The song for this chapter is "The Fighter" by The Fray. There is a point in the chapter to start playing it. This song is perfect for Martha and Steve in the finale. ;~; I'm sorry in advance.

This is a long chapter too. Sorry again. :P I'm sure by now y'all know where this is going... Please turn in your feels trip permission slips and buckle up.

Warnings: feels, blood, and death ahead

*Donella's POV*

The trip to the throne room wasn't very long. We would have been there quicker except Alroy had broken an arm when the ceiling collapsed. A large chunk of stone had pinned him to the ground, and Ilanna teleported him to safety. Martha splinted his arm and made a sling for him. I used the same spell to set his arm mending as I had used on Sparklez's wing. Martha had observed me closely while I worked, and it occurred to me that James couldn't teach her healing magic. Once Alroy was taken care of, I spent most of the walk teaching Martha the healing magic I knew. Granted, I was no expert, but I'd picked up plenty from field medics in the war.

Alroy set a brisk pace, though his arm must have been hurting from the break and ongoing spell. Steve appeared to have sobered up after the cave in. He kept a wary eye on the cracks running through the walls until we reached a ladder leading into Dianite's home. The Dianitee insisted on going up first to lift the hatch. He helped Martha up next. Ilanna went up after her, and I teleported up with my familiar and Alroy. The dwarf had led us true. We were in a wide hallway with quartz pillars stretching to the high, stone ceiling. Lava flowed in channels beside the walls, and redstone lamps hanging from the ceiling provided additional light. One end of the hall had collapsed—a recent development based on Alroy's reaction. The other end opened onto what had once been the throne room.

It wasn't much of a room anymore. Dianite had set up his throne in the hollow of a magma chamber, and I could still see it standing against the far wall. The lava glowing brightly at the bottom of the chamber lit the remains of stone walkways and platforms that had crossed the space higher up, where we now stood. Much of the walkways had been destroyed, leaving crumbling pillars and piles of rubble in the lava. The cause of the damage was obvious. Massive spikes of stone with veins of a glowing, red crystal speared the room from the rounded walls, floor, and ceiling. All of the spikes pointed toward the center of the room where a platform still stood on its pillar. On that platform lay Dianite's body. I could sense Dianite's presence here, but he didn't feel as concrete as he had been when I'd met him before. I offered a mental greeting but received no reply. Frowning, I turned my attention to the other occupants of the room. Mianite and a mortal with curling brown hair held back by a pair of goggles and dressed in a wrinkled and grease-smudged white shirt, brown vest, and cargo pants stood on the platform as well. I assume that would be Gaines.

We walked along one of the spikes until we were close enough to the platform to teleport over without using much energy. Martha teleported with Steve and Ilanna with Alroy, leaving me to transport myself and Akatena. Once we'd arrived, Martha went to talk to her uncle. The rest of us hung back on the side of the platform opposite them. I studied the mortal, who reminded me a bit of Sparklez in how he fussed over his machines and kept checking readouts on the control panel's screen. He had a strong Mianite aura, rivaling Sonja and Tucker in intensity.

When I looked from the machinist to the machinery, I got a sense of déjà vu. The arrangement of pedestals around Dianite's body and the pattern of wires crossing the floor were extremely similar to the ritual I'd used to revive my world's Dianite. Unease grew in the pit of my stomach as I recalled the event.

~Flashback~

"Ah, Donella. I thought I felt you here in the Nether. What brings you all the way to my temple?" Dianite's disembodied voice asked. Dianite had been dead nearly a decade now. I had visited multiple times since his champion slew him, but I didn't often come all the way to the temple proper. Frankly, the first time I had ever come to his temple was to pay my respects, without realizing that he yet lived.

Well, "lived" was not the best word for it. His body had been returned to the Nether by Ianite and laid to rest in a back room of his temple. When I had come then, I was quite surprised to feel his presence lingering. His remaining aura and spirit had coalesced over the first year to form the ghost hovering around me now. To our disappointment, he had not recovered any beyond being able to talk and observe a limited section of Nether around his home. It quickly became clear that while Dianite's death had not been absolute, he needed outside help to fully revive.

I had spent most of the remaining nine years searching high and low for any magic to return life to the dead. The undertaking brought out the grim, focused side of me that had first appeared after Emrys was slain. That singleness of purpose lent me patience, and I needed it. The search had proven frustrating to say the least. I had found necromancer's books aplenty, but I did not want a mindless slave, a temporary conjuring, or a flawed spell that did not return the individual's powers. I wanted my friend back, whole and truly alive. As far as I knew, I might only get one shot at reviving him, and doing it right was well worth the wait.

Dianite had changed after his death as well. Yes, he had been furious at his champion's betrayal at first and even now had not forgiven him. If I read him right—which was difficult given his lack of facial expression and body language at present—he had developed a grudging respect for the mortal. He also had changed his mind on how best to handle his brother. On my visits, we had talked at length about how to keep Mianite in check—a real concern given the lack of counterbalance his death had created, not to mention my own misgivings. Dianite had shifted at some point from favoring open war to employing stealth and subtlety. Whether it was the failure of the former or his present weakness that gave him a change of perspective, I was unsure, but it was a welcome change. I allowed myself a grin as I imagined what plans this new Lord of the Nether might make once back in power.

I suppose that is what we'll find out now, isn't it? I thought to myself as I nodded a greeting in Dianite's general direction. Today would be the day if all went according to plan. I had read and re-read the ritual I'd found until I had the entire thing committed to memory. Anticipation and apprehension vied for position in my heart. I set the bag of supplies I had brought beside Dianite's netherbrick throne. "It's been a while, Dianite. How have things been in the Nether?" I asked, politely striking up conversation.

"The lava flows slowly, and the pigmen grow docile and fearful of mortals in my absence," Dianite replied bitterly. I knew he was incensed to see his domain slipping into disrepair with him powerless to stop it. Even his grand temple was beginning to look more ruin than residence, the stone brick faded with cracked mortar and the quartz chipped and lackluster. Some of the lava channels that had provided the temple's interior with light had solidified or become blocked, casting large sections of the stunning architecture into deep shadow. I had asked once, but Dianite had never told me who had built his temple. Whoever the architect, it was a shame to see such marvelous work gone to waste.

Dianite's voice grew more sly and intrigued as he continued, "You're avoiding the question, wizard. What brings you all the way out here?"

He was always good at picking up on hidden agendas. I reached into my bag and pulled out the old tome I'd brought with. "I finally found it," I said simply, knowing he would make the connection. For once Dianite seemed speechless. He'd known I intended to help him, but he had doubted I would find anything. I began pulling other items from my bag while waiting for him to say something.

"So it is possible then? I've revived a recently deceased mortal or two in my day, but I didn't think there was magic strong enough to revive a god. You're sure it will work?" He asked, suspicious. That was as close as he would get to hoping. The feeling was alien to him, and he distrusted it.

I nodded solemnly as I tested the edge of the ceremonial dagger I would need for the ritual. The edge was so keen I didn't feel it nick the skin of my finger until I saw the bead of blood forming there. "It's the only spell I've found that is intended for gods specifically. It should restore your life and powers." Of course, nothing so valuable comes without cost, I added mentally.

I was actually curious why this ritual had been written in the first place. I had never heard of a god being revived before. Perhaps it was a safeguard against a repeat of the Shadows' War. Regardless of its origin, its premise was sound. To restore the amount of aura (or quintessence as the book termed it) necessary for a god to live and begin drawing energy from their followers again, a sacrifice had to be made. A follower of said god was suggested, and a willing sacrifice was even better. The book did mention that the sacrifice had to have some connection to the deceased for the quintessence to transfer properly, the stronger the connection the more effective the transfer. Interestingly, before finding this book, I'd read another that described in detail the strength of a bond of friendship when it came to magical applications. Neither tome explicitly said a non-follower friend would fit the bill for this ritual, but it was easy to extrapolate.

The book had only discussed the quintessence a mortal would offer. The author certainly had not considered that a wizard might be involved in the process. Wizards as a rule had never followed the gods. Why should the author have thought that a wizard might be friends with a god and want them revived? If I hadn't been the one involved in such a friendship, I would have considered the notion ludicrous as well. Wizards had stronger auras than mortals because of their magic, and in theory, a wizard should be able to offer up the required amount for the ritual without suffering any lasting harm.

It was with the confidence that reasoning gave me that I began taking supplies behind the throne to the room where Dianite's body rested. Dianite's spirit watched in wary fascination as I began setting up a ring of incense candles around the stone pedestal. Several minutes of carefully lighting the candles and arranging the other components needed I was satisfied. Dianite had held his silence, but spoke when I lay my coat over the back of his throne and unsheathed the dagger. "How exactly does this ritual of yours work?" He sounded suspicious again, but there was an added hint of caution to his tone now.

"The revival calls for a transfer of quintessence from one party to the other." Briefly considering that Dianite might be concerned for me, I added, "Don't worry. I know what I'm doing." Those were the famous last words of far too many wizards.

---Warning: Self Harm Ahead---

I could sense hesitance from Dianite but heard no objections. So I concentrated on beginning the ritual. I started the chant walking counterclockwise around the perimeter of the circle I'd made. Once completing a full circuit, I stepped inside the circle and moved to stand beside Dianite's still form. I made a bloodless cut over the arrow wound on his chest, then moved the blade to hover over my own wrist. As I continued chanting, I closed my eyes and brought the knife point down. A strange feeling of detachment registered rather than pain, and I opened my eyes to realize I appeared to be floating outside myself. I was still standing there, chanting, but I now held my bleeding wrist over Dianite's chest, allowing the blood to drip onto the wound there. As the first drops fell onto Dianite's ashen skin, they sizzled and burst into flame before sinking into the cold flesh. From my vantage point I could see my maroon aura transferring with my blood.

I was a bit concerned by how quickly the blood and aura were pumping from my veins. I didn't recall applying that much pressure, but it was beyond my control now. I watched as color returned to my friend's skin, even as it drained from mine. It began to dawn on me that I had miscalculated badly when the blood flowing from my wrist began to slow and my chanting ceased. I had not realized that the ritual intended to completely drain a mortal did not recognize or act differently when it had a more than sufficient fuel source. This might be my last failure, I thought in horror.

Dianite appeared to realize my error about the same time I did, because I could hear him shouting. His voice sounded distant and muffled as if I were underwater. I looked towards his body on the pedestal to see the maroon of my aura rapidly growing and shifting color to a familiar scarlet around him. The mortal wound in his chest had sealed shut, leaving a clean scar. At least I managed to save someone this time, I thought tiredly. Though I was still disconnected, I could feel my strength waning. The knife fell from my limp right hand, and my body faltered and collapsed beside the pedestal, my hat rolling a few feet away. I barely had any aura left, and it was guttering as my blood stained the stone brick.

My awareness began to fade as I watched my body lie there. I didn't realize Dianite had awoken until his feet swung over the edge of the pedestal, and he knelt beside me. He quickly moved a hand to my neck to check my pulse and clamped a hand over my injured wrist to stem the flow that had now slowed to a trickle. He forced magic into the wound to seal it and moved his other hand to rest over my heart. My vision faded to black.

---End of Warning---

My mind stirred sluggishly. I could hear someone calling me. I could feel my heart straining to beat out a staccato rhythm, and my wrist burned as if someone had taken a branding iron to it. I fought to open heavy eyes that were once more mine to command. I managed to open them a crack and make out the fuzzy shape of Dianite leaning over me. He lifted my head and brought a cup of water to my lips. I swallowed obediently, easing my parched throat. He gently set my head back on something soft after I finished and returned a hand to its position over my heart to continue healing me. He must have paused when he saw my eyes flutter open. My heart rate steadied as I closed my eyes again. I drifted in and out of consciousness several times, never staying awake more than a few minutes. An undetermined amount of time later I awoke to Dianite talking to himself on the other side of the room, "Of all the arrogant, idiotic ideas..." I grinned when I realized he was talking about me. After his silence that past few times I'd been awake, I found his censure a relief. If he was back to critiquing my choices, he knew I was going to be okay.

~End Flashback~

I'd heard the mortals discuss on the way here how they planned to use Mianite's artifacts to supply quintessence for the ritual. I wondered if that would be enough. Mianite was his brother, but they hadn't been on the best of terms. That may negatively impact how well the quintessence transfers. I really hope he knows what he's doing, I thought, looking back to where Gaines stood.

As I watched the man inspect the wires running from the pedestals to the raised dais I felt eyes on me. In answer to my unspoken question Akatena sent me a mental image of Mianite. I looked up to meet his gaze and walked over to where he stood. No sense in pretending not to notice. This way I might be able to distract him from Ilanna. I dipped my head in a curt greeting. "Lord Mianite, I don't believe we've been introduced. I'm Donella Hart, a colleague of Waglington's, and this is Akatena," I said, gesturing to my Pampas doe as she trotted over to join us.

Mianite raised an eyebrow skeptically when Tena dipped her head in an approximation of a bow. "Charmed, I'm sure," He said reflexively before shifting his gaze back to me. I wasn't certain which I found more unnerving, the fact that this god was half mechanical or that I was now the sole focus his attention. "So, you are a wizard then? I thought Waglington came to this world by himself. I never did get to ask him how he arrived here."

I answered cautiously, unsure how far Mianite's ambition might stretch. "He was not the first wizard to travel to this world, nor was he the last. I wouldn't say getting here was easy, but it's much more difficult to leave this world once here, I've found." Mianite hummed his agreement, and I heard Gaines cough behind me. Mianite shot him a warning glance, making me wonder if the cough had served to cover something else. I got the impression that Mianite and Gaines had a brief mental discussion before I heard the mortal walk off.

Mianite returned his pale grey and red eyes to me and started to say something. He was interrupted by the mortals and James arriving at one of the side entrances to the throne room. They called a greeting to us across the chamber, which had a nice echo to it, though I imagined it had sounded more impressive before the spikes had ruined the smooth roundness of the space. The mortals started working their way around the perimeter of the room where a walkway once ran. After watching them slip and nearly fall into the lava a few times, Gaines yelled with a surprisingly strong voice, "Why don't you just use your angel rings?"

The seven stopped and looked at each other. "Flight magic doesn't work here," Tucker yelled back, even as Memento proved that statement wrong, levitating into the air to bat at the Mianitee's helmet. Tucker turned around and released a girlish shriek, almost falling off the ledge again.

Alroy chuckled and bellowed, "That enchantment was on the city. Dianite would have us slow roasted if we'd dared to put that enchantment on his home and temple."

"There was a long pause before Tom swore. "You mean we could have flown this whole time?!"

"That would have made things a lot easier," Jordan said while digging his angel ring out of his pocket.

"Gee, you think?" Sonja countered. I slipped my own ring on as they flew over to join us, ruffling my feathered wings and settling them comfortably behind my back. Their side of the platform was getting pretty crowded now. So I decided to stay where I stood between Gaines and Mianite. I would deal with them if it meant I had room to breath—and fight if need be. Once they'd landed, Gaines started spouting off directions, anxious to begin the main part of the ritual. Once he'd heard we were in the city, he'd started up a preliminary part. Dianite's spirit form had already dissolved as a consequence and was waiting to reform at the end of the ritual when he would be properly bound to his body. That explains why he didn't say anything. Apparently there were some differences between this ritual and the one I'd used. That information allowed me to release some of the tension I felt. Not all though. I still had the foreboding sense that my prideful error was about to be repeated.

Upon hearing this, Mot was more anxious than Gaines to get the ritual underway. Without further ado, the mortals and James produced their artifacts. Tucker removed the blood red helmet from his head and set it on the closest pedestal. James offered a pair of enchanted boots. Jordan set a blue-violet gemstone on a pedestal, and Tom twirled an orange hoe before laying it across another. Lastly, Tucker tossed an object to Sonja. She squeaked in surprise but caught it. This last artifact was a beating heart. I shuddered at the sight of it, and Akatena snorted her disgust. Is that Mianite's heart? I wondered, glancing sideways at Mianite, now curious how far the metal extended beneath his perfectly pressed suit.

All of the objects had Mianite's aura radiating off of them, though the heart appeared to have less than the others. I wasn't the only one to notice. Gaines lowered his goggles over his eyes and frowned when he his eyes landed on the heart. He turned toward Mianite. They appeared to have another conversation. Gaines shook his head and quickly typed a long string of code on one of the screens. He read over the results and adjusted a few settings on the control panel.

"Here we go," He announced, throwing a lever. The whole platform seemed to hum with the awakened machinery. I watched—genuinely amazed—as the quintessence drained from the artifacts and was channeled into Dianite's body. The heart ran out of aura first and crumbled into grey ash the second it did. Gaines winced at the sight, and Jordan gasped. The other items followed suit as they ran out. With each item that disintegrated, my dread grew. I recalled how much quintessence my world's Dianite had required, and the cloud of color hovering around Dianite's body now was substantially less than that.

I looked back to Gaines when I heard frantic toggling of switches and a lever thrown. He knew it wasn't working too. The scientist blinked back frustrated tears and took a deep breath before turning to face the rest of the group. I could hear his voice waver through his appearance of calm as he reported, "It's not enough."

Reactions ranged from stunned to bewildered to enraged. James had reacted like everyone else, until he caught my eye. He stopped in the middle of shouting a question, and confusion stole over his features. Akatena hung her head in sorrow beside me, and my face must have shown the same emotion. I knew what came next.

After the outcry quieted down Gaines stuck his hands in his pockets and continued, "The ritual needs something more: the quintessence of a follower." He withdrew his right hand from the deep pocket it had been in; it now held a sheathed dagger.

This time the response was quite different. Even the mortals understood that anything living needed its quintessence to remain so. Shocked silence and hesitant glances met the ultimatum. Finally Tom—looking pale—broke the silence. "Is it me?" He asked in a small, high-pitched voice.

Gaines examined Tom and his strong aura critically, but Farmer Steve stepped forward then. "Nah Syndy; this is something I have to do."

(Start song here) 

Martha had turned to look at Tom and missed the farmer leaving her side. At the sound of his voice she whipped around with the same panic in her eyes I'd seen when James nearly died. "Steve, no!" She ran up to him and put a hand on his arm.

Steve looked pained to see her distress, but he held his ground. "Martha, honey, let me do this. Syndy there's a champion and has his whole life ahead of him," Steve sighed and locked eyes with Mot. I only now realized that the creeper man had started to step forward before Steve volunteered. "And Dianite would never forgive me if I let you sacrifice yourself." Mot lowered his eyes in wordless appreciation.

Martha on the other hand was beside herself. "But I just got you back," Martha said, on the verge of tears. "My nightmare is coming true."

Steve drew her into a hug. With a voice grown gruff with emotion, he whispered into her hair, "I know, and I'm sorry I could never be there for you when you needed me." He kissed her hair and rocked her for a moment.

The others looked like they might burst into tears at the scene, even stoic Alroy. No one dared disturb the tableau, though I did catch Gaines looking between his watch and Dianite in trepidation. Finally, Steve pulled away from Martha, his eyes misty. He locked eyes on James where he stood, utterly heartbroken for them. "Oi, Waggles." When he had James's attention, he continued, "Take good care of her." James looked a bit stunned but nodded firmly to show he would do his best.

Steve gave Martha one last, passionate kiss before motioning for James to join them. The wizard and his familiar carefully walked forward to stand beside Martha. Steve tipped an invisible hat to them and turned towards Gaines.

The scientist handed Steve the dagger—keeping the sheath—and gave him a hushed set of instructions before pushing him in the direction of Dianite's body. Steve set his jaw, tightened his grip on the dagger's hilt, and walked slowly up to the dais. He refused to look back at Martha as he walked, lest he lose his nerve. Martha was crying now, and James awkwardly put one arm around her shoulders to steady her. Memento sat on the other side of her, his fur brushing her leg in the feline equivalent of the gesture.

I turned away, not wanting to watch. I had been ignoring Mianite since the ritual's inception. Now I saw him unguarded, watching Steve make the ultimate sacrifice. In that moment I saw him as tired and old. Faint wrinkles and ghosts of scars covered his face where metal didn't. His natural, grey eye showed grief. The image was gone as quickly as I caught it. Returned was the strong, reserved leader.

Various sounds of surprise and one cry of dismay let me know when Steve started. I rubbed the scar on my own wrist as I waited. "There we go!" Gaines shouted triumphantly. He started messing with the control panel again. "We've got enough. Dianite will be back with us shortly."

I didn't trust myself to look until I heard a body crumple against the dark grey brick of the floor. Then I turned to see Martha dash from James's arms to kneel beside her fallen love. She gently rolled Steve onto his back, and even from where I stood I could see he was long gone. As Martha cried over him I noticed his skin turning an unnatural grey. He was going to fall apart the same way the artifacts had. Martha was already devastated; she didn't need to see that. I spoke a quick stabilizing spell and threw it at Steve's foot. Martha was too occupied to see Steve's body briefly glow. That will buy her a little time to say goodbye.

"That was a kind thing you did there," Gaines whispered. I hadn't noticed him standing beside me. He had returned his goggles to the top of his head to wipe tears from his eyes. After a moment of silence I heard him mutter, "I double checked all the calculations; this shouldn't have happened."

"You aren't the first to make that mistake, believe me," I reassured the man, offering him a tired grin. He halfheartedly returned it before walking back over to the control panel to shut things down.

We stood there watching Martha in a moment of silence. Then a familiar, red hand rested on Martha's shoulder. "I'm so sorry, Martha," Dianite said.

Martha looked up at him and said with a smile that wasn't entirely forced, "Good to see you, Uncle."

After those two had their moment, he turned to look at everyone else. "Thank you all for everything." Tom, Sonja, Tucker, and Jordan greeted Dianite with slightly more enthusiasm than Martha. As he moved to join them and left Martha to grieve, I observed him. His aura was the same as that of my Dianite, but the differences stood out more than the similarities in my mind. This version was taller and leaner, though his blood-stained, burgundy suit may have played down a muscled physique. His horns curved upward where my Dianite's curved back. This Dianite had a full head of unkempt, black hair (no doubt a good wash would return some life to the lank and matted strands) where my Dianite was bald. Most notably, he was far more relaxed and sociable.

I found myself wondering what this Dianite's relationship with his siblings was like. I remembered all the times my Dianite had sneered or scoffed when mentioning his own. He could barely tolerate them at the best of times. I miss him, I realized. I straightened my back and scratched behind Akatena's ears to shift my focus off of this parody of my friend. I had started to become nostalgic. It didn't help that I hadn't been able to contact Dianite for over a week now; the worlds were too far apart. The more I thought about it, the more I couldn't wait to head back home. I pondered how Dianite would react to hearing that my vision had not applied to our world's Mianite at all but to this one.

I held up at that thought, reminding myself that we weren't out of danger yet. I glanced at Mianite without turning my head. Everyone else's attention—barring Martha who was still absorbed in grief—was on the newly revived Lord of the Nether. Mianite had assumed as much and had lowered his guard slightly. He let a dangerous emotion show in his natural eye as he followed his brother's every move: envy.

There we have it. Donella's vision of Mianite holding the world in an iron fist wasn't about The Realm's Mianite. It was about Ruxomar's. That's what she meant last chapter when she said, "It wasn't a metaphor." This Mianite literally has a metal arm.

#RIPSteve 

One year ago last weekend I was writing chapter 11. (I remember because I was out of town to Missouri visiting relatives and attending their county fair. This year's trip was great, btw. :) ) Now, here we are at chapter 81. My have we come a long ways. We're on the home stretch now...