The fētis was easy enough to beat back for Morrigan: every clash forced the creature to recede, giving Morrigan more ground to take. No, the issue laid in the abomination’s ability to restore their injuries at an incomparable pace. To maintain her fighting style, Morrigan required a great deal of livēsēns, whereas the fētis didn’t seem to require nearly as much to draw upon. If the question of endurance wasn’t enough of a concern, another fētis lurked beneath her feet, ready to make a meal of her once paralysis set in. Morrigan cursed her lack of awareness—how ironic to be searching for the fētis only to fall victim to another’s covert assault beneath her. All of these concerns were of little consequence, though. Morrigan would simply reprimand herself later. The far more pressing issue was figuring a way out of the current predicament.
Whenever a battle called, Morrigan surrendered her body to instinct, trusting her inherent aptitude for combat. Yet, instead of trusting what kept her alive thus far, her mind pulled her in another direction. The boy had woken up as she needed him to, drawn a weapon she wasn’t aware he even had, and redirected the fētis’ attack in grand fashion. It was splendid, for a tool acting without her direction. His weapon was the most curious part of all: he’d mentioned its properties, but he’d neglected to explain the specificity of the livēsēns etched into the stave. The stave itself was simple in design, but even a warrior prone to avoiding such convoluted weaponry—such as herself—knew the true asset in a stave laid in what sat atop it.
Commonly, a stave is topped with an object to assist in the harnessing and optimal utilization of livēsēns. In most cases, said object was adept at refracting the livēsēns for simplified gate creation, which usually meant it was something transparent. Glass, refined minerals, and even transmuted livēsēns itself made for effective choices. In the boy’s case, however, his stave had no precious gem or artifice at the apex: instead, there was but a simple wheel. The wheel was divided into quadrants; one quadrant had the livēsēns he’d used to redirect the fētis’ prior attack etched into it and two other quadrants were completely blank. But the fourth quadrant wasn’t imprinted with livēsēns at all—Morrigan had never seen such a thing. The color, shape, and aura: none of it was indicative of Kativazch. R?livēsēns, mayhap? Irrelevant: proper designations could wait. What mattered was the energy was likely of the same ilk as the attack used to dispatch the Skin-snatcher in the labyrinth. Something in the fētis’ mental assault had loosened a memory for the boy, and his stave was clearly the answer.
“You’re relentless, you know that?” The fētis panted as Morrigan chopped one of their arms off.
What would have been a fatal mistake to anyone else was but a minor inconvenience for the fētis.
“What boggles my mind, though, is how these two would dare work with you." The filth said. "I had my way with every inch of that sweet boy’s brain, and a lot of it was full of thoughts about you.”
Morrigan’s brow furrowed; she briefly looked out of the corner of her eye at the boy, who was fidgeting with embarrassment. Ridinr?: his fear of her was evident, his dislike of her approach to issues was obvious, and his hate of her mistreatment of the child was clear: she need not hear about or focus on the other opinions he might have had of her.
“You speak too much and fight too little.” Morrigan growled. She heaved for air, exhausting the area of the livēsēns. She needed more. “Child, procure to me livēsēns.”
“Huh?” The child seemed confused, but a quick glare from Morrigan put her into action.
She looked to the boy for clarification and began conducting the livēsēns too far out of Morrigan’s reach for her to gather herself. Morrigan had noticed the child was surprisingly effective with the manipulation of livēsēns: she’d make use of that. The child ushered the livēsēns within Morrigan’s grasp, giving her a much-needed third wind.
“Tsk, tsk, tsk. Come on now, that’s cheating.” The fētis whined like a petulant toddler. She turned briefly to the child in the distance. “What’s your name, child?”
The girl hesitated, but eventually responded. “Achaia.”
“Achaia. I like that.” The fētis smiled harmlessly as they shot another healthy arm from the bloody stump Morrigan had left behind. “Achaia, I’m already fighting these two at the same time. Interfere again, and I’ll kill you. ‘Kay?”
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“‘Kay.” The brat whimpered as she hid back behind the pedestal.
Morrigan could feel the boy’s stare on the back of her head. Was he concerned with Morrigan’s wellbeing? Looking to chide her for involving the child? It mattered not. With more livēsēns to work off of, Morrigan set her plan in motion.
Boy.
Morrigan grit her teeth as she deflected the fētis’ tireless swings, whispering in the boy’s head.
Do not react. That stave of yours, it is the means by which you can properly focus that erasure cannon, correct? If I am correct, call out to the child.
Morrigan grunted in annoyance at the fētis’ strike upon her shoulder. The foul creature knew it couldn’t defeat her, it simply sought to waste her time: despicable.
“Achaia, are you alright?” The boy called out, to which Morrigan smirked.
“Yes, I’m fine.” The child responded.
“Good. Um, stay safe.” The boy concluded.
Morrigan broke the handle of the fētis’ axe, forcing them to take the time and recover another poorly maintained weapon from their void.
Boy, you are to fire your erasure cannon in one minute . And you shall fire it at me. Aim right at my center.
“What?” The boy spoke aloud in confusion.
The fētis looked equally perplexed, to which Morrigan charged them again, intent on monopolizing their attention.
Ridinr?: I said not to react. Begin counting.
“Tick tock, tick tock: time’s running out. Would you rather just leave? Self-preservation is the highest priority, right?”
The fētis spoke as if they understood Morrigan: it endlessly incensed her.
“Do you know why we are different?” Morrigan asked as she met the fētis once again.
The fētis’ most recently pulled weapon was already cracking, just like they soon would.
“Because you talk like you have a stick shoved up your—”
“We are different, fētis, because I am masterless.”
The fētis giggled. “Is that right?”
Their smirk quickly vanished as Morrigan drove her bone blade into the fētis’ foot, pinning them to the ground. The shifty, unsteady swampland that was apparently part of some creature wouldn’t keep the wretch held long, but it would suffice for the moment.
“You may heal at an incomparable pace, fētis, but that is all you do. I am the ruler of my body. You are a puppet controlled by a puppet.”
Morrigan glared deeply into the fētis’ yellow eyes as she lined herself up with the distracted creature.
“I’m not sure what you—”
“You are unfinished, fētis, incomplete." Morrigan continued. "You even lack a sense of self. I knew it as soon as you introduced yourself. So I shall not spend a second more speaking to you, instead I address the dollmaker past the doll. My name is Morrigan Queen. I am incomparable and I am coming for you.”
Morrigan wrenched her sternum open, wider than she normally would, as she felt the erasure cannon pass through her. Truthfully, Morrigan had no idea how the boy’s attack worked. Was it merely the beam that damaged opposition or did Morrigan just seal her fate by being within the proximity of the attack at all? Yet as the beam waned and the fētis had a hole in their chest to match Morrigan’s, she knew she was right in her assessment.
The erasure cannon, as Morrigan aptly named it, left purple residue in its wake as it dripped out of the fētis’ chest. Like before, the boy’s aim was off, though it had worked to their benefit this time. One fourth of the fētis’ sorry excuse for a heart hung limply from the gaping hole, barely avoiding complete erasure. The livēsēns lit up weakly as the wretch tried to heal their wound to no avail. The erasure cannon didn’t create wounds, after all—it ceased existence. The fētis had a heart, and now they did not. They didn't try to speak and they didn't move, their gray eyes welling with nothing but delicious fear: their strings had been cut all too late.
“You will find this wound to be quite troublesome to heal.” Morrigan smirked as she closed her chest back up.
She swiped her fingers along the fētis’ throat, slitting it open and filling her palm. Morrigan drank heartily from her enemy before licking the blood from her fingers. Her index finger glistened with her saliva as she triumphantly poked the fētis just above their gaping wound. They toppled over like the child’s toy they were.
