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You might be wondering where the sex has gone in this series. The answer is away. Enjoy the story for now!

• Master Meridian

Blood and Water

Less Than Blood

The last of the manor's defenses fell away, and Oswell breathed the barest sigh of relief. Deacon had done his job well; his home would have been nigh-impregnable to the Ahron magi he'd dispatched. The tears in his robe and flesh were a testament to the magi's skill, but he'd simply lacked the raw power to keep up with someone of Oswell's training.

He stretched out a paw to push open the doors as he spared a glance behind him. The four surviving members of the royal guard stood at his back, with a very angry Istvan at their fore. Rage boiled away in the warrior's heart, and the two helms that he carried under his arms bore the spilled blood that had sparked it. Oswell thought to open his muzzle and offer some soothing words or platitudes that might have helped ease the pain of his lost soldiers. Then he remembered how inconsequential and disposable they were, and instead turned back to the door.

No sooner had it swung open than his eyes fell upon Corella. He frowned at the princess even as she folded her arms across her chest and glared angrily back at him. "My lady? Why are-"

"And about time you returned!" she snapped back at the fox. Her hackles bristled as she flattened her ears, and a snarl crept out of her muzzle as the soldiers behind Oswell quickly moved around the magi. "Istvan! You will find Master Oswell's son and bring him immediately to face questioning."

The warrior nodded once and elbowed his way past Oswell, and the fox frowned at the taller wolf before he glanced back toward Corella. "My lady, I beg your pardon, but could you explain the nature of your frustration?"

She ignored him. Instead, she turned after Istvan and called out to him, "And find the otter as well! They both_have much to answer for!" Her hair tossed through the air as she turned her glare back on Oswell. "Do you think this a game, master magi? Do you think it _entertainment to arrange a marriage between the hair to the throne and... and... some gods-damned _serpent-chaser_like him?" She all but spat the last word of the sentence, the disgust plain in her face.

Anger, sudden and pure, burned up inside Oswell. There was no sense of Bain, naturally; his laboratory was shielded. But he could not sense Deacon either, and he would have known if the brat had tried to leave. There was only one place Deacon could be. He allowed Istvan to leave his sight before he uttered another word to Corella. "My lady, I sincerely apologize for this," he said. Each word rolled out slowly as he dropped his arms to his sides. "I of course free you from your obligations, and your mother's debt to me will still be considered repaid in full for this... this affront."

The wolfess simply turned her nose up and looked away. Oswell bowed his head slightly, half out of respect and half out of a desire to hide an angry sneer. "With your permission, I will also seek out Deacon and Bain. They have much to answer for."

When Corella nodded, Oswell let his head dip lower. He swept past her and headed immediately for the stairway to his laboratory. He'd been lucky. Perhaps Corella didn't know the limits of the law regarding Bain's perversion, but the last thing Oswell wished to do was imply that she had the right to seize him as well. The situation was a mess, but not unsalvageable.

He hurried down the stairs as quickly as his wounded body could manage. He immediately noticed the lack of the barrier he'd erected to protect the lab from Deacon. The sense of his son's magic lingered in the staircase and Oswell growled quietly to himself. Deacon had disobeyed him directly. That had never happened before. Bain - or more specifically, what Bain had become - had been a poor influence on him. Still, it could be salvaged. Oswell just needed to learn all the new variables and integrate them into his earlier equations.

When he reached the bottom of the stairs, it was to the sight of Deacon and a remarkably-healed Bain as they stood over one of the sleep pods. From the stairs Oswell could see several other pods set down, opened to reveal the otter inside. His eyes narrowed as he fought back another growl. Anger would blind him. He needed calm to take control of the situation.

He watched and listened to Bain's disbelief. He heard the shout, the demand for information. He heard Deacon give a non-answer, and Oswell sighed as he stepped into the laboratory proper. "Of course he knows who that is," he said with a thin smile as he approached. They both turned with surprise toward Oswell as he drew himself up tall. "How could you not, Bain? Hmm? You recognize the face. You know. It is you."

The otter's finger remained pointed at the opened sleep pod even as his wild eyes fixed on Oswell. "How?" he demanded. "How's that possible? How'm I there?"

Oswell didn't immediately reply. Instead he strode forward, eyes locked on Deacon. "What are you doing down here, boy?" he asked in as even a voice as he could manage. It wasn't enough to keep the hint of a snarl from his tone.

Deacon rounded the table slowly, paws where his father could see them as he stood up tall and straight. "I could ask you the same question, father," he replied. "What is this? Why do you have copies of Bain down here?"

"A moment." Oswell lifted a paw and thrust his palm toward Bain. The otter cried out as he was struck by a battering ram of force and thrust back against the pillar in the center of the dome. His arms and legs splayed wide as he was pinned there, and Oswell's eyes turned to Deacon as the younger of the foxes raised his own paws. "No. Do not give resistance even a single thought."

In spite of those words, both of Deacon's paws erupted in spheres of molten flame. The air all around him rippled with heat as he held Oswell's stare. "Put him down, father," he growled. "Now."

Both of Oswell's eyebrows lifted slightly as he regarded his son. He remained silent as he tilted his head slowly upward. "No," he replied at last. "Let us consider this situation you have created, boy. You attempt to strike me down. You fail because you have always lacked the power necessary to destroy me." His smile slipped as Deacon's eyes began to flicker with fresh flame. "Assume for a moment you do have the power. You lack the speed and precision to keep me from destroying the otter before you can remove me from this situation."

"You would still be dead," Deacon snapped back.

The comment only earned a perked ear from Oswell and a strained grunt from the pinned Bain. "As would he. Are you really prepared to take action that would directly result in the death of the person you hold so dear?"

Deacon gave another quiet growl as the flame in his eyes flared brighter for a moment. "You seem very certain that I cannot strike you down before you kill Bain," he ground out. "I am not so sure you are right, father."

Both of Oswell's eyebrows lifted as he cocked his head to the side. He allowed a little spark of electricity to flash warningly between his fingers. "I asked if you were prepared, boy. Could you kill your own father? Hmm?" He smirked for a second as he caught the flicker of doubt in the younger fox's heart. "Assuming you do have the power and will to do as you say - strike down your father, save your beloved little otter whore - what? Do you kill the princess above? Her entourage?"

The doubt continued to mount in Deacon, and Oswell could sense his hold on his powers weakening. The boy was no murderer. "Consider. You are lashing out as an emotional response in defense of a person you have come to care about. I do hope you realize that if you continue on this course you will either come to an end where I kill Bain one last time and you are left very alone, or where you are forced to commit regicide in this very home in the name of your freedom." His eyes narrowed slightly as the other ear perked up. "Are you so ready to become a killer that you wish to start now?"

Some of the fire went out of Deacon's eyes, but his paws continued to flash with light. "Put him down," he demanded again, though his voice lacked some of the firmness it had previously held.

"No," Oswell replied again. He shook his head as he started toward Deacon, arm still raised to keep Bain pinned. "You are a fool and have paid no attention to anything I have taught you. You lack the power to control this situation, and therefore I have nothing at all to fear from you. You have nothing of value to offer me in exchange for my surrender."

As Oswell spoke, the fire that engulfed Deacon's paws slowly dimmed. It flickered away into his fur as his arms went slack, though his glare refused to lose any of its strength. His eyes darted around the room for a moment, before a thin smile broke through his muzzle. "I have one thing," he said as he spread his arms out wide. "I have me."

The fire bloomed to life again and curled around his fingers before it began to spread up his arms. Oswell's eyes widened as he watched it flicker over Deacon's body. "What are you doing?" he growled as he took another step forward. What in the world was the boy doing? Certainly he wasn't...

"You want me," Deacon replied as he grinned wider. A glance over at Bain showed the otter's eyes glint in the firelight with fear. "You keep making more and more of Bain, but you've only got one me." His arms twitched. "I can burn myself up. Right here, right now. I can do it quickly enough that you could not stop me. It'd be relatively painless, if I do it right." He grinned wider at his father's suddenly shocked expression. There was a clear undercurrent of something there that he couldn't quite pin down. Fear? Desperation? Concern? "You think I would not do it, but I can see in your face the truth, father. You cannot afford to take the chance that I would."

Oswell's eyes flicked back and forth between Bain and Deacon as his tail tucked in slightly. His lips pursed as his ears flattened back down again, and a growl rumbled out from his muzzle. "No," he grumbled at last. "I cannot afford to take the chance that you would. Too much has diverged already." He tilted his head up slightly as his eyes hardened once more. "I will not put Bain down, however. I simply... assure that no further harm comes to him until we have worked out this unpleasantness."

"Gods take him!" Bain snarled as he strained against his invisible bonds. "Don't believe him, Deacon! He's a liar! He-"

The older fox waved his free paw dismissively toward the otter. "Every lie and every deception has been for Deacon's benefit," he replied as Bain suddenly fell silent. Oswell's eyes never left his son's gaze. "Through him, it shall also benefit me."

As Bain tried to speak, all he managed to do was soundlessly open and close his muzzle. "You silenced him," growled Deacon.

His father shrugged easily. "His voice has begun to grate on my nerves, and he has nothing of interest to add to this conversation." He glanced over to the otter briefly. "It is a trait he shared with his father, before I killed him."

"And perhaps you can curb your amusement at murder for a moment," Deacon said, even as Bain renewed his struggle. The mirth had returned to his father's face with the taunt. "What is this? What have you done?"

With a sigh, Oswell frowned at Deacon. "You know better than to ask such a broad question, boy. What I have done and what_this_ is? This is for the greater good of my experiments." One ear twitched. "Be specific."

Deacon bared his teeth as he marched forward a couple steps. Oswell didn't flinch, and he equally didn't react when the younger magi pointed at the nearest of Bain's dissected doppelgangers. "This. The copies of Bain. Why are you doing this?"

With a roll of his eyes, Oswell turned to look at Bain again. The otter was pulled off the wall by the older fox's mental hold and began to sedately float back toward the vulpines. "As I have told you, Bain possesses a certain vibrancy of spirit. His connection to ilaen magic is strong enough to warrant experimentation." His jaw worked from side to side as he looked the otter up and down. "It was not always so. I had to improve on this connection.

"Each copy of Bain you see - each copy you suspect is stuck inside one of those sleep pods up there - represents a step on the path to perfecting a vessel for ilaen powers." As Bain stilled in the air beside Oswell, the older fox looked him over again. "I could have chosen another. I could have found someone else to serve as this vessel, if not for a peculiar trait that resides inside him."

Bain's struggles seemed to stall for a moment as both he and Deacon listened with interest. The fox frowned as he reached out with his mind to help ease some of the otter's discomfort. "His attraction to males?" he asked.

Oswell snorted as he turned back to his son. "Do not be foolish. That has no more or less importance on his potential than the color of his eyes. There is powerful magic in his ancestry. This magic has been lost to the Noctus Imperium for generations. Ahron sorcery flows in his veins."

He smirked up at Bain. "You do not even know the history of your blood. Your great, great grandfather was a sorcerer of Ahron and a scholar of the Font of Ages. The Ahron city-state jealously guarded the Font and the magic that boiled up within it from the core of the world. They protected it from everyone. They even had the power to protect it against the Noctus Imperium. The world's magi could siege their walls and never break them down."

"And because Bain possesses this ancestral connection to the Font, you wished to tap into his powers specifically," Deacon concluded with a nod. When Oswell cocked an eyebrow, the younger fox shook his head. "Why? To what end? What purpose would this connection serve?"

Oswell just snorted again as he regarded his son. "In and of itself? Nothing. A dormant connection to the Font's power through the generations is unable to do anything to strengthen his own powers." His expression soured as he glared at the otter once more. "But if he bonds with someone, the connection is reestablished. His care for you awakened the power in his blood that I needed.

"If I simply needed that, I could have ignored his ilaen potential. But because it too is a crucial piece to my work, I could not allow him to pass me by. Both in the same subject? It was too great an opportunity to pass up." He shrugged as Bain silently growled at him. "I took my time. Years, in fact, to build a version of Bain that had a strong enough ilaen connection to-"

"Years?" Deacon interrupted with a frown. "We collected Bain from his village three weeks before his parents came to bring him home! How have you been doing this for years?"

With a smirk, Oswell strode toward Deacon. "Look around you, boy. I can suspend any living thing inside one of these pods for as long as I need. I can point you to the pod that contains the original, un-altered but quite thoroughly dissected Bain Mazon. You will find him to be quite the inferior specimen to the male that stands... in a manner of speaking, before you."

Deacon shook his head firmly as he took a step back from his father. "I've never been inside one of these pods," he said.

"Are you quite certain of that?" Oswell asked as a smile began to creep across his face. He stepped forward to keep the same amount of distance between himself and the younger fox. "Really, properly certain? Can you say, with perfect clarity of memory, that you have never in your existence been within one of my sleep pods?"

"For as long as I can remember," declared Deacon a moment later. He still took another step back.

And Oswell took another step forward. "And you would be right, for as long as you can remember. You have not been in one of these pods since before you could remember, but I have not needed you to come down here." The smile grew wider. "Where do you sleep? Hmm? In your bedchambers... which are connected to the full arcane defensive system I have woven into this manor." He stayed still as Deacon backed up further. Horror twisted the younger fox's face. "Oh yes. The same enchantments that can lock down your bedchamber allow me to lock you in a deep, unwaking sleep for as long as I deem necessary."

"Three years," Deacon muttered to himself as he shook his head. His tail began to tuck up even as Oswell began to approach again. He tried to back up, but found himself backed up against one of the tables he'd filled with a failed Bain experiment. "You put me to sleep for... for three years?"

The older fox rolled his eyes. "Hmf. You did not age in those three years, boy. Many would be thrilled for such an opportunity. The Arcanum shard I gifted you was designed to recharge the system, in case I needed to send you back to sleep again. Be grateful I am not sure that such a time has come."

Oswell folded his arms and his smile turned more into a sneer as the shock on Deacon's face began to mingle with betrayal. "I knew the time had come... that my experiment had reached a critical point. I knew my latest version of Bain was sufficiently powerful to be useful to my efforts. I also knew, disgusting as it was, that I would need to play on his unhealthy desires for you in order to forge a connection that would wake his ancestral power. I could not have anticipated your reciprocation. Disgusting. Disturbing."

For his part, Deacon just vigorously shook his head. The sight of his father, so thrilled with his discomfort, didn't help the sick feeling in the pit of his stomach. "No, it couldn't have been three years," he protested. "When Bain's father attacked me, you said we'd taken Bain three _weeks_earlier! You're lying!"

"To him, yes. His rage blinded him to the particulars; you remember exactly how furious he was. He was not capable of seeing anything that was not his son being returned to him." One of Oswell's ears twitched as he brushed down his burned and torn robe. "I did not anticipate, however, a few factors that I will now have to correct"

Deacon began to slide around the table again as Oswell resumed his slow approach. "For one, my constant tinkering with Bain has resulted in a version of him that is considerably smarter, stronger and more _willful_than the original. He has diverged considerably from the boy he was into the boy he is now." He smirked as Deacon nearly tripped over a box full of equipment. "That is of no consequence. I have become exceedingly effective at the taming of lesser people.

"What I was most_displeased with was his effect on _you," he continued as he raised his free paw. Before Deacon could move or speak, the younger fox's arms were pushed behind his back and interlocked together, held there by Oswell's will. "All the work I put into you, and you - you! - were corrupted by the little otter's perversions. I thought you were ready to take the final step toward your destiny, but no... no. No, this will not do. Not after what he has done to you."

Even as he pushed back against his father's hold, Deacon tilted his head up and glared right back. Fear set his whole body atremble, but he grit his teeth against it as he stared his father down. "I was always this," he told Oswell. "I just didn't know. Bain showed me."

With a growl, Oswell raised his paw higher. Deacon lifted up off the ground for a moment before the older fox brought the paw swiftly back down again. His son slammed into the ground with a grunt of pain, and Oswell stormed over to him and wrapped that paw firmly around Deacon's throat. "This was never you," he snarled as Deacon winced in pain. "You hear me? Never! I did not go through my whole life a dozen times over so that the next could be spent as some serpent-chaser brat such as yourself!"

Even through the pain, Deacon heard his father's words loud and clear. His eyes snapped back open as he looked up at Oswell. The same eyes stared back at him. The face was like looking into a mirror. Oswell was age-worn and enraged, yes, but the similarities all of a sudden took on a darker turn. He stared into those eyes. The same eyes. "No..."

Oswell pushed down harder on Deacon's throat as he pinned the younger fox to the floor. "Why else would I suffer all of your stupidity and defiance without punishment? Hmm? Hmm?! Why leave you your tongue when I should have cut it out to save myself trouble? Why not brand you, scar you as a reminder never to cross me?" He pushed down harder as he glared at his creation. "Because one day that body was going to be mine!"

Deacon caught a flicker of motion behind Oswell, but the older fox was too focused on him to notice. "No," he croaked again around Oswell's choking grip. "My... mother-"

"Fiction!" snapped Oswell as he pulled Deacon up and slammed his head down against the floor again. "You have no mother! You are me, you fool! I created you from myself; a new vessel to contain my mind and my powers! I trained you after _crafting_you with fraen magic incorporated from another experiment!" The anger drained away slightly as he grinned down at Deacon. "Once I incorporate Bain's ilaen powers into you, my aerun magic will mingle with yours. I will take control. Deacon would cease to exist. I would live on in your body, rejuvenated and stronger than before."

As Deacon gave a choked little gasp for air, Oswell leaned in closer with a deep, quiet growl. "I would have taken the throne, you insolent brat. I would have taken the Font. You cannot even grasp the extent of power - no, the knowledge - that is contained within that place!" He pressed down harder on Deacon's throat as the younger magi's eyes began to roll back into his head. "You have set my efforts back decades, boy... but fear not. My next version of you will be quite a bit more malleable than you have been, I assure you."

Just as darkness began to close around Deacon's vision, the physical grip on his throat and the metaphysical grip around his arms vanished. It came with a roar of pain from Oswell, and air surged back into Deacon's lungs as he opened his eyes. It was in time to see his father - no, his creator - whirl on the otter that stood behind him. As the older fox turned, Deacon could see one of Oswell's blades stuck in his shoulder. Bain must have grabbed it from the dresser in his room before they left!

The injury didn't keep Oswell from a vicious backhand that was augmented by his powers. A clap of thunder rolled out from the impact against Bain's face, and the otter flew halfway across the room before he tumbled across the ground. Oswell snarled wordlessly as he reached back to pull the blade free.

As Deacon panted for breath, he felt his rage at Oswell and his concern for Bain all surge to the surface. He roared as he thrust a paw up at Oswell, and he pushed hard enough with his mind at the knife to run it right through his creator's chest. Handle and all ripped through Oswell's shoulder, and it was his turn to cry out as the blade shattered against the dome.

Oswell began to turn back to Deacon, but the smaller vulpine was faster. He reached up with both paws as he rose and grabbed Oswell by the shoulders. The mad magi roared as he struggled to free himself, but Deacon spun about on one footpaw as he grit his teeth. He took a mental hold of his creator's body as he let go, and he glared at Oswell's bloody form as he _pushed_as hard as he could.

The air rippled around Oswell as the mental blow struck true, and his arms and legs trailed limply behind him as he crossed the entire laboratory in less than a second. The entire dome shook as Oswell slammed into the wall, cracked by the force of Deacon's push. A groan slipped from Oswell's muzzle as he fell out of the crater in the wall, and he wheezed as he sprawled across the floor.

Bain's expression was one of shock as Deacon turned to him and grabbed him by the wrist. "Wait, what're you-"

"C'mon, before he gets up!" Deacon interrupted. He tugged urgently on Bain's arm as he tried to dislodge the otter from his place. "We have to go now!"

Oswell lifted his head in time to catch a glimpse of Bain as the otter turned away. The growl that slipped out of his muzzle came more like a groan as he forced his arms up and under his body. "Oh, flee all you like," he muttered as the two fled, hand in hand, back up the stairs. "Run as far as you please. I care not.

"I already know how this must end."

Deacon squeezed Bain's paw tight as they ran up the stairs. The magi's mind raced as he tried to push aside everything that had just happened and focus on the issue in front of him. Finding the truth didn't matter so much anymore. Now that they both knew it, there was only one way forward: out. If they didn't get out, both of them would be dead or worse.

He slowed as they reached the top of the stairs. The royal guard and Corella were up there. The fox didn't particularly want to hurt any of them, but he knew that they were unlikely to give him much choice. Deacon glanced back down the stairs, but paused when Bain came into view. The sight of the fearful otter held his attention for a moment. "We have to get out of here before he activates the defenses."

"It's just the lobby out there," Bain replied. The waver in his voice was coughed down as the otter shook his head. "But what else? It's Oswell. He planned all of this. What else did he plan for?"

The fox shook his head as he gently grasped at Bain's shoulders. "He didn't plan for you and I doing this, Bain. He didn't plan for us to make a run for it. He planned for you to die and for me to..." He paused for a moment as he fought down bile and tried to keep his voice steady. "He planned for me to be him. He failed... but if we don't get out of here right now, he'll get up, get us, and still get everything he wanted still."

With a glance back down the stairs of his own, Bain nodded once. "What do you need me to do?" he asked.

"Stay out of sight and get ready to run when I say," replied Deacon as he pressed a paw to the door. "Corella will not have left the way out unguarded. There will be fighting and, for all of fa... Oswell's alterations of who you are, you are still a baker's son." He tried a little smile which did nothing to help ease the concern on Bain's face. "Stay out of their way and be ready to run, and we'll both get out of this."

When the otter nodded once more, Deacon took a breath and closed his eyes. He stretched out his mind as he pushed the door open, and instantly was able to sense the two guards that had been stationed at the manor's entrance. He reached to their bodies and took a hold with his powers to slam them both together.

Mental feedback sent tingles through the fox's skull as the two guards entirely failed to react to his push. Deacon's eyes opened wide as they drew their swords and began to head toward him, and he raised a paw to ward them off with another push. The air rippled around them, but it barely slowed the two down. "Oh dear," he muttered as the nearest of the two raised his sword high.

The weapon came down as Deacon instead pushed at the ground. He launched in a mighty leap past the two guards and into the center of the lobby, and the fox twisted in the air to keep them in view. He landed in a crouch that he softened with his powers, ears flat atop his head. "Take the otter," he heard one of them growl.

His eyes flicked to Bain as the order was issued. Deacon backed away from the soldier that moved toward him, but his attention remained fixed on the armored figure that menaced Bain. When the otter slid out of the doorway, Deacon took a hold of the door's frame and pulled with his mind. His teeth grit as the stone cracked under his efforts, before he gasped and pulled the frame completely free. Shards of worked stone erupted from the doorway and sprayed across the guard.

The guard had to raise an arm to fend off the shards, and it gave Bain a chance to run past him for the stairs. Deacon meanwhile had to duck back from the soldier that still pursued him. His sword swung out again and again with a viciousness that surprised Deacon. The fox growled as a near-hit sliced into his robe, and his eyes narrowed at the guard's pleased chuckle. Experimentally, he sent another mental shove at the guard.

There was still no effect, but Deacon could finally see why. The symbol of the royal family set into the breastplate flared with brilliant purple light as he reached out, and it faded back to black a second later. Evidently the armor was crafted to absorb the attacks of a magi. Deacon growled as he raised one paw quickly toward the warrior's descending blade. Bright flame seethed along his forearm and solidified into a fiery blade, twice as long as his arm again. He snarled as he brought it up against his foe's attack.

The sword was not as protected as the guard's armor. As Deacon swung his fashioned weapon up to block, the arcane fire instead burned right through the soldier's steel. It cut through the blade as if it weren't even there, and molten metal dripped to the carpet as Deacon's opponent backed up a step. He dropped his useless sword and snatched a dagger from his side.

Before it could even be raised, Deacon called the blade to his paw. It ripped itself out of the guard's gauntlet and settled neatly in Deacon's grasp. Without anyway to directly affect the guard's armor, Deacon winced. He lifted the dagger with his mind, the little blade left to hover in the air as he stared down the soldier's impassive helm. The dagger's blade began to melt down rapidly as Deacon poured his strength into it, and a writhing ball of liquid, burning metal swirled above his paw. "I'm really, very sorry about this," he said, before he thrust his paw forward.

The liquid metal streamed through the air faster than the soldier could react to. His arms raised to shield his face, but not in time to prevent it from pouring through the eye holes in his helm. Screams issued from the guard as he clutched at his helm in an attempt to wrench it off, but once inside the liquid metal was separated from Deacon's control. It quickly hardened again, his badly burned head sealed inside his own helm.

A bellow from his left caught Deacon by surprise, and he turned in time to see the gauntlet of the second guard come crashing into his face. He hit the ground almost as hard as he felt the familiar trickle of warm blood from his nostrils. The fox rolled onto his back as he watched the soldier raise his sword, and quickly raised his paws high above his head. He reached out with his mind, took hold, and pulled.

Not at the warrior, and not at his armor, but at the doors to the manor. They ripped free under Deacon's desperate will, and careened through the air toward his assailant. The soldier's sword vanished from view as the heavy wooden doors slammed into him and drove him back toward the shattered laboratory doorway. When the doors came to rest, there was no sign of the warrior. His sword tumbled across the carpet as the double doors lay still.

Deacon sighed as he looked about the lobby, and smiled slightly as he caught sight of Bain. The otter peeked up over the staircase's railing at the destruction below. "Come on," he called out to Bain. "We need to go."

Bain just shook his head and cowered back against the stairs as he nodded toward the opened doorway. "Not sure he's gonna let you," he warned.

With a frown, Deacon turned back to the doorway. There, just outside the manor, stood Istvan. The warrior's helm was on the ground and his sword was at his hip. He held his spear like a staff, eyes sharp and focused on the fox as he stepped forward. "On the authority of the royal family, I demand you surrender now on suspicion of perversion and unholy dealings," he said.

With paws raised, Deacon stepped toward the door. He spared a brief glance at Bain as he took a breath. "I go with you, and you kill me," he replied. Each word came slowly, as calm and clear as he could manage. "Please. You need to focus on Oswell. You may need my help to control him."

"Master Oswell is an ally of the Noctus Imperium and someone I fought alongside not even an hour ago," Istvan countered as he lowered his spear to point at Deacon. "He saved my life then, and has saved my life in skirmishes in the past. So unless you've got the queen's authority behind you..." He tilted his head up and adopted a defensive stance. "Surrender now. I'll feel no remorse running you through, boy."

"Deacon!" The cry from behind the fox turned his head in time to see Bain rushing for the front door. Another member of the royal guard was in pursuit, a spear of his own in his grasp. He was seconds away from reaching Bain, and seconds more away from Bain reaching the door and fleeing right into Istvan's reach.

There wasn't time to think, so Deacon acted. He reached out to grab a hold of Istvan's spear with his mind, and wrenched it out of the big wolf's grip. It flew smoothly through the air and zipped over Deacon's shoulder in less than a second. By the time he felt the motion of the air against the side of his face, it was already past him and embedded in the face of the soldier in pursuit of Bain.

The world stopped. Deacon watched the spear break through the warrior's helm as if in slow motion, driven by a force that no arm could hope to match. Blood came through the freshly-made hole in the helm a moment later, but it was nothing compared to the plume that erupted from the other side. Red and grey mingled in the air and stained the carpet right back to the wall. The tip of the spear was soaked when it revealed itself again, broken and torn and covered in whatever it had ripped out of the soldier's skull on its way through.

Deacon forced himself to turn back to Istvan, intent on pleading his case. No sooner had the soldier he'd killed began to fall than he found Istvan in mid-charge. There wasn't time to stop him, and Deacon grunted as he found himself crushed under the weight of the platemail-clad lupine. His muzzle fell open in a roar of pain as he felt his shoulder pop out of its socket under the force of the wolf's charge.

When he was able to see through the tears that suddenly clouded his vision, it was just in time to catch Istvan's gauntlet. His head snapped to the side under the withering blow, and he'd no sooner righted it than the same strike came from his other side. Blood splattered the grass outside the manor on the third blow, but by then Istvan's gauntlets were already slick with red.

The fifth blow was the final one. Deacon blinked through blood and tears as Istvan straddled his middle, and he caught one of the wolf's paws dip down to his side. It came back up with his dagger clutched tight, and the fox's eyes widened as Istvan held it there. There was no rage or malice in the wolf's face. It was held up for only a moment longer, before the dagger was driven down toward his heart.

A streak of brown swept from out of Deacon's field of view and slapped the dagger cleanly out of Istvan's grasp. The suddenly empty gauntlet still struck the vulpine in the chest, and it forced him to cough out the air in his lungs as he writhed in the grass. His eyes watered anew as he struggled weakly against the heavy weight on his middle. It took a couple quick blinks to clear his view, and his eyes focused on a suddenly angry Istvan as the brown streak came into sight again. This time it came as a lance - the shaft of a spear - as it drove into the wolf's chest.

It caught between the plates of his armor and rammed up hard through that protection and into his flesh. Istvan roared as he fell back and off Deacon, and the fox's head lolled back enough to bring into sight Bain. The otter's fingers trembled as they clasped the haft of the spear, but they firmed the moment Istvan began to push back against the embedded weapon. He shoved the weapon forward with strength born of his desperation, and it was enough to drive the wolf off Deacon.

Moments later, Bain had his arms up and under Deacon's. He hauled the fox upright again and dragged him away from Istvan with a grunt. "C'mon, you need to move," he said, voice strained as he pulled Deacon along with him. "Get your... ugh, get your paws up! Up, Deacon! I can't just carry you away!"

With gritted teeth and flattened ears, Deacon forced his legs up under him. His footpaws dragged for a moment longer as he tried to correct for Bain's motion, but with a couple stalled efforts he was able to stand up and push himself along with the otter. "Thought I told you to stay out of the fighting," he muttered as he spat blood at one of the roses in his father's gardens. He felt something hard rub against his side; a glance down showed it was one of the swords carried by the royal guard.

"I thought you were getting us out of here," Bain replied with a smirk as he tossed one of the vulpine's arms around his shoulders. "Come on... tell me you're at least a _little_impressed?"

Deacon tossed a glance behind him as his brow furrowed. Corella stood in the doorway, one paw over her muzzle as she looked down at Istvan. The big wolf seemed badly wounded, but very much alive for the moment. He caught her eyes as she looked up, and those eyes sparkled with tears as she glared daggers at the fleeing fox. "I'm sorry," he whispered, though he knew she wouldn't be able to hear him. He doubted she'd care if she had. Behind them, he could see the corpse of the warrior he'd speared, and a chill of disgust shot through him.

Bain heard it though, and the otter sounded confused as he helped ease Deacon off the garden path and into the bushes. "Sorry for what?" he asked.

With a sigh, Deacon pushed off Bain's side for a moment and started to follow the otter under his own power. "For... gods damn it all, I may as well say everything." He looked up at the starry sky. Were the gods up there, watching him? Was this his punishment for what he'd done with Bain? Or was Oswell right, and they just didn't care? Did they care that he was a killer now? "And no... I'm not impressed."

The otter blinked and cocked his head as he looked out through the night. A flicker of firelight from Deacon's paw helped to illuminate the path for him as the fox slumped back against his side. "I just ran through a royal guard," he reminded the fox as he helped support his weight. "How many baker's boys have done that?"

"How many have been magically altered by power-mad magi?" countered Deacon with a sigh. He closed his eyes as a quiet whimper broke through his muzzle. "And what... is it a badge of honor now to kill someone? You didn't kill Istvan, Bain. I..." He trailed off as he shivered against the otter's side. "I did. I killed someone."

"You saved me," Bain corrected him as he shook his head. "If you didn't spear that guard, I would've been the one getting speared. One of us was gonna die... you made sure it wasn't me, and however bad you feel... I'm thankful." He reached up with a free paw to tilt Deacon's head up as it began to dip. "Hey... you didn't do this. Okay? Your father did. He did all this. All of this is his fault."

Deacon offered no response. It was easy enough to pin everything that had happened on his father, but that was a cop-out and he knew it. Oswell might have created the situation, but that didn't excuse Deacon's part in it. It didn't excuse anyone's part in it. He could remember the discussion he'd had with Bain at the lake. He remembered how Bain had asked him if he deserved to die just for being who he was. At the time, Deacon had said no. He still held that belief, but it offered him no comfort.

The sight of that soldier with the spear stuck in his face was going to haunt Deacon for a long time, and he already knew it. Or, at least, it would haunt him if he and Bain managed to somehow survive the next few hours. And days. "Come on," he finally muttered. "If we can reach the lake, we should be able to get away from here. Just... keep an eye out for gaophan. I'm too exhausted to fight off a whole pack alone."

The mention of the nocturnal predators caused Bain to stumble. He caught himself and pressed a little tighter to Deacon's side as he glanced around. "Well... we had to fight off your father, the royal guard... what's a couple gaophan?"

"We got away from my father and the royal guard, yes," Deacon agreed as he coughed up a little more blood. He began to flood his powers through himself, and fought back a wince as the heat spread strength through his sore body. "I don't think I want to risk our luck running out with a couple damn gaophan."

The otter's muzzle opened to speak, but no words came. It worked at the night air for a moment before he sighed and nodded. "Alright, no jokes. Let's just get out of here, before anyone or anything else comes out after us." He stretched out one arm toward the magi.

Deacon nodded as he leaned gratefully against the otter's offered side. He sighed and let his head come to rest on Bain's shoulder. It was a moment's comfort and nothing more. Soon he'd have his strength back enough that he could walk fully on his own. Soon after that, he'd be able to run. It was a good thing, too. With his father in pursuit, Deacon was certain that running was going to enter into his future. There wasn't much of his future he could be certain of anymore, but the fox wasn't exactly thrilled with what little he had.

The double doors of the manor splintered as electricity crackled through it. They showered the lobby in their shards as Oswell straightened up. He looked back down the staircase to the laboratory and grit his teeth as he waved a paw. The stairs themselves shimmered for a moment before they tilted at sharp angles and formed a slide. Anyone who wanted to take a trip to the lab wasn't likely to come back up again.

The moment he turned around, it was to receive a firm slap from Corella. Oswell felt his jaw clench as a growl rumbled in his throat, but he quickly cut himself off. Easy as it would be to take the little princess in his paw and choke the life from her for daring to raise a paw to him, the debacle Deacon had caused demanded he use more subtle methods. "I trained him well, my lady," he said, and it was impossible to keep the growl from slipping through his teeth. "I am old, and not as strong as I once was. He has his youth and the benefit of my teachings."

"He has cut down three of the Imperium's finest soldiers, protected by arcane-resistant armor," she snapped back at him. Her teeth were bared, hackles bristled as she folded her arms across her chest. "You think I care one whit about your age, _master_magi? I care only that you are going after him, right now! Before he can flee further!"

Oswell tilted his head up as he strode past the angry wolfess. Two of the soldiers she'd no doubt mentioned as being cut down by Deacon were obviously unconscious. Echoes of Deacon's powers flooded the room. As Oswell drank them in, he couldn't help but smile. His little 'son' had done nearly exactly what he would have, faced with opponents so protected from his powers. In Deacon's place however, Oswell would not have left them alive to threaten him later.

It was better if Corella believed Deacon stronger and more capable than him. The truth about his power would have scared her and potentially earned him more trouble than he was already expecting. He nudged the speared guard with one foot before he glanced back at Corella again. "Ahron assassins were out in force," he reminded her as he forced his voice to a polite calm. "They were backed by a magi I could barely hold off. The local predators are a dangerous lot, and in my state I doubt I would prove much of a match for them. Then, if I manage to fight my way past both, I would then have to contend with whatever powers my son brings to bear." He cocked an eyebrow as he flattened his ears back. "I will recuperate and then pursue them."

"You cannot seriously-"

"I can sense his magic," Oswell interrupted as he turned to face Corella more fully. He allowed fresh anger to enter his voice. Who did this prissy little thing think she was, to order him_around? "I can track him to the ends of the world if need be. If he flees the Imperium, I will know it. If he hides on the Isles of the Demeresan, I will know it. Should he travel to the Frost Wastes, I will know it. If he _dies, I will know it. There is nowhere in this world he can go that I cannot sense, my lady, and if you think I will allow his perversion to escape my grasp you are woefully mistaken." He growled deeper as he glared back at the suddenly scared princess. "I am his father. I will not allow this to slip my notice, and I will not allow him to slip from punishment for this atrocity."

The force of his display was enough to quiet down the wolfess, and she nodded once as her gaze dropped to the floor. "Then if you will not go tonight, master magi, I beg favor," she said after a moment, her voice suddenly absent the previous rage. "Istvan is injured. A healer with your talents-"

"If you have no further interruptions for me, I shall attend to him immediately," Oswell replied with a nod. He allowed himself to retain his angry tone and his glare. "Go to the stairs. I will call you when I have restored your protector." He watched and waited for Corella to nod, and then for her to actually begin to move toward the stairs. She settled on the bottom steps and buried her face in her paws. He could not see nor hear her sob. Odds were she was simply angry and upset, not saddened.

That needed to change. The fox drew himself upright as he wiped blood from his muzzle. He could feel a chest injury, no doubt sustained when Deacon had so impressively exerted himself and thrown him across the laboratory. It would wait, of course; he had more important matters to attend to outside. He passed through the broken doorway to his home and crouched down beside Istvan.

The warrior was badly wounded, that was for certain. The spear that had run him through seemed to have caught him just between the plates of his armor. Pulling it out would be difficult for most people, but it was the barest exertion for Oswell. He resisted that idea as he looked at the wolf's face. He panted quietly for breath and his eyes were glazed with pain, but they were sharp enough to see Oswell's face. "You are here to heal me," he growled, barely loud enough to be heard.

"I am," Oswell replied, as he reached down. He pressed the palm of his paw to Istvan's forehead, and reached out into the wolf's body with his mind. It was easy to sense the extent of his injuries, and it was fortunate that an arcane healer was present. Without one, he would succumb to the injury in another few minutes. "However," he whispered to the warrior, "that is not part of my plans."

Istvan could barely manage to twitch before Oswell poured his powers down and into the wolf's body. The warrior jerked and twitched several times, and lightning arced from his bare flesh and fur to his armor and the ground.

When Oswell pulled back his power and stood up again, Istvan was still. His muzzle twisted into a slight smile before he took control of it and forced it down. Instead he turned, adopted a somber expression and marched himself back through the doorway again. When he lifted his head, it was to meet Corella's concerned gaze. "I am sorry, your majesty," he said as he bowed his head again. "He succumbed to his wounds even as I prepared my healing techniques. He was beyond any ability to save, I assure you."

Her jaw dropped as her paw rushed to her muzzle, and fresh tears began to stain her cheeks almost immediately. "I offer sympathies for your loss, my lady," Oswell continued as he approached the princess. When the fox was almost in arm's reach, Oswell dropped to a knee and kept his head low. "He was a most honorable soldier, and I sensed even as he drew his last breath nothing but concern for your well-being. He was... singularly devoted to you." He let his head lift slightly, but kept from making contact. It would not do if she perceived him as insincere.

"Did..." she began, only to accidentally choke herself off with her tears. Corella took a couple of ragged breaths and tried to force herself to calm. "Did he...did he suffer?" the princess finally managed to ask.

Oswell could only shake his head. "I... no, your majesty. He was unconscious when I tried to heal him, no doubt from loss of blood. The wounding itself would have been quite traumatic, but..." He shook his head again as he finally lifted his eyes to meet hers. Now was the right time. She needed to know there was someone there for her. Comfort could be a powerful tool. "This too will not go unpunished. Istvan will be avenged, if I must see to it myself."

"You must see to it yourself," Corella replied through clenched teeth. She pushed herself upright even as Oswell lowered his head again. "I trust you to do what is right and just, Master Oswell. My mother trusts you to do so. If your son is on the loose, gods only know how many more he will harm before he is captured. You _must_destroy him, before he can harm any more."

With as much reluctance as he could manage, Oswell nodded. "He is... not my son, my lady," he said after a moment. "He sacrificed that when he attacked me... when he turned to perverted and unholy acts of debasement and lust. I have no son now, not after this." Oswell lifted his head and allowed his gaze to bore into hers. "If he will not come quietly, then I will destroy him where he stands. I swear it to you, on my life."

Corella nodded as she tilted her head up. The fur of her cheeks was matted with her tears. "See that you do," she said as she turned around and started up the stairs. "For if you do not, there will not be a place in this world that is safe for you, either."

"Fear not, my lady," said Oswell as he stared after the princess. "There is nowhere for him to run and hide now. He will suffer for this." When she reached the top of the stairs, Oswell allowed himself to rise. The fox stood still until the wolfess had turned into the hallway and vanished from sight, and only then did he hiss his dissatisfaction.

Deacon. The damn fool had ruined everything. It was not the first time, of course. Oswell knew his own history. He knew the generations he had spent, hopping from one heir to the next. The grooming always produced different results. He had always been stubborn and willful. Deacon had been the most malleable of his creations yet, and Oswell had dared believe that he had worked out the flaws in the duplication process with him. He'd not expected that he could have created new ones and delayed the old.

He turned to stare out through his broken doorway and into the night. He could only take solace in that Deacon didn't know yet what power he wielded. If the boy managed to tap into that - if he somehow learned exactly how powerful he was - then Oswell wasn't even certain that he could stop him. Taking Deacon back alive wasn't even a priority anymore. If he failed to destroy the rogue duplicate, the careful connections with the Noctus Imperium he'd spent lifetimes building would be undone.

The fox spat on the grass. Undone because of that otter. Undone because of his corruption. That he'd perverted someone who was essentially Oswell himself did not sit well in the magi's mind. He looked up at the stars even as he began to growl anew. Never in his lives had he ever entertained such a notion. Never in his lives had he even entertained such a notion as romance with a _female_either, but that was considerably more acceptable a thing. That his creation - literally his own flesh and blood if not his son - could be so twisted was a matter that warranted careful consideration and care.

But that consideration and care could wait at least for tomorrow. For the moment, he needed rest and recuperation. If he was not restored to full strength by morning, he would have to go after Deacon will less than he knew would be necessary. He couldn't afford to let anything more go wrong with his plans. Enough had gone wrong already. Deacon and Bain could be afforded one last night together. Let them consummate it however they wished.

The morning would bring their ends.