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hpcraftlove · 1 year

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It's always a pleasure to spoil my favourite author 😍

The Maw Walker saves the Prince in this one. Rated G for nothing juicy. Read here on Ao3 for triggers and tags

The Maw was so dark it hardly mattered if Renathal's eyes were open or not, but he kept them shut anyway. Never would he have imagined a darkness that could bother him; Revendreth was a realm shrouded in perpetual twilight, after all. But he understood now. He had never encountered true dark before, never known what it meant to be consumed by darkness. The thought was horrifying, and humbling. Which Renathal supposed had been Denathrius' intention in condemning him here for the foreseeable eternity.

His allies - his friends - had been taken into Torghast, and Renathal wondered if it was hubris to wish he had been as well. He had thrown all his remaining magic at the Mawsworn guards who dragged them away, fully expecting to be destroyed and more than willing to meet his end. Throughout his short-lived rebellion, Renathal had known this was the most likely outcome. But after eons of the same endlessly spinning wheel of existence, he found destruction less of a deterrent and more of a new and potentially exciting opportunity. Like he used to feel when meeting the souls of some unknown species. But it was millennia since Renathal had encountered anything new, and he had craved the experience.

Well, now he had it, and in plenty.

Helplessness, powerlessness, the utter despair threatening to suffocate him: these were all brand new things to Renathal. The firstborn of Denathrius had never endured such torments, only inflicted them on others. And as the hours passed into days, and days passed into time uncountable, Renathal realised how very fitting his punishment was. He had damned his friends out a selfish desire for change and in recompense he was sentenced to an eternity of staring at the same dark patch of hellscape.

The irony of it elicited a mad grimace of a smile. And then the very last breath of Renathal's dark humour was extinguished, and he surrendered to despair.

He could not fight - he had already exhausted his last vestiges of power by the time the Incarcerator had thrown him into this cage - and he could not plan - the Maw leeched all coherent thought, along with the anima that was his essence. He tried to contort himself to pick the lock of the cage, but either his skill had faded with disuse or the Maw had sapped him of that ability too.

In desperation, Renathal had even begged the Purpose for rescue. It wasn't so impossible, was it? After all, there was a Maw Walker now, wasn't there? But perhaps not... perhaps that had simply been more lies by Denathrius. Perhaps the Purpose was as well. Every solid thing Renathal had ever known was suspect now. He had nothing left to trust but his own mind, and even that the Maw would take soon.

Already, Renathal could feel madness lurking on the outskirts of his thoughts, like a beast stalking its prey. Voices whispered outside his cage, but every time Renathal turned his head, convinced someone was calling his name, there was nothing to be seen but the same dreaded, unending expanse of black. So he'd learned to keep his eyes shut tight no matter what he heard, focusing instead on memories, preserving his sanity for his long as he could. But each attempt to hide his mind in a far-away pleasant moment was interrupted by -

Help us, Renathal!

That was the Curator calling him, so real he almost opened his eyes to look for her, but he caught himself in time.

How could you let this happen to us?

Tenaval's deep voice, hurt and betrayed. Renathal squeezed his eyes shut tighter, trying to block out the nightmare, but -

You've condemned us!

- the sound of Dehavia's pain gutted him. Whether the voice was real or in his head, the words were still true. She had trusted him; they had all trusted him. But-

You have failed us all.

That was the Accuser's voice, and Renathal knew his mind was slipping. She was the only one who hadn't been cast into the Maw or sentenced to the Ember Ward. The only one of them left to stand against Denathrius. But what could she do - one harvester against the creator of the Realm? No, the Halls of Atonement would fall, and the Accuser would join them here. And it was all his fault.

"My Prince!"

Vorpalia's voice, closer and more vibrant than the others. Renathal shook his head fiercely, trying to forestall what was clearly imminent insanity. She wasn't really here, he reminded himself. She couldn't be.

"Prince Renathal?"

And that was not a voice he recognized at all. It was soft and urgent, with a strange accent. Far too full of concern to be any Mawsworn. Renathal contemplated opening his eyes, just for something else to do. But to see only that bleak, unforgiving horizon again... to be disappointed once more when he didn't know he had a hope left to disappoint...

"My Prince, did they hurt you?" Vorpalia's voice sounded as though it were right outside his prison. He could even hear the sharp swish of metal through air that accompanied her movement.

Then the dark itself changed; almost... lessened. The oppressive weight of it was lifted off Renathal's eyes just a fraction. Enough to rouse what had once been his insatiable curiosity and was now just a dull, throbbing desperation for change.

Renathal opened his eyes. And had the strangest vision.

Something was outside his cage, peering at him through the bars. The figure was shrouded by a dark hood and cloak, but the air around it... shimmered somehow. A strange purple light surrounded the figure, pulsing quietly against the darkness of the Maw.

"Prince Renathal?"

That same unfamiliar voice again. Shadows shifted within the purple light, and now he could see the glow of white-blue eyes peering up at him from under the hood.

"Of course it is! I’ve just said it is! Now quickly - free him!"

A dim red shape hovered beside the figure, twisting animatedly from side to side.

“Vorpalia?” Renathal whispered aloud, his fractured mind struggling to provide an explanation. "Were you... thrown into the Maw as well?"

A brief flash of blue light collided with the cage, sending up sparks that momentarily obscured Renathal's already blurry vision. The other voice - belonging to the hooded figure, his brain worked out sluggishly - muttered something in a language he didn’t understand. Then the side of the cage rattled. Painful vibrations shot through Renathal's limbs, making him wince.

"Stop! Can't you see you're hurting him?!" Vorpalia shrieked. The other voice made an exaggerated hushing sound, but the cage went still.

Out of sheer whimsy, Renathal spoke, his voice cracked from disuse. "The key is on that rather large brute over there." Unable to lift his arms any significant degree, he gestured with his chin across the valley, toward the imposing walls of the nearby fortress: the Tremaculum.

"Where?"

The hooded figure twisted to follow his gaze. Renathal didn't bother to answer. There was no mistaking the hulking outline of The Incarcerator. It lumbered its regular beat around the Tremaculum, on the other side of the valley separating the fortress from Renathal's prison. The beast dwarfed even the Tremaculum's guards, all of whom scuttled well out of its way as it passed. He watched it and could not repress a shudder, remembering only too well how the wretched thing had thrown him in here, tucking the key somewhere within its armor. He supposed the only reason it hadn't thrown the key off the edge of the realm was to allow him to anticipate further torture.

"Very well. We’ll be right back then."

Renathal snapped out of his haze of memory at the hooded figure's words.

"No!" protested Vorpalia loudly. " I must stay behind to guard my Prince!"

"From what, he’s already in a cage?"

Exasperation was evident in the other voice. Somehow, the tense emotion made it seem more real. The figure muttered something else Renathal could not understand, turned with a swish of its cloak, and the purple light began to bob away down the hill. Toward the Tremaculum and the distant Mawbeast.

Renathal blinked. That was unexpected.

"That’s true, you know," he said mildly to the image of his loyal sword. Vorpalia swayed indecisively, as if casting her eyeless gaze between himself and the swiftly moving figure, before...“I shall return, my Prince,” she said, and darted off in pursuit.

Renathal followed their progress as best he could through bleary eyes. The soft purple light and its swishing red shadow had descended the hill and now approached the walls of the Tremaculum. Every few minutes they stopped, and bright purple or blue light would suddenly flash, and a barely visible black shadow would crumple to the ground. They were picking off the guards, realised Renathal. And a bubble of wild, manic laughter swelled and then stuck in his chest like some painful tumour. The whole thing was absurd. It could not possibly be real. Had madness finally taken him, his mind inventing this hallucination as some perverse entertainment? Or were they a torment of the Jailer's?

Or... hope attempted to lift its weary, beaten head inside him.. could the Purpose possibly have allowed him to be found?

Then the purple light winked out of existence. Renathal blinked away the spots of afterglow from his vision and squinted into the dark. The Maw seemed even more oppressive than before, and the glowing figure and Vorpalia were nowhere to be seen. He cast his gaze around as far as his cage would allow, but there was nothing. Nothing except that same infernal blackness. The ghost of hope that had risen in Renathal evaporated. His world was again darker than he'd known it could be, and he closed his eyes once more.

A titanic roar drifted across the valley from the Tremaculum. It shook the very ground under Renathal's feet, rattling the bars of his cage and sending bolts of painful fire through him again, forcing his eyes open. It looked as through every guard within a mile was running toward the fortress, converging on its entrance; precisely where he had sent his apparitions.

Could it be a coincidence, or... had the vision been real? Had he truly been on the cusp of rescue just to send his would-be saviours to their deaths? Renathal hadn't believed there was a deeper level of despair to sink to, but now...

Vorpalia was dauntless, he consoled himself. And loud. If she were fighting the guards back, her voice would surely carry. And whoever she was with must be powerful as well to make it this far into the Maw. But no two could survive such an onslaught... and all Renathal could hear were the pounding feet and furious yells of the uncountable guards. He strained his eyes, trying to see through the rush of black on black as Mawsworn swarmed the hill.

"My Prince!"

The sudden re-appearance of purple light made Renathal blink rapidly. There they were - Vorpalia and the hooded figure, now crouched low and breathing hard - back in front of his cage with no warning, as though they had never left. The figure staggered to its feet, lifting something - a key. Nearly the size of the being's forearm, it took both of its hands to fit it into the lock. Renathal held his breath.

A grunt from the figure, a clang as the door swung against the side of the cage. Then his prison was open.

"Come."

The glowing figure offered Renathal a small hand to help him down. Hesitantly, he took it, afraid his fingers might pass right through, revealing it to be a trick of his mind after all. Instead, he felt the soft silk of a glove, and a warmth seeping through it. The being was real. Which meant - he was really free.

Renathal took a step and swayed. Somehow, outside his cage, the Maw felt different; the air less thick, the sky less black. Or maybe it was the light the unknown being was emitting as it reached for his arm to steady him. He leaned against it a little too heavily, and as it struggled to keep its feet under it, the dark hood fell back revealing a creature he was sure he had never seen. A female, perhaps? It was hard to tell. Long, dark hair, its face all smooth planes, and everything about it tinted in shades of purple; it had all the makings of an illusion, despite its solid weight propping him up.

"Do something for him!" Vorpalia demanded.

"What do you want me to do? I'm not a healer!" hissed the purple being.

"You bandaged your wounds from those hounds before!"

"I don't think bandages are going to be much use on -"

"Is this real?" Renathal asked conversationally, watching their argument with distant interest. His head was still swimming, struggling to accept their existence.

The creature blinked those glowing white-blue eyes once, then -

“Here,” it said, and pressed two fingers to his forehead.

It was like a light had been turned on inside Renathal's brain. Instantly, the world around him took on sharper focus. There were more varied shades to the greys and blacks of the Maw, and the being, too, looked more distinct, less of a hazy purple glow and more of a person. Renathal stood up straighter, inspecting it - her, he now confirmed - more closely. Her skin was a light lavender, hair a dark blue that was almost black. But she had no wings, so she wasn't Kyrian. She wasn't any denizen of the Shadowlands he knew of. Which could only mean -

"You must be the Maw Walker," he said slowly. She gave him a small smile.

"That’s what they're calling me."

A thousand thoughts ran through Renathal's head all at the same time, as though fighting to be acknowledged first after his long period of mental collapse.

He had heard of the Maw Walker; all of Revendreth had. The Harvesters had listened to the stories coming from Oribos with interest, though Denathrius had been quick to assure his court they were highly exaggerated. But Renathal had known by then his Master was lying about many things and had decided to take a chance. His entire rebellion had been predicated on the idea that help was finally coming to the Shadowlands, and he might be able to recruit it for his side. And now the Maw Walker was here, and clearly as resourceful as the stories had claimed. But was she powerful enough to take Denathrius alone? Were there more of her kind?

"We can do proper introductions later," said the Maw Walker before Renathal could translate his thoughts into words. "When we're out of the Maw. There's a Waystone -"

"No," Renathal shook his head, clearing the dregs of near-madness from it. "I cannot leave yet. My friends are still trapped. I must free them."

"Near here?" The Maw Walker glanced around as if looking for more cages.

"In... Torghast," he admitted.

Those bright eyes widened very slightly.

"My Prince, we need to get you out of here. The Maw Walker can come back for the others after -"

But Vorpalia's many arguments fell on deaf ears. The Maw Walker was inspecting Renathal closely, and he was watching her in turn. He saw her eyes take in his naked torso, the way his trousers hung off his anima-starved frame. She glanced at his face, and Renathal knew it must show a similar amount of wear. He tried to hold himself in a shadow of his regal stance, but his shaking limbs and weakened muscles betrayed him. The Maw Walker shook her head slowly.

"I don't think you're in any condition to be storming the Jailer's tower." She glanced at Vorpalia. "The sword is right, I'll take you to the Waystone and get you back to Revendreth. Then I can -"

"No." Renathal's power of dominion, an afterthought for most of his existence, was barely a discernable echo now. But there was just enough left to silence the Maw Walker and cut through Vorpalia's continued litany of concerns. "No, I cannot leave my allies behind. I am the reason they are here. We must.... sneak into Torghast."

Accustomed to being obeyed without question, Renathal found it disconcerting to watch this creature silently debate his direct order. But, he realised with an unpleasant twinge, he was truly at her mercy. If she refused to help him, there was no way he could make it through Torghast alone. Even with her and her presumed abilities, the prospect seemed dubious. Weakness, and not getting his way: two more new and unpleasant experiences to add to his growing collection, he thought bitterly.

The Maw Walker sighed, seeming to come to a decision.

"Very well. Torghast it is."

Renathal's breath caught in relieved surprise. He might have smiled at the creature if his face remembered how. The only argument now came from Vorpalia.

"My Prince, it is not a rescue if we lose you to the Jailer! We must get you to safety first!"

The Maw Walker glanced coolly at the swishing sword.

"I will happily escort you to the Waystone, if you like," she said with asperity.

"Of course not! Nothing will part me from my Prince again!"

This, the Maw Walker ignored. She shook back her dark hair and pulled her hood more firmly forward so only her eyes were visible. They focused on Renathal.

"Which way?"

Renathal took stock of his surroundings. He had no idea how long he'd been imprisoned, but it was certainly long enough to have memorised the view of the Maw outside his cage. He pointed back down the valley the Maw Walker and Vorpalia had just traversed, toward a side entrance in the Tremaculum.

"Through there. There is a portal into Torghast within. However..."

He waited for the Maw Walker to notice the still-alarming number of guards congregating around the Tremaculum, searching for the Incarcerator's killer. They could not possibly fight them all. But she had already started back down the hill, purple light leading the way, leaving no choice but for Renathal and Vorpalia to follow. Renathal could only hope whatever luck ran with the Maw Walker had a plan for defeating the veritable army that awaited them.

When they reached the last rocky outcropping separating them from the guards, the Maw Walker held out an arm. She paused for a moment, her head cocked slightly, as she observed the movements of the soldiers below.

"Perhaps a distraction might-" began Renathal, but his words died as the Maw Walker grabbed his wrist and pulled him flush against her side.

"Stay close to me," was her only explanation. "And stay quiet," she ordered catching sight of Renathal's open mouth.

The Maw Walker waved her free hand in an arc, conjuring a dazzling blue light, so brilliant it left Renathal blind for several seconds. Before he could recover his vision, he felt the Maw Walker tug on his arm, leading him firmly forward. Even when his eyes refocused, the blue mist obscured almost everything around them. He could see only a few paces in front and to either side, just enough to make out the dark silhouettes of the nearest Mawsworn. They were so close Renathal could have reached out and touched one, but the Maw Walker was hurrying him passed. The guards spared not a glance in their direction, and he realised the mist must be obscuring them from sight.

The Maw Walker picked a path between the oblivious sentries, Renathal keeping so close he was nearly on top of her. On his other side, Vorpalia knocked painfully against his knees. Any second now, he was sure, they would walk straight into a guard they hadn't seen, but the Maw Walker's luck held until, suddenly, she dropped her hand and the mist dissipated. Renathal looked quickly around, but the closest guard was several yards away and facing the opposite direction. Away from the large, silver arch; the portal into Torghast.

He stared at the innocuous-looking light swirling within the portal, and recalled the screams of his friends as they were pulled through, the pain as the Incarcerator had dragged him back across this very ground...

"Through here?" the Maw Walker asked.

Renathal nodded. He didn't trust his voice just at present.

The Maw Walker's eyes narrowed very slightly. They were all he could see of her face, and the lack of distinct pupils made them difficult to read. But he had the feeling she was sizing him up again. He spoke before she could change her mind.

"Let us... find our way through one of the most dangerous towers in existence…"

He was going for dark humour, but there was a tremor in his voice Renathal couldn't quite mask. He set his face to the portal's hypnotic silver depths. Throughout his entire imprisonment, he had wished for this moment: the opportunity to help his friends, or at the very least to share in their suffering. And now ... he had his wish. All he had to do was take two steps forward....

The skin on Renathal's upper arm felt suddenly warm, a sensation so unexpected he jumped. The Maw Walker had closed the distance between them and placed a gentle hand on his arm, whether to comfort him or encourage him forward he could not tell.

"Shall we?"

Her tone was light, the smile she offered him casual. The Maw Walker might have been suggesting a stroll through Darkhaven, for all the concern she showed. And perhaps her touch had concealed another spell, because Renathal could feel that warmth suffusing him, strengthening his resolve. He nodded, and together they stepped through the portal, Vorpalia just behind them.

The Venthyr had many semblances of mortal bodies - to keep them connected to and compassionate for the mortal souls they educated, according to Denathrius - but anima was all they truly required to continue existing. Renathal had to consciously remind himself of this fact as he crept through the first wide, eerie hall of Torghast, the tightness in his chest screaming at him for air he didn't really need. The deep breaths he took now were pure placebo, a way of soothing his electric nerves as he followed the Maw Walker along the dim, torchlit passage, Vorpalia just behind them.

No matter what Renathal had wished while locked in his cage, he had never truly believed rescue was possible - for himself or his fellow trapped Venthyr. Now that escape from the Maw was, theoretically, within their grasp, his own mind continued to torture him with all the things that might go wrong. Assuming they could even find his friends in Torghast's endless, illogical labyrinth - managing to defeat whatever monsters lurked along the way - who knew whether the others would still be in one piece or what the state of their minds would be? Or how they would all find their way out again...

A set of stairs clearly meant for a much larger creature waited for them at the end of the hall, and Renathal's legs - exhausted from his long period of cramped disuse - protested as vehemently and unnecessarily as his lungs. He forced himself to maintain a staid pace, and cast a subtle glance at the Maw Walker to see how she was faring.

Whatever sort of being she was - Renathal wasn’t sure it was polite to ask, though his curiousity ached to know - was proportioned slightly smaller than he was, but clearly had more experience with this sort of thing. She took the too-large stairs at an easy, practiced run, reaching the top first and peering around the next dark corner.

In contrast to Renathal's tightly-wound tension, the Maw Walker looked supremely relaxed, almost bored. She strolled just ahead of him down yet another empty, cavernous passage, head swiveling occasionally to examine the heavy chains adorning the walls, as though Torghast was a slightly disappointing museum. It occurred to him that the Maw Walker - a mortal, unfamiliar with the Shadowlands - might not fully understand the dangers of Torghast. Her victories in the Tremaculum might have led her to believe Torghast was similarly guarded: predominately by Mawsworn, with the occasional Mawbeast. But Renathal knew - from stories told in Revendreth, and now first-hand - the horrors that lurked within the Jailer's Tower.

"I'm afraid I cannot say what dangers may await us in Torghast," he said quietly, trying to keep his voice from echoing through the empty passage, "But I am certain they will be special torments of the Jailer."

The Maw Walker, now inspecting a pair of cruelly wrought chains set into the floor, merely hummed distractedly. Renathal wasn't sure if it was arrogance or ignorance keeping her from grasping the seriousness of their situation, but it bothered him either way. He tried again.

"I must confess, our mission's likelihood of success is not high."

The Maw Walker straightened, giving Renathal her full attention for the first time since they'd entered the Tower.

"Are you asking me to take you back?"

"No! Of course not," he floundered. "I am ... simply sorry to be leading you toward certain doom."

Renathal thought the small smile the Maw Walker flashed at him this time hid something darker behind it.

"Don't worry," she said, amusement colouring her words. "Certain doom is ... something of an old friend."

"And what is that supposed to mean?" Vorpalia spat from behind them. Her voice echoed menacingly off the stone as she zoomed forward to block their path. "Are you also in league with the Jailer, Maw Walker? Are you leading us to him?"

The Maw Walker's pale eyes flashed, her lips pursed tightly in obvious irritation. Renathal looked from her to Vorpalia curiously, wondering what bad blood existed between the two.

"Of course not," the Maw Walker replied in an exaggerated whisper. "I was not speaking literally."

She sidestepped Vorpalia pointedly as if daring her to act. The sword quivered in indignation but allowed the Maw Walker to pass.

"I only meant," the Maw Walker continued in a tone of forced patience. "That I encounter scenarios of certain doom often enough I've learned to have a bit of fun with them. They become dreadfully dull if you take them too seriously."

Renathal could think of no response to this. Beside him, Vorpalia emitted a snort of mocking laughter, but the Maw Walker ignored her. She continued her easy stroll toward the end of the hall, her purple glow illuminating the path much more effectively than the flickering blue torches bracketed to the walls. Perhaps, thought Renathal as he followed, there was some strengthening magic in the trailing motes of shimmering purple light. He could feel an echo of his own humour - long supressed by the Maw - creep back into his bones as he followed in their wake.

Ahead of him, the Maw Walker rounded the corner, then almost immediately backpedaled, hands stretched out in front of her. The sounds reached Renathal first - overlapping shouts and the clank of armor - so he had several seconds to acclimate himself to the sudden thrill of fear before the two sentries appeared. These were taller, broader species of being than guarded the Tremaculum. They towered over Renathal, and hefted axes nearly as long as the Maw Walker herself.

Vorpalia let out a triumphant cry at the prospect of battle, but the Maw Walker beat her to first blood. She shot a stream of violet sparks at both creatures, slowing them and rending holes in their armor, then let loose an explosion of colour and light that lifted them off their feet and flung them back against the wall. Not to be outdone, Vorpalia swooped forward and decapitated both guards in one fell strike before they could manage to stand again.

Renathal caught up with the two victorious females, panting slightly, as though he'd contributed to the fight as well. Which - he berated himself - he had not. In fact, this first encounter with an enemy had brought home to Renathal just how weak he was. He wasn't sure he had the strength in his arms to even wield Vorpalia, let alone enough anima to use any of his own magic. Realising he was entirely dependent on others for survival conjured up vivid memories of the helplessness he had felt in his cage, and despair seemed to loom up out of the darkness, threatening to suffocate him again....

"What is that?"

The Maw Walker's question halted Renathal's downward spiral. She was gesturing toward a swirling cloud of grey and black light now rising from the empty husks of armor.

"It's ... anima," Renathal said, momentarily distracted. " Some of these sentries must not be beings at all. They're merely anima-empowered armor." The cloud continued to hover ominously over the empty armor shells. "Take it. It should not be wasted."

"My kind do not use anima," she said mildly. "Can you use it?"

Renathal eyed the anima hungrily. Before the Maw, he had never known what it meant to be starving, but he had endured the sharp ache of it long enough now to almost forget how it felt to be satisfied. He steeled himself as best he could. If he could not contribute to their mission directly, the least he could do was not take power away from the Maw Walker.

"This would not be enough anima to recover even a fraction of my strength. Nor will it last. It's a temporary binding, but it should empower your magic for a time. Perhaps long enough to get us through this tower in one piece."

The Maw Walker looked from Renathal to the cloud, then stretched a hand into the mist. It dissipated in a rush of wind, whipping her hair and robes around her. As they settled, she blinked, then lifted her hand, flexing her fingers as if there were something different about them. But all she said was, "Interesting," before dropping her arm and moving forward once more.

They had gone only a short, silent distance before reaching a crossroads. Renathal peered cautiously in either direction, but the swirling blue fog that enveloped the halls prevented him from seeing far. Vorpalia zoomed off to the left and returned in seconds.

"Dead end," she announced, already heading down the right-hand path, Renathal following quickly.

It was a minute before he noticed the lack of echoing footsteps and realised the Maw Walker was not behind him. He whipped around, searching for her through the mist. He could see the outline of her purple shield walking in the opposite direction, down the left-hand path Vorpalia had surveyed. Curious, Renathal doubled back.

He found the Maw Walker inspecting an enormous, rusted cage propped haphazardly against the wall as though it had fallen. The wicked, grinning skull lock was cracked and the door slightly ajar. It had clearly been unused for eons.

"If my friends were there, Vorpalia would surely have noticed them," Renathal commented, but the Maw Walker made no indication she had heard him. She bent down to peer into the dark space underneath the cage.

"There is nothing there!" called an indignant Vorpalia, and Renathal winced at her voice's many echoes. "Or do you not trust my vision, Maw Walker?"

The Maw Walker straightened; her sharp smile aimed just above where Vorpalia hovered. "I merely thought someone with eyes should have a look," she said archly, and swept past them both, now following the right-hand path.

Vorpalia remained incensed for several more long hallways - and a dozen more anima-imbued guards - while Renathal grew more confused. The Maw Walker made a point of investigating every crevice and shadow, inspecting each obviously empty cage or set of chains. She offered no explanation for her bizarre behaviour, and sidestepped all Renathal's attempted inquiries. He couldn't fathom what she was looking for - though he was fairly certain it was not his friends - until they reached a circular anteroom at the bottom of a winding staircase, where a pitiful moan made the Maw Walker freeze.

"Is someone ... there?" called a hollow, thready voice.

A small cage at the back of the room held what looked like flickering white flame. On closer inspection, Renathal realised it was the remnant of a soul, probably bound here for millennia until reduced to little more than suffering vapor. Normally, he would have little pity for it - anything condemned to Torghast was the worst sort of irredeemable soul - except ...

Renathal thought of Dehavia's screams, of the Curator's wide-eyed terror, of his own excruciating, solitary torment ... He shivered involuntarily. Could there be other souls imprisoned here that did not belong?

The Maw Walker approached the cage with the closest thing to trepidation Renathal had yet seen from her. She fumbled the lock several times before succeeding in releasing the catch, her shaking hands pulling open the door and reaching in tentatively to touch the flickering wisp. Her fingers curled as though to cup the tortured thing's cheek, but this soul had long shed any semblance of mortal form and her hand passed right through. She bent down to whisper something to the broken remains of soul - a word in her language, or perhaps a name. It sounded to Renathal like a question, but he could barely hear it over the breathy sighing of the wisp as it collapsed, fading from existence entirely.

The Maw Walker remained still for a moment. Her back was to Renathal, but he could see her shoulders rise and fall in time with her trembling breath. When she turned, however, her face was once more impassive, unconcerned, as though nothing whatsoever had happened. She skirted past Renathal's open stare, and Vorpalia's questioning tilt, and began to climb the steep staircase.

Curiousity had ever been Renathal's downfall. It might not be a sin, but he certainly had enough of it to qualify as a vice, and his overindulgence of it was the reason he was here. His curiousity had spurred him to investigate Denathrius' many contradictory statements and strange behaviours, led him to discover his Sire's downright lies; and now it resurrected itself in Renathal to wonder loudly about the Maw Walker and whether she had another motive for accompanying him through Torghast.

It was clear she had no intention of explaining herself, and Renathal battled his desire to ask about the soul's significance all the way up the stairs and across the dark, creaking landing. He was just grappling with a delicate way to form the question when the Maw Walker stopped so abruptly, he walked into her.

Glancing ahead to see what had caught her eye, Renathal's unneeded breath caught in his chest. The room beyond, far from being disconcertingly empty as the others had, was teeming with Torghast's enormous breed of Mawsworn. They stood together at regular intervals all around the circular room, some fastening on armor, some sharpening weapons, others watching the sparring taking place in the room's center. This was clearly some sort of training ground for the sentries of the Tower.

Careful to remain as still and silent as he was capable, Renathal glanced down and met the Maw Walker's eye. He thought her face showed some apprehension, but all she whispered under her breath was, "Perhaps you should hang back. Conserve your strength." It was a polite way of reminding him he had nothing to contribute to a fight, and Renathal - in spite of the painful truth in this - was stung.

"I assure you, I will be just fine," he hissed in her ear.

The Maw Walker made no more arguments, simply nodded. And stepped forward into the room.

Renathal winced at the echoes of her loud footfalls, almost excessively loud ... as though she was taking care to step with extra force. Every helmet in the room swiveled around to regard the intruders, but it was a minute before the information appeared to penetrate their armor. One by one, the sentries went still, weapons slack in surprise. But Renathal knew their training would assert itself in mere seconds, and he clenched his hands, trying to call upon any hidden reserve of power.

"Well?" The Maw Walker's voice broke the stunned silence. "Come on then."

Renathal shot her a sharp glance, but she wasn't speaking to him. She was looking at the nearest of the towering guards, a small smile tugging at her lips.

Several things snarled, growled, and yelled simultaneously, and then every being in the room was moving all at once. The Mawsworn fell into step with each other like the soldiers they were, advancing rapidly and precisely on the intruders. And the Maw Walker, dwarfed by even the smallest of the sentries, merely planted her feet and lifted her hands.

Renathal had to wonder if she was always this formidable. Always capable of knocking back half a dozen forces at once, raining clouds of some sparkling ice that froze the sentries where they stood. Always able to keep an entire horde of enemies from even touching her - each one who tried knocked back by the shield of purple light. Or if her exceptional display of power was due to the anima currently strengthening her own magic.

Vorpalia cut in and out of the guards with cries of triumph and delight, slicing clean through limbs and joints in anima-empowered armor. Renathal lifted his hands as well, scraping his insides for the last dregs of his own anima, and joined his loyal sword in picking off those sentries knocked back by the Maw Walker's shield. He knew his magic had precious little effect, knew the Maw Walker and Vorpalia could have handled them easily on their own. But he was compelled to do his part, no matter what it cost him.

It was over in remarkably short time. A last raucous clatter of armor hitting stone echoed through the cavernous room, a sea of grey-black clouds now rising from the broken, empty husks. Renathal waited for the Maw Walker to collect them, but she turned to him instead.

"You take these," she said, looking him up and down. "You could do with some empowerment."

Renathal wanted to protest, but could no longer hide the fact that he could barely stand. It might not be much in comparison to the power he was used to, but at this point, anything would help. He staggered into the midst of the swirling anima, and immediately felt power surge in his chest, anima rushing like a waterfall through his aching limbs. His fingers tingled with the potent magic, and when he clenched his hands again, he could feel it gather in his palms obediently. Renathal knew it wouldn't last, knew it would not undo the weakness the Maw had inflicted on him if he ever made it out of here, but he still felt much better, much more like himself, and much more confident knowing he wasn't entirely useless.

The doubts that had eaten at Renathal throughout Torghast retreated as he strode through the subsequent chambers and lantern-lit hallways purposefully. He reveled in the presence of the increasingly frequent guards, enjoying the ability to exert his new-found power. Perhaps she could sense his change in mood, because the Maw Walker now hung back, leaving the majority of the fight to Renathal and Vorpalia, while she focused her attention on searching for more imprisoned souls.

He paid little attention at first, preoccupied with the thrill of battle after his long imprisonment, but as his stolen anima hoard gradually depleted, Renathal became annoyed at the way the Maw Walker was slowing them down. She could leave no cage unsearched, no dark corner uninspected. She lagged many paces behind, forcing Renathal and Vorpalia to stop and wait for her to catch them up, her face as neutral as ever. The only thing capable of wringing emotion from her, it seemed, was the discovery and rescue of another broken, fading soul.

It bothered Renathal. Most of these souls deserved to be here, after all. It was the heavy task of his own realm to condemn souls to the Maw, and his purview specifically to ensure the Venthyr took this responsibility seriously. Releasing these souls was a defiance of his own judgment. But Renathal decided it would be ungrateful to berate his rescuer just now. And, more importantly, he needed her. Whether or not his purloined power would allow him to rescue his friends on his own, he knew he could not escape the Maw itself without the Maw Walker.

After defeating another chamber full of heavily armed soldiers, and collecting still more hoarded anima, Renathal began to feel the itch of impatience. How long had they been traversing these labyrinthine halls? Could the Tower, which defied all traditional logic, be leading them in an endless circle? He was just about to suggest this to the Maw Walker when she stopped short again, catching him by surprise.

A cloud of obfuscating white mist was visible at the foot of a staircase just ahead of them. The Maw Walker cocked her head, and Renathal squinted at it, magic ready at his fingertips. He could just make out the shape of a being within the mist, stock still. It appeared to be watching them as well. It was hard to tell from this distance, but it didn't look like anything they had yet seen in Torghast. In fact, it looked like...

"It's a broker," the Maw Walker confirmed in some surprise. "Good. We can ask directions."

"Greetings to you." The broker nodded politely as they stepped within its protective circle of mist. "Might I tempt two weary travelers with my wares?"

"Possibly," the Maw Walker replied with equal politeness. "You wouldn't happen to have any armor or..." She shot an amused glance at Renathal that made him feel oddly self-conscious. "...a shirt? My friend has lost his."

"I have the best of food and drink, and trinkets to aid you in a fight. Clothing, I do not possess," the broker admitted. "Perhaps you will bring some to me to trade the next time you are here."

"Oh, I do hope there won't be one of those," said the Maw Walker, and the smile she gave the broker was so tired it nearly slid from her face.

It was the first indication of weariness Renathal had noticed from the Maw Walker, and he was abruptly reminded that she was mortal. Mortals needed extensive rest, he knew, and food and drink. When was the last time the Maw Walker had any of these things?

It occurred to Renathal for the first time to wonder what she had been doing before descending into the Maw to rescue him. If she had met Vorpalia, then the Maw Walker must have been in Revendreth, but Renathal felt certain he was not the reason. There had been many rumours circulating about the Maw Walker before his imprisonment - they called her undefeatable, un-killable, claimed she had met the Jailer face to face and arrived in Oribos unscathed - but the only one Renathal knew for sure was that she was in the Shadowlands on a mission for her own world, Azeroth.

But, apparently, she had put that mission on hold to save him, and then his friends at his request. In hindsight, Renathal realised he had asked quite a lot from this being whose name he did not know in a very short span of time, and not once had she protested or complained or acted as though aiding him put her to any sort of trouble. Nor had she asked anything of him in return.

Renathal watched the Maw Walker negotiate calmly with the broker, as if they were nowhere more dangerous than the Night Market, and wondered again what kind of being she was. He had existed for longer than mortal history was recorded, and in that time he thought he'd encountered every kind of being. But the Maw Walker ... she was a new experience for Renathal. He supposed souls like hers did not end up in Revendreth.

When the Maw Walker's transaction had concluded, she produced coins from somewhere in her robes and added in a would-be casual voice:

"By the way, we're looking for friends of ours, you wouldn't happen to have seen them? They would be Venthyr, like my friend here."

“Three of them," added Renathal, snapping out of his reverie.

He gave a broad description to the broker, unable to determine from its visage if his words had any effect. There was a short, anxious silence. Then the broker inclined its head once.

"You are going in the right direction to find what you seek," it confirmed quietly. "But tread with caution. These prisoners are ... heavily guarded."

This warning seemed overly ominous to Renathal, as they took their leave of the broker and continued up the staircase. Perhaps it was the stolen anima hoard within him pulsing for release, or perhaps the Maw Walker's supreme confidence had infected him somehow. But he now felt sure that between himself, the equally empowered Maw Walker, and the ever-enthusiastic Vorpalia, they should be able to defeat whatever beast the Jailer had set to torment his allies.

But whatever beast Renathal had been envisioning was not what met them at the end of the passage. The enormous, lidless, armored Eye was larger than any Stoneborn in Revendreth, and a world more disconcerting. It took up fully half the chamber, the other half given over to a row of narrow cages, as cruel as every other cage they had come across in Torghast. Except these were decidedly not empty.

"Renathal? You came back?"

The Curator's familiar voice was as full of broken pain as when it had haunted Renathal in his own prison. He wanted to call out words of reassurance, but the unblinking eye had momentarily robbed him of voice. Unlike the rooms full of training Mawsworn sentries, this abomination was clearly waiting for them, and being caught in the wide net of its evil gaze made Renathal feel strangely shaky.

"Is that it?"

Beside Renathal, the Maw Walker cocked her head. She seemed entirely unfazed by the monstrosity before them.

"Were you hoping for more of them?" Renathal asked, diverting his own nerves into sarcasm. " Or just something bigger?"

"Not necessarily," the Maw Walker said. "Just something ... I don't know ... less anti-climactic? This isn't even the worst thing I've seen today." She heaved a dramatic sigh, then gestured to the cages behind the creature. "Go free your friends, Vorpalia and I can handle this."

Renathal raised an eyebrow at her, and the Maw Walker smiled. It was a calm, self-assured smile, just bordering on smugness; an expression that clearly could not conceive of failure.

She wore the same sort of smile again, after the enormous, wicked eye laid dark and oozing on the floor, when the newly freed and oddly-muddled Curator warned the Maw Walker that using her as their escape route might be painful.

"I'll attempt to endure it," was all she said, entirely unperturbed, that infuriatingly serene smile not flickering for an instant.

It half-impressed, half-exasperated Renathal. Enough so that, for a moment, it actually amused him to see the Maw Walker lying flat on her back long after he and his fellow Venthyr had all risen to their feet in the depths of Sinfall. Tenaval helped a shaking Dehavia brush dirt from her torn dress, while Renathal struggled to convince the confused Curator they were back in Revendreth, and safe, so it was several minutes before he could spare a glance for the Maw Walker, still motionless on the floor, and another minute before he understood the implication.

In the space of one unnecessary heartbeat, Renathal was kneeling next to the motionless being. Her purple glow was gone, and she looked much smaller and more fragile without it. He leaned down close to her face, trying to feel or hear the breath he knew was not an affectation for mortals. But there was nothing. No mist of exhaled air from her slack mouth, no rise and fall to her chest. And Renathal's first thought, before all the implications of it fully hit him, was that he could now add "death" to his list of new experiences.

The sadness mortals experienced at the passing of others, and even themselves, across the veil to the Shadowlands had always somewhat puzzled Renathal. After all, it was hardly the end of anything. Now, for the first time, he thought he had an inkling of what their grief entailed. The Maw Walker had rescued him, protected him, been an unlikely friend in the darkest place he had ever known. And now she was simply ... gone, and he didn't know where to find her. He had lost her. And with her, virtually any chance of stopping Denathrius.

Hopelessness hit Renathal like a hammer, and he sat back on his heels, dizzy and stunned. He wondered distantly where her soul was now ... whether he would survive the Master long enough to find out...

The black of despair was so vivid across his vision that he didn't see when the Maw Walker's eyes shot open, didn't register that her hands had sprung up to clutch at her throat until he heard the spluttering, choking sound. Renathal's noise of surprise was lost in her loud, gasping breaths as the Maw Walker fought to get air back into her lungs. She rolled to one side, still panting hard, and Renathal felt relief so tangible it was as if someone had draped his own coat across his shoulders.

"The Maw Walker's alive!" said the Curator in mild surprise, and the Maw Walker looked up at her words.

"You weren’t kidding about the painful bit," she said.

Her voice was cracked from the strain on her throat, and her blue-white eyes were bloodshot. But she pushed herself into a sitting position, took another deep gulp of air, found Renathal's face ... and smiled.

And Renathal, sitting in an undignified heap on Sinfall's floor, where he himself had been made and nearly unmade, felt reborn.

Maybe it wasn't hubris. Maybe she was unkillable. Maybe Revendreth wasn't doomed after all.

Renathal looked at the Maw Walker's undaunted smile, and dared to feel hope.

Read Part 6 | Visit the Masterpost

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