The Unmaker

Apocia's mandibles twitched as the Noble-Blood stood like a wall of muscle, the girl's sawtooth greatsword matching her claw pound-for-pound. Beside the girl, the Plagueplain Doctor's twisted grin only made the air more rancid, her syringe claws gleaming as she watched Apocia, unmoving and calculating.

It was a disgusting sight—humanity distilled to its foulest, maddest form.

With a pained howl, the Noble-Blood dragged her greatsword sideways, and Apocia skidded back across the burning street to avoid the contest of strength. A growl rumbled from her throat as she locked eyes with the girl.

She saw it now: the Plagueplain Doctor, holding hands with the Noble-Blood, was pumping some sort of vile, green toxin into the Noble-Blood's veins, making them bulge and turning her blood into fire. The toxin made her stronger, faster—a monstrosity born from madness—but it came at a cost. The Noble-Blood coughed out blood the moment she pushed Apocia back, her skin looking like it was going to burst from her own blood pressure all over.

Even still, both of them brandished their weapons at Apocia like they didn't even feel the pain, and without a word, the Plagueplain Doctor flicked another syringe back at the girl they were protecting. The False King. Apocia growled as she watched the syringe bury its needle deep into the girl's neck, making her rasp and claw at her throat as toxin flooded her veins.

"We're all drugged up now," the Plagueplain Doctor cackled, eyes gleaming with insanity as she watched the strength-enhancing drugs take hold of even the False King. "I whipped up the antidote to your spines, which means no more poisonin' for you and double the strength for us. The downside's the fact that we'd all be stuck in a coma for at least the next two, three months after this, but fuck if that ain't a small price to pay for the heart of a Spider God, eh?"

Apocia's anger built like a storm. With a shriek, she slammed all six arms into the sand, cracking the street beneath her as she tore up massive chunks of sandstone. She flung the jagged and heavy rocks at the trio, but the Noble-Blood and Plagueplain Doctor dashed forward, slicing and carving through the debris, greatsword flashing and syringe claws screeching against sandstone.

Their movements were synchronised and seamless like they'd fought side by side for a hundred years.

Even though they could barely work together back in the tunnels?

She backed up further, whipping her limbs outwards and releasing a barrage of poisonous spines. The air buzzed as a hundred of them zipped straight at the girls' faces, but then—detonation. Exploding bullets filled the space around her. The sharp crack of gunfire split the air, and her poisonous spines collided with the wild shrapnel flying every which way. Her spines were intercepted and disintegrated mid-flight, splintering away as the explosions blinded even her for a moment.

She whirled around, her senses screaming at her. There, atop a nearby roof, knelt the Pioneer. With only one eye and one unbroken arm, he narrowed his vision through his rifle's sight and chambered a fresh round from his pocket, firing five more exploding bullets in quick succession. Each forced her to snap her forearm up to block lest they detonated on her chest, but the explosions were hot. Painful. Her snarl turned into a low growl.

Thracia didn't kill anyone after all!

While the Pioneer suppressed her with his bullets, the Noble-Blood and Plagueplain Doctor kept charging. They reached her before she knew it. The Noble-Blood swung her greatsword. Apocia blocked it. The Plagueplain Doctor darted around to get a jab in on her sides. Apocia blocked that with another limb. Then she dragged four arms back in time as a sharp, prickling feeling crept up her spine, and just in time, she barely managed to block the powerful headbutt that came at her from behind.

The Beetle Dancer. The large man and his giant stag beetle helm drove into her back like a battering ram, and her entire body buckled under the force. The street cracked beneath her. The air was knocked from her lungs. Her legs shook beneath her as she gritted her mandibles, fighting against the staggering impact.

With four arms stuck blocking the Beetle Dancer's crushing blow, she blocked the Noble-Blood's greatsword and the Plagueplain Doctor's syringe claws with her remaining two arms, but now she had no arms. Nothing to defend her from the Cicada Musician crash landing in front of her from out of nowhere, shrieking at the top of her lungs to send a physical sound wave pummeling into her chest.

Pain exploded through her as the physical sound waves cracked the chitin plates on her chest, sending her flying back.

She crashed into a building a dozen meters away. The impact sent stone and debris scattering in all directions, and she tumbled through the wreckage, only to crash through the opposite wall and landing in the middle of a burning bazaar square.

A wave of pain surged through her as she pushed herself to her feet, her claws digging into the scorched earth for support. Her body screamed, but she forced her mind to focus. Her hands instinctively flew to her chest, brushing over the broken plate, anxiety crawling up her spine.

While she was distracted checking her chest plate, though, a faint whoosh sliced through the air, and before she could react, a sharp sting erupted in her leg. She blinked. She looked down at her left leg. A syringe, sleek and venomous, embedded itself into her exposed flesh where the False King had shaved off her chitin plates earlier.

Her breaths hitched immediately, dizziness settling over her like a thick fog.

Shit!

The False King cut off my plates so cleanly I didn't even remember to regenerate them!

She hissed through gritted mandibles, struggling to stay upright. The poison burned, cold and swift, and her senses began to blur. She shook her head, forcing herself to focus on her surroundings: the crumbling bazaar square now buzzing with movement.

From all four corners of the square, the little pests came. The Cicada Musician's wings fluttered as she flew in from the east. The Beetle Dancer stomped in from the north, his giant beetle helm making him look like a living battering ram. The Plagueplain Doctor dashed in from the west, skipping and hopping with an unpredictable rhythm. The Noble-Blood charged straight in from the south, sawtooth greatsword reared behind her, and the Pioneer was somewhere on a distant roof, his rifle trained on her.

… Don't mock me!

A scream ripped from her throat, raw and desperate. "Don't fucking mock me!"

She stood her ground. Her body became a blur of six arms slashing, punching, and blocking at all angles. The Noble-Blood's greatsword came down—she deflected it with one arm and snapped another to punch the woman's side. The Plagueplain Doctor's syringes lashed out—she twisted, blocking them with her claws, swiping them away before they could embed themselves in her flesh. The Beetle Dancer charged with a body slam—Apocia ducked and swung her legs out, sending him sprawling. The Cicada Musician screeched at her from afar and the Pioneer peppered her with bullets—Apocia spun while she fought the other three, constantly sending waves of spines at both of them to keep them on the move.

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She was everywhere all at once, faster than ever before, stronger than ever before. Her claws swiped bullets from the air. Her body moved faster than her enemies could track. She hadn't moved like this in decades, and the thrill of it made her laugh.

They were weakening as well.

Sensing their fatigue, she slashed one spiny forearm across the Noble-Blood's face, drawing blood. She punched another arm through the Beetle Dancer's already bloody torso, putting a second hole in his stomach. A wayward punch shattered the Plagueplain Doctor's mask with a vicious crack as the girl tried jumping on her neck from behind, while the Cicada Musician couldn't dodge everything being thrown at her, resulting in half a dozen spines stabbing into her throat.

A flash of triumph surged through Apocia. They were severe injuries no human could easily walk off—so how was it that they were still moving?

All of them, without hesitation, found their second wind. Their eyes burned with an intensity she hadn't seen before—an unholy fury that surpassed even her own rage—and instead of faltering, they pushed harder.

They found an opening in her short-lived flash of triumph.

The Beetle Dancer tackled Apocia, abandoning his giant beetle helm as his full weight crashed into her chest. She slammed into the ground, her claws flailing in the air as she tried to fight him off. The Plagueplain Doctor and Noble-Blood were already there, though, grabbing hold of three of her arms each, pinning them to the earth. She thrashed, trying to break free, but then the Cicada Musician vaulted over her fallen body and grabbed her temples, two amber eyes glaring deep into her murky eight.

A terrible screech erupted from the dainty little girl, fired straight down into her face. The sound was deafening—an anthem that slammed into her eardrums with full force—and pain exploded inside her skull.

She screamed, but the sound was drowned out by the screech, her mind reeling as her senses faltered. And then there was yet another series of cracks as exploding bullets erupted through the air, piercing her limbs. Her entire body stiffened with the shock. The shrapnel crawled through her like fire, weakening her already tired limbs.

Desperate to break free, she struggled. Her claws scraped at the ground, but it was all too much. They had her pinned.

And now, the False King leapt in from a distant roof, her lightning and wind-swirled warhammer reared over her head.

… Where did she even come from?

All eight of her eyes darted around, panic rising. No. She wouldn't let this happen. Not like this. Her mind raced, but there was no time to think. She bit down hard on one of her own mandibles, ripping it free from her mouth with a sickening crunch. Then she spat it at the False King, aiming straight for her throat—but the False King's two extra arms shot forward, snatching the mandible out of the air as if they moved completely independently to the will of their master.

The False King continued her descent, her eyes glowing bright gold, and her warhammer came down with a deafening crack as it smashed into Apocia's chest.

Pain. Thracia's world was a blur of fire and pain. The fiery arrow lodged deep into her chest ignited her entire body. Every inch of her was on fire, and the worst thing was, the Sun was still pushing the damn arrow into her chest, straddling her while being completely engulfed by flames herself.

Thracia's vision faded in and out, flashes of red searing into her eyes, but she could still think.

Pain… is nothing… new!

She fought through the fire, forced herself to roll and twist, and then reversed their positions. One second, the Sun was straddling her and trying to push the arrow into her heart, and in the next, she was the one pinning the Sun's two arms to the ground with two of her own, her other four stabbing into the street around them to anchor herself properly.

With a feral snarl, she pried her mouth wide and swirled a thread spear in the back of her throat. The Sun grimaced, but she couldn't dodge out of this one. No way. Thracia had both of her arms pinned, and no matter how much she kicked and tried to roll again, she alone wouldn't be able to stop Thracia from spitting her spear straight down at her.

So it came as an utter surprise when a burning, searing pressure suddenly gripped her throat, halted her breath, and halted her power. Her eight eyes flew wide open in agony as she felt something thin wrap around her neck.

A glowing red thread.

The thread yanked her head back with brutal force. Her head jerked back, her mouth snapping shut as the noose tightened around her throat, cutting off her airflow. She gasped, but the air wouldn't come. Her body arched against the pull, and her six arms fought violently against the thread, but she couldn't slice something she couldn't see. Not in her current state.

A low, cold chuckle echoed behind her as someone planted a sandal on her back, pushing her forward while the noose tightened backwards, threatening to sever her head completely from her neck.

Hangman!

Thracia's vision blurred with the effort to free herself, but the more she fought, the tighter the noose seemed to pull. Her body weakened. Her strength drained from her as her air was cut off. With a final desperate push, she tried to use her arms to slash at the Hangman directly, but it was no use. She may be able to carve up the girl's leg, but the Hangman was standing just slightly out of arm's reach.

There was nothing she could do as the Sun grabbed the arrow still lodged halfway into her chest and started pushing again.

"... Apocia!" she screamed. "Help me!"

The burning agony intensified. The heat spread faster, but there was no answer halfway across the city. No response, no surge of power, no miracle.

Nothing.

The Sun's laughter rang out, twisted and victorious, and the Hangman's dark chuckle joined it. Their voices mixed in a maddening symphony of triumph as the Hangman pulled tighter still, cutting off her last breath as the Sun's arrow bit deeper, the flame within her chest growing to an unbearable intensity.

And then—

The tip of the arrow pierced her heart completely.

The False King shattered Apocia's chest with the force of a collapsing mountain, and in that instant, the world around her dissolved.

She felt her blood come to a stop. Each beat of her crushed heart was a desperate echo fading into nothingness. The world grew quiet. The flames burning across the City of Feasts seemed distant, muted, and still.

… It's cold, she thought. She stared up at the blurry sky, her vision flickering between clarity and darkness.

Somewhere in the distance, through the haze of her fading thoughts, she heard Thracia's voice. Her little sister was screaming for her, crying out in agony, but she couldn't respond. She couldn't move, couldn't fight, couldn't do anything. Her body was heavy, and her limbs were too broken to stir. She didn't have the strength left.

She could only offer an apology in the silence of her own mind.

Her eyes flickered to the side, and she saw the bug-slayers—the ones who'd fought so relentlessly to bring her down—crumbling in exhaustion one by one. Their bodies collapsed into unconsciousness, all of them every bit as drained as she was. But she didn't care for them. They were nothing. She was the one who was dying, after all, and all she could do…

All she could do was stare at the False King, the last to remain conscious.

The girl loomed over her, her eyes glowing with a mixture of pity and something far, far darker.

Apocia's hand twitched.

Her vision may be fading, but she felt herself reaching out nevertheless, her fingers trembling in the night air as they stretched towards the False King.

She wasn't sure why she did such a thing. Maybe it was a final attempt at connection. Maybe it was curiosity. But she reached, her body weak and broken, her claws still twitching with the faintest hint of life.

The False King, for a moment, looked down at her. Pitying. Cold, like an inevitable end.

Then, slowly, the False King took Apocia's hand—and almost as though she wasn't conscious of it herself, the False King started biting into Apocia's hand, tearing into her still-living flesh.

… How like you, assassin bug, Apocia thought, a soft, bitter laugh bubbling in her chest. She'd be consumed by the False King, but she didn't care anymore. It didn't matter anymore.

She didn't have to be the one to kill the False King, because the True King herself wouldn't stand for a False King.

There is only one Throne for one King, and you are not her.

You are the usurper.

You will be unmade, and your world will follow.