight alteration here, the tweak of a word there… all of it had to be insignificant enough to feel natural.

     The vision of the future in particular had been… difficult to engineer. It was one of the most slim possibilities in the girl’s timeline, and making Saturday (even his ghost) think that this was one of his abilities… that had not been easy.

     But Thoth was pleased… proud, even, of the results. Ron Merrit would be out of the way, for the most part, and Arya Godkiller would be an easy enough obstacle to overcome. The book closed with a snap, and the bird-headed God settled in to wait. There was one more thing to be done before he could consider his preparations for the following morning complete.

***

     Ron left shortly after the deal had been struck. He had people to talk to, he had said, and advice to give. He had not been smiling – she wasn't sure if the things he had done would ever truly allow him to smile again - but he had seemed at peace.

     She herself was exhausted. Every inch of her body screamed as she moved, and her mind seemed foggy. Still, something burned within her chest – a certainty. Kasai was alive. She hadn’t died, because the blade… the golden angel blade that now rested in it’s proper place at Arya’s right hip… it had belonged to Raphael.

     It occurred to her that it, along with the blade of Uriel, might have some strange or useful properties here among the dead.  But that thought had barely crossed her mind when a figure seemed to step into being in the air before her, a figure that seemed to be part man, and part bird. “Good evening Ms Anderson,” he said in clipped tones, looking up from a small note book. “I don’t believe we have met.”

     “Who are you?” she asked, her expression guarded, hand reaching automatically for Uriel’s red sword.

     “I am Thoth,” he said, his tone business-like, but not unpleasant.

     “I’ve heard of you. Why didn’t Forty-eight warn me you were coming?”
 
     “Because in this timeline, I didn’t want him to.” He tilted his head to the side slightly, and Arya had the strangest feeling run through her entire body. It was as though he was dissecting her with his eyes, pulling her apart piece by piece – it felt as though he knew everything there was, or ever would be, to know about her. Instinctively, Arya’s hand tightened upon the handle of her sword.

     Thoth sighed, and then spoke. The words didn’t seem to make any sense to Arya. "I flee who chases me, and chase who flees me." It seemed an extraordinarily odd thing for him to say, and Arya was about to tell him as much when the door to the bedroom opened, and Forty-eight rolled into the room. He stopped instantly when he noticed Thoth.

     “Arya…” he began, and she tensed as she realised there was fear in his voice. Dark fear, worse than anything she’d heard there ever before, and it came from looking at the God standing before her.

     “Eternity,” Forty-eight whispered, answering the unspoken question. “Cold and bleak eternity.” Arya’s sword was out in an instant, and she held it between herself and Thoth, eyes narrowed and flashing red.

     “Protect me,” Thoth said, barely even blinking.

     Arya tried to laugh at his words, and then realised she couldn’t. She was turning around, without meaning to, to face Forty-eight, her sword still drawn. She tried to speak, but her mouth would not open and her tongue was seemingly unwilling to move.

     “Arya?” Forty-eight’s voice trembled a little, and he shrank back slightly, his roots contracting. “Arya?”

     “Attack.” Thoth’s voice was calm, but firm as steel.

     Arya launched herself forward, her sword striking down and against Forty-eight, skidding along the hard surface of his central orb. He cried out and leapt away, his powerful roots allowing him to cover a great distance. Arya whirled around, keeping her eyes upon him at all times, but inside she was crying out – trying desperately to make a sound, to close her eyes, to drop her sword. Forty-eight was about six feet away, and she stood between him and Thoth.

     She jumped forward once again, the inhuman strength of her legs easily propelling her towards Forty-eight, and she struck at one his his roots this time, severing it near the orb. Forty-eight cried out in pain and dismay, and within herself Arya wept, but on the outside her face remained passive, her eyes narrowing as Forty-eight scrabbled away, desperately trying to distance himself from her.

     "Arya!" he screamed, "Arya, what happened to you? Why do you feel wrong?" There was disbelief in his words, and if he could, Arya thought he would have been crying. "You weren't like the bad men!" Forty-eight was saying as she pushed forward once again, and this time he reacted, trying to catch her arms.

     His roots met resistance, sliding unexpectedly away from shining panels of blue light - the battle dress, which Arya could now manipulate freely and had been keeping up for some time now. As Arya stumbled slightly, put off balance by Forty-eight's roots, he rolled away, and stopped. He rocked slightly, as if torn between fighting and running. Arya blew her hair out of her eyes and surveyed the little alien, who trembled under her gaze and then propelled himself backwards with unbelievable speed, crashing through the door. He tore it from its hinges as he passed, damaging the walls to either side. Arya was about to follow, but at a word from Thoth, she stopped instantly, sheathing her sword.

     The bird-man surveyed her, and there was satisfaction in his eyes. “You may speak,” he said, and Arya opened her mouth, her tongue her own once again.

     “What did you do to me?” she gasped. Thoth did not reply, but moved to the bedroom door. Once more, he spoke those words, "I flee who chases me, and chase who flees me." Arya watched as Baldur entered the room, his eyes sparkling, but fixed dead ahead.
And that gave her the answer she needed: trigger commands. Those that had been rigged within Baldur existed within her too.

     “Inherited from me, I think,” a glum voice said somewhere to her right. Arya could not turn her head to look, but she knew that Saturday was sitting there. “I remember now, the deal I made. The end, in exchange for a gift… a temporary loan of my abilities. I assume these commands were planted then. Thoth can control almost any power he gets his hands on as though he’s been using it for centuries. He’s dangerous in that way.”

***

     Forty-eight barrelled into the city street, looking around wildly for someone  - anyone - who could help, but there was no one around. Perhaps if he could find Ron Merrit? He'd made a deal with Arya before she changed, he couldn't be all bad, could he?

     The change scared Forty-eight. The darkness he'd felt in her, the void where his friend... because she had been his friend, he thought... the void where she had been scared him more than anything he'd seen during his time in Hades.

     There! A familiar figure was just about visible at the edge of the street. A bag over his head and a spade propped upon his shoulder. Forty-eight raced forward, his movement more lopsided than ever now one of his roots was gone, and Bagman turned to face him. "Is something wrong?" he asked, blinking through the holes in the bag.

     "There's an army coming to attack the city!" Forty-eight babbled, "and the Bad man can make anyone fight for him."

***
     Ron was sat very still, mulling over the events of the past few hours in his mind. Could it really be that easy? The entire time he'd been in Hades, the various gods had been using him, sending him this way and that. Even Minos, for all his talk, hadn't been entirely free of blame.

     He thought about all the things he'd done since he'd been let loose by the benefactor, all the people who would have been better off if he'd stayed asleep. Cassandra, and the little girl he'd lain to rest in the Asphodel Fields, and the countless wounded from the explosion.

     Could Fleet members die, he wondered, or were they simply souls like the rest of them, bound by the same rules? He shook his head to dispel the thought. He'd do it again a hundred times if it meant saving page, a thousand times even.

     She must be about Arya's age, he thought. The girl-turned-God had surprised him with the fragility she concealed, and with how willing she had seemed to offer herself in exchange. He could understand her though. He was tired, and there was innocent blood that stained his hands...

     He shuddered, and turned his mind away, thinking instead of the deal he'd made with Arya. He'd promised not to interfere with the events that would unfold.

     You didn't though, did you? he thought to the Ghost. I made that deal, but you and I aren't quite the same thing anymore. I guess I'll just have to leave this up to you. He closed his eyes and felt as the Ghost surged forward, taking control and putting him in the back seat. Whatever happened, he would make sure that by the end of this thing, Paige was safe.

***

     “You two will lead the charge of Hades’ army upon what remains of the Fleet,” Thoth said, not looking up from his book. “Arya, tell me how to kill a God.”

     “My sword,” she said, the commands Thoth had rigged in Saturday's mind forcing her co-operation, “And the name of the mortal whom you wish to inherit their powers.”
    
     “Merrit’s way… does it work?”

     “It hasn't yet,” she replied, “I think you would need a name as well as the water to truly kill a God.”

     “Interesting,” Thoth muttered, scribbling something down. “So Osiris will not die unless someone is named to take his power?”

     “If he’s been harmed by Ron’s weapon, I don’t think so.”

     “Brilliant.” Toth snapped the book closed and looked up at Arya and Baldur – his generals. Saturday might throw a little fuss, but for now Arya would certainly prove more useful alive than dead... or rather, more useful mostly dead than dead dead. If it came to it, Thoth could simply order him to stand down, or put him in the same lock he was now using on the pair before him. "You shall be at the very front of the army. It should suit your suicidal tendencies."

     Either way, Charon’s army was marching towards the Fleet city, and Hades would not be far behind.  Minos’ bureaucracy was enduring it’s gasping final breaths. One way or the other, this would end tomorrow.