TU10. Tachyon of Sparta
In the year 1182 Before the Common Era, a cheetah Wildren was born upon the sun-drenched isle of Scyros.
At rely eight months old, Tachyon, the daughter of Hermione, was already a blur of motion. She scrambled on all fours across the golden sands of the long beach, her bright eyes locked onto a darting lizard.
Sitting just outside their ho, her mother — a remarkably beautiful Wildren — worked diligently on a piece of tanned leather. She barely caught the winded blur as her little girl zipped past her.
"Don't go too far!" Hermione's voice called out, though the warning waned, lost to the surging sea breeze that whipped past the child's twitching, spotted ears.
It was abundantly clear, even then, that this Wildren child possessed a gift of imnse agility, a speed that would one day rival the ssenger god, Hers, himself.
In a blink, Tachyon caught up to the scurrying lizard. She snatched at it with a clumsy, open palm. But her sheer, terrifying montum transford the innocent gesture into a lethal strike. Her hand beca a razor-sharp blade, severing the poor creature cleanly in half.
Tachyon rely smiled, her childish curiosity piqued by the warm, crimson blood sared across the edge of her palm.
She couldn't fully understand what she had just done. How could she? She was a re eight-month-old infant, a baby who could only babble nonsensical words.
Yet, there was no space for remorse or empathy in that tiny, beating heart. Her soul was entirely captivated by this newfound thrill. It was the visceral awakening of a rare and deadly combination of two Essences: Atramnéon and Bloodwrath.
Suddenly, the sharp shriek of another baby pierced the coastal air. This cry was soft yet entirely enchanting, like the wail of a nascent siren, knocking Tachyon out of her bloody daze.
The cheetah Wildren tilted her head, her amber eyes watching a beautiful, dark-haired baby nestled safely in a woman's arms as they disembarked from a grand Argonaut ship.
That was the very first ti Tachyon laid eyes on delle, the girl who would grow up to be the famously bewitching sorceress of Corinth.
For years, even when mories grew hazy with the passage of ti, Tachyon would always rember their inseparable monts. Their parents went way back, bound as great allies, and on the island of Scyros, the two girls beca two halves of a whole.
They played, they pranked, they trained, and they relentlessly cultivated their Essences. Their friendship flourished into a beautiful, unbreakable bloom.
Together, the two blossod into the greatest warriors in their own distinct rights. delle exceeded in her witchcraft, a dark and intricate magic inherited from her mother's infamous lineage. anwhile, Tachyon excelled in her unmatched agility and ruthless arcane strikes, taking entirely after her father's brutal legacy.
One fateful night, at the ripe age of eighteen, Tachyon lay shoulder-to-shoulder with the one and only true friend she knew. They rested on a private expanse of sand beach, accompanied only by a vast canvas of starry night and the rhythmic, scenic cascade of crashing waves.
The sea breeze wafted through delle's beautiful raven hair, carrying the delicate, sweet scent of daisies. Beside her, delle's violet eyes glead, reflecting the dancing pyre of their roaring bonfire.
"Nice sll," Tachyon murmured, leaning in and sniffing profusely. She watched the gentle rise and fall of delle's plump chest.
"Do you like it?" delle offered a handful of her silky raven locks to Tachyon for a closer inspection. "It's a gift from my father. He brought this perfu back from a kingdom he recently conquered."
"Wow! Your father is the greatest hero of all!" Tachyon bead, her lips pulling back to reveal her sharp, predatory fangs.
"Sa as your father, and your grandfather," delle replied, closing one eye in a playful tease. She always had a knack for a good, sweet kind of teasing that made Tachyon's heart flutter with pride.
"When we go out into the world to join the ranks of the greatest heroes," Tachyon declared, throwing a fist toward the stars, "I shall bring you the greatest, most precious perfu known to mankind! Even the goddess Hera herself will be jealous of you."
"Oh..." delle's dreamy violet eyes trailed down to Tachyon's muscular, scarred arms. "For whom?"
"For you, of course! You're my best friend!" Tachyon answered in an absolute flash. Everything about her was always two tis faster than most — even her unwavering loyalty.
delle giggled, her slender fingers curling over her lips as her eyes turned into joyful crescent moons.
Laying there in the sand, it struck Tachyon profoundly. They were no longer children. delle had matured into a staggeringly beautiful young lady, undoubtedly the most bewitching woman in all of Scyros. anwhile, Tachyon felt she was still just a brute — bigger, deadlier, and still comfortably draped in an old, stained tunic.
But peace, as it always did for heroes, shattered.
Later that sa night, as Tachyon journeyed back from the beach, she found her mother wailing in front of their house, clutching her two younger daughters. Beside them stood a grim-faced ssenger draped in a coarse brown robe.
"Oh, Tachyon, my love..." Hermione wept, her eyes a flooding river of sorrow. "Orestes has betrayed your father. He has taken over Thessaly."
"What?" It was as if the very air, and all the delight she had just felt, was violently sucked out of her soul. Her broad shoulders slumped.
"I journeyed here as fast as the winds and my boat would allow," the bald ssenger said, shaking his head in mourning. "Orestes murdered King Pyrrhus at Delphi. It was a vile execution, driven by his sinister intention to reclaim your mother's hand in marriage."
There was no remorse, nor even a flicker of sorrow in Tachyon's amber eyes. Instead, her long claws slowly extended, digging so deeply into her own palms that they drew blood.
A searing, bottomless wrath had awakened.
Hermione reached out, clasping her eldest daughter's trembling, muscular shoulders. "My baby... You must avenge your father's honour. Sever Orestes's head from his treacherous neck. I shall not be wedded to this monster!"
And so, the wheel of revenge began to turn.
The heavy thumping of Tachyon's own heartbeat filled her ears, a furious war drum. Her bloodshot eyes glowed with a feral malice in the dark. Her conquest of Thessaly had begun that very morning.
By the ti dawn broke, Tachyon was pacing like a caged lion in front of her house, strapping on her leather armour and preparing for the arduous journey ahead.
The news had already spread to the other side of the island. delle rushed to Tachyon's house, her usual pristine composure abandoned.
Seeing Tachyon's blood-tainted hands, the sorceress hurried forward, gently catching her friend's palms. "You hurt yourself again," delle gasped softly. She quickly procured her dical balm, gingerly applying the soothing salve to the deep, self-inflicted crescent wounds.
"This is nothing but a scratch," Tachyon smirked, allowing her blazing Bloodwrath to temporarily subside under delle's tender touch.
delle's gaze drifted to the heavy travel pouch resting by Tachyon's feet. Her violet eyes widened. "Do you plan to journey to the mainland?"
Tachyon's heavy silence and her stubborn refusal to et her friend's eyes were all the answer delle needed.
"Then let co with you!"
"This is my revenge, my honour, delle," Tachyon rationalised, her voice a low growl. "You shall not—"
"And what army exactly would you bring to defeat Orestes's kingdom?" delle interrupted, her tone sharp with brilliant logic. "How exactly do you plan to topple an entire entrenched regi by yourself?"
That was, indeed, a great question. One that Tachyon, in her blind rage, had entirely forgotten to ask. She scratched the back of her head, her feline ears flattening. "I will figure sothing out. I'm fast."
"You are fast," delle agreed, searching her friend's amber eyes deeply. "But I am the efficient one. Let co with you. I shall ask my father for a battalion, and together, we shall reclaim the kingdom for us."
Tachyon felt delle's warm palm press firmly against her chest, right over her beating heart. Their friendship transcended re bloodlines; it was a bond forged in the very soul.
"Together, we are unstoppable!" Tachyon finally conceded, offering a fierce grin. delle nodded with unwavering resolve.
True to her word, delle proved to be the strongest and most trusted ally Tachyon could ever ask for.
First, they required seasoned warriors. Upon hearing the tragic news of Thessaly and the treacherous murder of its king, delle's father, Jason, dispatched a hardened battalion of n and won from Argos to serve under his daughter. Together, they ford a fearso new army, naly the New Argonauts.
As the campaign raged, Tachyon beca the terrifying warchief, a vanguard of death who perfected her Bloodwrath and Atramnéon Essences to ruthlessly cut down her enemies.
delle, conversely, beca the revered and terrifying mage. She manipulated roaring fire and crushing telekinesis, but her magical prowess was far from her best trait. Blessed with the brilliant, intricate, and complex mind of her mother, dea, delle strategised a brutally simple, yet devastatingly effective tactic for their conquest.
In the initial stage of battle, the Argonauts would launch a coordinated long-range assault, raining magic and arrows to severely weaken the enemy's ranks and shatter their defensive lines. Then, the grim wail of the 'death horn' would sound across the battlefield, sparking terror and flight in the hearts of their foes.
But the most grueso part of the strategy lay in the last stand — reserved for those foolish enough to stay and fight.
While delle unleashed the very forces of nature against the besieged walls, Tachyon would descend upon the survivors. Fuelled by an ever-increasing Bloodwrath, the cheetah Wildren unleashed a storm of pure carnage, leaving nothing but torn entrails, shattered bones, and rivers of blood in her wake.
They were a small army of a re hundred at first. But once the tales of their undefeated record spread wide, like a ferocious wildfire sweeping through dry brush, warriors from across the lands flocked to join their banner. They sought nothing but glory, winning countless battles while suffering miraculously few losses.
All of this was thanks to delle's unmatched tactical mind. However, it was a tragedy of history that sheer intellect was so rarely celebrated, constantly overshadowed by the more conspicuous, visceral glory of a warrior bleeding on the battlefield.
Titled 'Tachyon of Sparta', drawing upon her mother's proud legacy, the Wildren war chief beca a brutal symbol. She struck absolute fear into the hearts of their enemies. She was the most feared heroine in history. At least, until the theatre of war shifted.
When the conflict moved from the blood-soaked landscape to the unforgiving sea, the tempestuous realm of Poseidon, the Argonauts found themselves haunted by the waves.
For three agonising months, the naval battle remained locked in a bitter, bloody stalemate.
Frustrated beyond asure, Tachyon stord into the stern tent of the main flagship. Having just been forced to physically swim back from an enemy's vessel, she was drenched. Her soaked bare feet slapped aggressively against the fine carpets and the wooden planks underfoot.
"delle! We can't fight like this!" Tachyon roared at the sorceress.
The witch was unfazed. She stood with both of her palms pressed onto a long table that was absolutely brimming with strange tubes, curved glass pipes, and bubbling, soot-stained alchemy.
Not heeding Tachyon's thunderous roar, delle's violet eyes remained downcast, intensely focused on a small, flickering torch.
"Are you not hearing ? Or have you gone completely deaf!?" Tachyon scread, her amber eyes burning with frantic energy. "Every ti you send us out there, Orestes's ships sail off as though they're personally favoured by the North Wind!"
Eventually, Tachyon realised that no matter how loud she yelled, raw volu would never earn the specific attention she desperately needed from delle.
The witch calmly dragged a slender finger against a glass tube, producing a tantalising, high-pitched screech. Without lifting her head, her gaze finally drifted down to Tachyon's dripping toes. "What about the basilisk greaves I gave you?"
Tachyon's eyes bulged in exasperation. She stubbornly shoved her hands into her armpits. "I am not wearing those silly frog feet."
delle could only sigh with profound fondness. "Firstly, they are not frog feet. They are carefully designed after—"
"Yeah, yeah, so I can run on water, whatever," Tachyon hissed, still feeling the hot boil of her blood.
"Shaful, really, though it is a flawless design of nature," delle mused. Reaching out, the witch pulled a thick towel up to carefully cover Tachyon's shivering, tense shoulders. A small smile played at the edge of delle's lips. "If you wouldn't mind loosening your tensed-up muscles for just a mont..."
Her delicate fingers danced along her friend's dewy skin, pressing expertly into muscles that had been hardened by war and tanned by the relentless sun.
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"Fine..." Tachyon groaned, forcibly reeling in her focus. And just like that, beneath the witch's touch, the feral beast within her was subdued.
"Good girl," delle purred, already taking Tachyon by the hand and leading her toward the cluttered, long table.
"What is all this?" Tachyon probed, rubbing her chin in confusion. Her cheetah ears twitched as she leaned closer. "It's like... glasses and crushed herbs. Are you making a magic potion?"
delle chuckled, the sound like velvet. "I'll show you. You wouldn't understand if I just explained it, anyway."
With dramatic flair, she tilted a pinch of mundane seawater into one of the glass beakers containing a sooty, black sludge. The tar-like liquid bubbled violently, making the cheetah Wildren stick her tongue out in distaste.
Suddenly, a fierce fire sparked and crackled inside the glass, erupting into a furious green fla. To Tachyon's absolute shock, the more delle added water to the fire, the more powerful and writhing the unnatural fla beca.
Tachyon's amber eyes widened, beautifully mirroring the dancing, aggressive blaze. "It's... masterful witchcraft," she gasped in awe.
delle squeezed Tachyon's shoulders, expertly massaging the last knot out of her tense fibres. "One would naturally jump to such a conclusion. But this, my dear, is re science. Specifically, chemistry."
The foreign word made Tachyon scrunch up her face. "Science? That sounds like a made-up word!"
Her eyes crinkling into joyful crescents, delle nodded toward the table. "Very well. There is another critical component I am thinking of adding. It's called sulphur." She held up a small, cloudy vial and carefully unclogged it.
Tachyon leaned in to take a whiff and instantly gagged. Her eyes watered, and her throat caught profusely as she coughed. "Eww! Rotten eggs!?"
The witch chuckled brightly, shielding the vial's opening with a small piece of cloth. "Well, do you have any better suggestions?"
"Let's just not go there." Tachyon wildly waved the foul air away from her sensitive nose, though a massive grin was already splitting her face. "But this is amazing, delle! You are amazing!"
Overco with sheer ecstasy, Tachyon lunged forward, embracing her best friend with overwhelming joy. She kissed delle fiercely on the left cheek, and then the right.
"Stop it, heheh," delle giggled, attempting to squirm away as her friend's enthusiasm and saliva, got all over her face and her pristine sorceress robes.
But as she laughed, it was clear she didn't mind it in the slightest.
With the discovery of this Hellenic fire, a demonic blaze that could not be snuffed out by the sea, but rather fed upon it, the tide of the war instantly turned. They fashioned long, flexible catapults that hurled urns of the devastating liquid fire directly onto the enemy warships.
Just like that, the New Argonauts decimated King Orestes's naval fleet, burning them into utter submission. With the sea finally theirs, Tachyon and delle expanded their glorious conquest at a rapid, terrifying rate, forging a legacy unlike anything the world had ever seen before.
One night, like so many before it, the Argonauts erected their sprawling war camp after conquering the entire eastern shore of Thessaly.
Deep within the inner encampnt stood a tall, lavish tent. Inside, delle rubbed her tired brow, her violet eyes scanning a massive battle map. She had dealt with literally everything: their own and the enemy's arsenal, troop resources, supply logistics, camp sanitation, and even acting as the judge for the pettiest cris committed by their own n.
Their numbers had grown a hundredfold since they first set foot on the mainland; the army had beco a lumbering, unwieldy beast.
Every movent required delle's careful planning and flawless strategy. Given her inherently distrustful nature, she refused to let anyone but Tachyon help with this high-level managent. Well, that was only half true. The simple fact was that the rest of the commanders were fundantally incapable of handling such intricate details.
Tired and profoundly overworked, delle was still far from giving up. She knew their ultimate goal was soon to be achieved. She would do anything for her beloved friend, Tachyon.
Not far from the tense, stifling atmosphere of the strategy tent, lively folk songs and music seeped through the night air. Joyous warriors surrounded roaring bonfires, celebrating yet another glorious victory.
Drunk on heavy wine and the thrill of past battle, Tachyon had challenged her warriors to a footrace. With her imnse, unnatural speed, none had ever co close to beating her.
"Tachyon," a beautiful young man called out, wobbling to her side. A cute, drunken hiccup escaped his lips, earning a curious glance from the warchief. His hair was the colour of golden sand, and his eyes were as blue as the Aegean Sea. But his true charm lay in the way his smile deeply creased his cheek, revealing a boyish dimple.
"Would you consider..." young Ortheus began, striking up every ounce of his courage, "if I beat you in a race, would you go on a date with ?"
His sheer boldness spoke volus. None had ever dared to court the mightiest, most fearso heroine in the camp.
With or without the terrifying Bloodwrath, Ortheus found Tachyon to be deeply attractive, even more so than delle, who was widely considered one of the most proper and beautiful ladies of the age, a woman rivalling even Helen of Troy. Yet, the young warrior's heart was set firmly on Tachyon.
She was beautiful, fierce, and wild. Very wild indeed.
"Why not!" Tachyon laughed, flashing her fangs. And so, the race began with its incredible stakes. The loud, booming cheers of the Argonauts reverberated through the camp, loud enough to wake the giants from their ancient slumbers.
Naturally, the commotion drew delle from her tent. She ca to investigate and found the two running a two-hundred-tre dash. She shook her head at the thoroughly unhelpful sight.
One of those gas again, she thought bitterly.
"It's like this every Wednesday. What is the deal with you n?" delle sighed to a bystander, casually inspecting her long, oval-shaped nails.
"Tachyon said she'll marry that young bloke if she loses the race," one of the burly n replied with a grin.
That single sentence wiped the aloof smile right off delle's face. She watched as Tachyon casually crossed the finish line before Ortheus had even cleared a hundred tres. The desperate young man plunged face-first into the dirt trail.
Despite the crushing defeat, Tachyon trotted back and offered him a hand in a display of good sportsmanship.
To everyone else, she was a humbling, gracious winner.
To delle, it was sothing entirely different. She felt a dark, searing burn in her heart — a twisted possessiveness she could not yet fully explain.
For three long years, their relentless conquests systematically brought the kingdom to its knees. King Orestes eventually rallied his last remaining army, retreating into the impenetrable capital fortress of Thessaly in a frail, desperate final attempt. And there it was, the last battle was finally within Tachyon's grasp.
As pure and imminent as victory sounded, Tachyon couldn't have been happier. She was still racing with Ortheus every Wednesday night.
Over the years, his pace had grown significantly better, improving from finishing only half the distance to crossing the three-quarter mark. Yet, he still inevitably plunged his face into the mud, hopelessly trying to match the incredible, god-like speed of Tachyon.
It had beco a cherished little tradition in the camp. The warriors would cheer and even place bets, as if hoping that one day, Ortheus might actually triumph.
That night, the Argonauts gathered around the fire. The mud-soaked Ortheus, who possessed the beautiful, lilting voice of a songstress, began to sing. Fearing outright rejection, he professed his love by hiding it deep within the subtext of a poem. He referred to Tachyon as the most beautiful warrior, Atalanta.
As suspected, Tachyon, who sat listening happily, could only appreciate the surface lody and the rhythm. But there was soone else in the crowd who possessed the intellect to interpret the hidden lyrics imdiately.
Long after the bonfire had died down and the n had dispersed to their bedrolls, Tachyon and delle walked side by side back to delle's living quarters — the tall, lavish tent reserved for the most powerful sorceress in their ranks.
"Tachyon... that boy, Ortheus," delle said suddenly, her fingers pulling sharply at the edge of her friend's tunic.
"That fool!" Tachyon burped, awkwardly suppressing the gas. "I know him by his na by now."
"Why do you purposefully slow down in your races with him?" delle asked, her voice turning frigid.
"I did?" Tachyon hiccupped, her amber eyes blurred under the heavy influence of the wine. "I just thought it'd be fun to give him a bit of hope—"
"Why?" delle interrupted, the word slicing through the air like a blade.
Tachyon was entirely lost for words. She could feel delle's hand trembling intensely against her tunic.
"Tell him there will be no more races."
"But I love to race!" Tachyon argued, her feline ears flicking in confusion.
"Stop it—now!" delle's voice cracked into a sudden, guttural scream.
"It's part of ... I..." Tachyon's ears dropped flat against her head. She completely failed to understand this violently strong reaction from her best friend. "It's part of us?"
That was the very first ti Tachyon saw a terrifying, unhinged darkness lurking deep within delle's violet eyes.
For what felt like an eternity, they stood in silence until delle was the first to let her hand drop. "Forget it," delle mumbled, already turning away. She swept into her tent and disappeared into the shadows.
At last, the grand siege of Thessaly reached its bloody zenith.
The Argonauts completely surrounded the towering Fortress of King Orestes. Large copper pans full of pyres were placed at regular intervals, allowing the sorcerers to spin the Empyrion fire into devastating, soaring fireballs. Under delle's ruthless leadership, they had perfectly mastered the dark art of the siege.
Tachyon stood at the chaotic edge of the war camp, her amber eyes reflecting the burning fortress walls. The warning horn blew in all directions, a terrifying herald that signalled the impending slaughter. The wise citizens and surrendering warriors had already fled from the impending doom.
"It is your turn, Tachyon of Sparta," delle said coldly, her usual velvety tone entirely absent.
Tachyon smiled a wide, toothy grin, confidently eting delle's violet gaze. She nodded back with a regal bow of her head. "It is your fate to reclaim your rightful throne. This is his last chapter," delle emphasised.
"Right!" The cheetah Wildren fell into a low, coiled running pose, her palms pressed flat against the earth. "Talk soon!"
And the mont the long wail of the warning horn stopped, she whispered, "Atramnéon!"
She burst forward into a terrifying blur, her arms swinging like deadly pendulums.
Within a single second, she bolted directly up the sheer face of the fortress wall, her montum allowing her to climb the impossible vertical stone. Her feral heart pumped furiously; her vision was completely overtaken by a violent filter of red.
The defending warriors stationed atop the wall simply collapsed to the stone floor, their severed heads rolling cleanly off their necks before they even realised they were dead.
Blood and gore instantly pooled at the parapets, but Tachyon had already woven seamlessly through their dense archery ranks. The desperate bown loosed random arrows at the blurring phantom rushing their way. But in less than a re eyeblink, they felt their guts violently spilling out under the sun, eting their grueso demise.
The vicious strikes and sheer, unrelenting carnage twisted the guts of all the spectators watching from below. Tachyon's acceleration only grew with ever-increasing speed, fueled endlessly as long as her Bloodwrath compelled her forward.
She beca a true, unstoppable force of nature.
Even the battle-hardened Argonauts standing by in the camp found themselves praying to the goddess Athena, quietly wishing for a painless death for their enemies.
In under an hour, the enemy's defensive ranks were completely scattered. The cries of the fleeing n and their pathetic begs for rcy fell entirely on deaf ears. Because the sound of their voices literally could not catch up to her impossible velocity, she never even heard them.
She painted the inner fortress with a horrific tapestry of blood and gore. Eventually, she sprinted up the long, elevated archway connecting directly to the King's tower.
The passage was heavily blocked.
"Guards up!" the elite royal guards shouted, barking desperate commands. Their heavy iron shields rose, interlacing seamlessly to form an impenetrable wall, while a dense thicket of lethal spears spiked outward.
"Morons!" Tachyon roared. Her powerful legs bulged with effort, a furious heat rising to her cheeks. She spiralled rapidly upward along the curved stone, running upside-down on the ceiling before launching herself directly behind the phalanx's speared wall.
She pivoted sharply on her heel, imdiately spinning into a devastating whirlwind of razor-sharp edges. She beca a living at grinder, instantly mauling the elite n into a grueso pile of fresh flesh and crimson ooze.
Drenched entirely in the shadows and the hot blood of her enemies, she roared in pure, primal triumph and darted toward the grand chamber doors.
Inside, cloaked figures — including two very small ones — shrieked in terror as the thick, magically reinforced doors suddenly shattered into thousands of splinters. A deafening boom echoed through the tower.
She struck before the dust even settled. Twisted corpses hit the ground, bones violently protruding from their knees and elbows, their dead eyes staring unblinking at the ceiling. A massive pool of blood quickly rushed out across the pristine marble floors.
But as the haze cleared, a single glimpse from her amber eyes brought her murderous spree to a horrifying halt. Her heart leapt into her throat, and all the warm blood drained instantly from her face.
The blinding fog of the Bloodwrath vanished in a heartbeat. Her trembling bare foot stepped numbly into the thick pool of crimson.
"Ma... Mother?!" Tachyon scread, her amber eyes widening in pure, unadulterated horror. Her bloodstained fingers shook uncontrollably as she desperately brushed a lock of hair off the fallen woman's face.
It was Hermione's unblinking eyes that stared emptily back at her.
Collapsing onto the cold marble, an agonising cry seeped out from between her gritted teeth. With a broken mind, she used her trembling arms to gather her mother's remains, pulling the woman tightly to her chest. But the warm corpse offered no comfort; the horrifying reality was undeniable. She had just murdered her own mother.
"How could this be?" Tachyon's desperate wailing echoed tragically throughout the grand chamber.
A slow, deliberate footstep shattered the sorrowful air.
Standing quietly in the deep shadows of the room, the fire witch slowly erged into the flickering light. Her beautiful face was entirely unreadable. "Such an untamable beast you are, my friend."
"delle?" Tachyon sniffed, hot tears rushing freely from her eyes. "How could this be? Why... why are they here?"
Eliciting no emotional response from her best friend, delle simply crouched beside the two smaller corpses. She coldly pulled back the blood-soaked fabrics, revealing two familiar blonde heads.
"Your sisters..."
"What—No, no, no—NO!" Tachyon scread in absolute anguish, her voice howling like a devastating cyclone. The broken Wildren slamd the heels of her palms fiercely against her own temples, hitting herself over and over until her head began to bleed.
delle cast her violet gaze down, entirely unbothered by the horrific display of grief. She slowly circled the broken Wildren, eventually crouching down right beside her ear. "It looks as though your mother and your sweet sisters sought refuge under King Orestes. They betrayed you, my love."
"Impossible! She... she promised! She swore she'd never court him!" Tachyon sobbed, her entire world shattering into pieces.
"I am not here to debate politics or speak ill of the dead," delle replied smoothly, gracefully rising to her feet. "What's done is done." The sorceress extended her pale palm in an open invitation. "Co. We need to finish what we started."
"I cannot..." Tachyon's voice was a hollow, low murmur at first, before rising into a desperate plea. "I cannot do this anymore, delle!"
"Stop whining, please," delle sighed, rolling her eyes. She had always been known as a cold witch, but this was a terrifying new depth. "Look at the bright side. I will soon kill my father and crown myself the Empress. Together, our empire shall be the most powerful known in all of history. Scholars shall revere us, and epic songs shall be written in the glory of our nas forever."
delle spread her arms wide, then wrapped them around her own shoulders in a tight self-embrace. She rocked slowly from side to side. "And in the afterlife, we shall rule together in Tartarus. Such a dark, beautiful novelty..." She gasped softly in twisted ecstasy.
But in her madness, delle hadn't realised she had just opened Pandora's box.
Trembling, Tachyon slowly raised her bloodstained palms. Refusing to be a pawn in this horrific prophecy, she executed her deadly Atramnéon one final ti.
In a single strike, the razor-sharp leading edges of her own palms cleanly severed both of her legs at the thighs. Tachyon let out a bloodcurdling scream of pure agony, feeling the white-hot pain of the catastrophic wound.
"TACHYON!!!" delle scread in absolute terror, her composure shattering as she rushed to the Wildren's side.
With frantic haste, delle embraced Tachyon, pulling her bleeding friend tightly into her arms. "Why? I... I did all of this for us," the witch confessed, her voice trembling with sudden, horrific realisation.
"Let go, delle," Tachyon growled through the blinding pain, her amber eyes locking onto the witch's violet ones. "If you ever loved ..."
delle's grand, twisted ploy had gone terribly, irreparably wrong. She had never accounted for her wild friend executing such a brutally selfless act. In her obsessive fear of losing Tachyon after their conquest ended, delle had created a tragic, self-fulfilling prophecy. It was a nightmare she had woven entirely with her own hands.
Massive amounts of blood pumped rapidly from Tachyon's brutal wounds, pooling into the marble floor. Her beautiful amber eyes quickly swam out of focus.
But in that final, fading mont, the cheetah Wildren let out a gentle smile. A smile of bittersweet relief, knowing that despite the madness, delle did love her — she loved her enough to finally let her go.
And then, Tachyon of Sparta was no more. The fastest hero in history bled out, dying quietly in the arms of her beloved best friend.
From an innocent eight-month-old infant on the beach, down to the very last of her breath.
It was always love.
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