Mother and son faced each other across the breadth of the entrance hall, crimson-tipped wings unfurled, fingers alight. A long, jagged tear ran down one of Ashwin's sleeves and some of his bottommost feathers looked singed. But that was nothing compared to the sight that was Tauheen.
Apparently, the prince had managed to hit his mother with one of his own fire-shells, which Ruban knew from experience were nothing to scoff at. Tauheen's back was a study in devastation, little more than a mound of burned skin mingled with ruined cloth.
Ruban was gratified to see that facing the two of them at once without a moment's respite had apparently taken its toll on the Aeriel Queen. And the stab-wound from the sifblade was obviously draining her, though far more slowly than it would any other Aeriel. The light forming around her fingers flickered and blinked, as if struggling for the solidity of a proper shell. Her magnificent wings, though still huge, seemed lacklustre, somehow diminished.
Ashwin released his shell and Tauheen dove left, out of the way of the oncoming projectile. She dodged a direct hit, but the fiery ball singed the tip of a wing, eliciting a cry of agony. Her own half-formed shell dissipated around her fingers, the wisps of gathered energy fading back into the air. Ruban didn't think she had the stamina for another blast, not without a chance to recuperate first.
And Ashwin didn't look like he had any intention of giving her that opportunity.
Ruban's feet moved of their own accord. He didn't have a plan. He had lost any semblance of clarity or logic a long time ago. All he knew was that Tauheen had to pay for what she had done. And if it was the last thing he did in his life, he was going to make her pay.
Even as Ruban moved closer, the queen's eyes remained focused on her son, so she did not notice his approach. At least not until it was too late. Barely a foot away, he leapt, hand outstretched as he swung his blade into Tauheen's left wing, cutting through hollow bone, muscle and tendon. Light spilt from the butchered appendage along with a hellish fountain of feathers and bits of flesh.
Piercing, hair-raising screams fell from Tauheen's lips, her limbs flailing, wide eyes glassy with pain. Ruban ripped the blade out of the ruined wing, taking torn muscle and feathers along with the weapon even as one of his legs shot out to deliver a vicious kick to the back of Tauheen's knees.
With an aborted yelp, the Aeriel sank to her knees, spasms rocking her body as light continued to spill weakly from her injured wing, casting flickering shadows on the carpet. Almost on instinct, one of her hands jerked outward as she fell – perhaps in a futile attempt to break the fall – and hit Ruban square in the stomach, sending the Hunter flying across the room with unexpected, supernatural force. As he hit the wall, toppling a chair in his path, he lost his grip on the blade and it clattered to the floor, out of his reach.
Ruban blinked, rubbing splinters of God-knows-what from his face, when another explosion sounded a few feet away, along with the sounds of cracking concrete. Ashwin was attacking his mother again. Ruban tried to get up, get back to his feet. Sharp, debilitating pain lanced through his torso. Ruban's breath hitched. Gods, had he broken something? He couldn't afford to be an invalid. Not now!
Another explosion rocked the house and suddenly – in a blast of wind and singed feathers – Tauheen was upon him. Hair wild, half-naked body smeared with dirt and bloodstains, she looked like a vision of death; her feral eyes and bared teeth a glimpse into chaos personified.
Time seemed to slow down in his vicinity as her long, claw-like fingers closed around his throat, squeezing the air out of his lungs with the slow relish of a predator savouring its prey. Ruban's own fingers clawed at her arms, but to no avail. She held like a vice, giving not an inch even as his chest burned for air. His body convulsed, limbs thrashing like a fish out of water, gasping in the throes of death.
Spots appeared before Ruban's eyes as his vision began to fade. He redoubled his clawing, one hand reaching for his blade even as his legs tried to kick the Aeriel off him. But a part of him already knew that it was futile. The blade was too far away and his opponent too strong. He was losing strength by the second. There was no way he was going to reach it in time, and no way to dislodge the Aeriel without the sifblade.
His vision blackened, his limbs turning to lead and falling away from Tauheen's still clutching fingers. He convulsed one more time, his body trying desperately – if vainly – to draw breath.
For a second, the Aeriel's otherworldly eyes gleamed, victorious. Then they widened – a strange light flooding Ruban's fuzzy vision – as shock coloured her pale, gorgeous features. Moments later, her fingers slackened and she toppled from his body, a marionette with its strings snapped.
Air flooding back into his deprived lungs, Ruban spent a few moments in a dizzy state of bliss. Then his mind cleared, reality seeping back in bits and pieces. He sat up, rubbed a hand over his eyes. The room was in shambles, several of the walls and much of the furniture blown to smithereens, the once beautiful hall destroyed beyond repair.
At his feet lay Tauheen – unearthly light spilling from her back, both wings in tatters. But for the aforementioned appendages, he could almost have mistaken her for a human. A human corpse.
Her lifeless eyes stared unseeingly up at the ceiling – crystal orbs reflecting electric light. He glanced at her back. There was nothing left in it but charred flesh and twisted, exposed bones.
He frowned. Something wasn't right. Mingled with the lumps of blackened tissue and splintered bone were tiny, jagged rocks, sticking out at odd angles.
Ruban reached a trembling hand forward, extricating one of the little rocks from the mess of flesh and gore, and held it up for inspection. He swore.
Liftinghis eyes to the other side of the room, he saw Ashwin sprawled on the carpet,body as still and lifeless as his mother's.