{ long, twisted, newly tried out, significant chapter ahead, sorry not sorry!  Ed Skrein cast for Karstark Knox! }

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018. THE AVENUE OF ESCAPE

( —the pathway or route along which someone or something escapes. )

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The street was a skeleton, bared of its flesh long ago by the basaltic spires that thronged. A frisson of terror ran up Myra's spine when she saw the TIE line fighters arrive on their atmosphere, decimating terrified civilians and igniting amber flames just like in her Sight. 

She had known Iego in its blasphemous, silent and deadly glory for too long, To see the stillness in the city tainted with the devastation felt like ice in her veins instead of blood. A thousand moons of Iego above were no longer visible, cast away in a cloud of endless smog. 

This was no longer her home, it was a war-ravaged land. The towers of obsidian that stood tall and housing women and children crashed right before her eyes as a cavalry discharge set off a grenade at the base. Her hands clamped her mouth in horror to silence her ear-piercing scream, looking for some way of entrance into the black-crested palace.

"Help us, please!"

Myra held the tattered looking woman by her shoulders and then saw the young infant in the circle of her arms, its face brandished with soot and dust. A brisk blink of her eyes, made her snap out of a trance. 

"Please, witch," the woman cried out in vain. "Help us!"

"Follow me," Myra replied curtly, leading them towards an alley delineated with two walls that held a steeple of steps that led to a sustained crypt beside the Cathedral. 

Speaking off, stood gallantly protected and away from the chaos. Her mentors still lurked in the shadows, ready to hold their own fort and not step into the entropy that brewed ahead. Seeing that, Myra felt sick.

"You'll be safe here," she told them, nodding. "Take care of the little one."

The relieved woman's eyes rounded to fright as she pointed to something behind Myra and started to yell once again. In clicks of trices, Myra's had conjured a defensive spell and weaved a forcefield with a hasty call for the Ichor. It blockaded the flying masses of rubble from the red blast of the line fighter pods, deflecting if off the entrance of the downward steeple and the mother.

"Go!" She ordered them sternly. "Go, now!"

In a flurry, the woman fled down the stairs and the door locking shut behind them. Myra released her concentrated clutches of the forcefield letting the remaining debris of obsidian glass cascade around her. She sped down the alley, gripping the ends of the gold silk that had turned blank from the smog around her. 

"Guards, in position!"

"Steady..."

"Loose!"

Over the city that still burned, the fire-tipped arrows were set loose from the black guarded archers. Aimed straight for the pod that crashed over the dome-shaped invisible might over the Cathedral. It was like watching a ball hit the wall, except it never deflected and smashed to smithereens over the secluded forcefield. Her eyes soon fell on the perpendicular street that oriented vertically over the hill where the palace overlooked the city.  

It had many towers, almost portrayed as a many-pronged, eccentric crown. Enlarged over centuries by her forefathers and deities, it took a miniature battery of helpers to maintain an extensive abode and indeed, most of the rooms were ever used. Her father craved solitude, only coming out to the throne room to resolve the dispute between the rebellion. The open porch that surveyed the city was where the king would reside, that is where he needed to be; alone, apart, superior, restricted.

Myra's eyes shut closed while she sprinted ahead, her short pants differed to call for the Ichor and to bring her to the place she wanted. She was expended, feeling the Ichor accept her demand and allow the painful exertion of teleportation. Her breaths collapsed—her eyes strained into her brain—her bones were almost liquified in the pressure and soon, the Ichor spewed her out into the flagstone floor of the room. 

Three crossbows had found their aim on her head while she heaved for breath on the black quartz deck. She lifted her eyes slowly, seeing the King Hyllus—her father—for the first time in decades.

Robed in brigandine clothes that matched the colour of the soot outside, King Hyllus stared and stared. In awe? Concern? Release? She did not know, neither did her own relief allow her to look into his head. 

"King Hyllus," Myra murmured softly, standing on her feet. Father, she wanted to call him. She wanted to summon him by the title but she knew she was not worthy to call him by the term anymore.

"Leave us," he ordered in a voice that was strong for the kingsguard but breathless for his daughter. 

"Sire," the head of the kingsguard alerted him fiercely, "the princess needs to be protected."

"And I shall tend to it," Hyllus said. "Leave us, Lorel. I order it."

"Nay, I must not," Lorel slammed his fist against his chest as if showing his absolute submission. "Your Grace, the city is under attack. I must defend the throne—" 

They began to oppose but he had raised a firm hand to interrupt them. They bowed obediently, building a knightly fortification in front of the wide two-fold doors that screeched shut behind them. The slam made her heartbeat arrhythmical.

King Hyllus was truly no lesser than a god that the public had praised him for. Frozen in his middle-age, sleek of nature and built on two strong legs that were meant only for him. Tiresomely chiselled hallmarks which she had reaped from him, like a seasoned warrior from the regalia of the Angels themselves. A minute slough could be seen about his chin's retreat, to which his hand favoured to itch in thought or nervousness. And, so to conceal such an appendage was that of a tiny tuft of hair that flaunted as something alike to a stubble.

"The city falls to nothing behind me," she struggled to say, her tone kept to the most perfunctory and reliable. "I have to come to ensure your safety... your grace."

Myra failed to conceal the pleasure that played in her face when her father moved forward, his thick warrior robes shrieking with his movement. While Myra was tall, Hyllus was taller. His mind raced with thoughts about seeing his daughter and what shocked her was the recollections.

Her as a child, outside the Catherdral and watching the passersby with a strange look. Her trying to play with the other children, only to be shunned for her ways. Watched her stand tall and proud at the entrance after her Transference, clothed in the finest of silk that had arrived from the High Palace itself. King Hyllus had been there, all through her growing days, watching her grow up from afar. He could never be a great father; at least staying away to be a great king.

"You escaped the Cathedral," he stated, grunting as he moved beyond her and to the balcony, she had arrived at. He watched more TIE fighters with their pods fall from the sky and extinguish life in hundreds per second, not batting an eyelash.

"I knew that whore of an enchantress was good for nothing," he bit out under his breath, referring to her mentor, Luna the True. "Goes missing the day after you leave. Hope she met her end at—"

"This wasn't her fault," Myra strived to stop his insults at her only maternal figure. "I left the Cathedral to spite you. And I was allowed to."

"Allowed to?" He scoffed darkly, looking up to the thousand moons that fell under his protection. "You're lucky you're alive. It's a cruel galaxy out there—especially for a witch your age."

"Am I not allowed to experience it?" She asked gently, taking a short step forward. "See the horrors of the galaxy myself?"

"Experience what, death?" He continued to protest as if making a federal case. "You're naive, so very delicate, a child and moreover, you're my—"

Myra held her breath. The king held his tongue securely before he let the word slip out, looking farther away. His shoulder-length hair whipped around with his action, screening his face from her.

"You are a resident of Iego," he finished in a small grunt. "Your life comes under my authority."

"As a king," she rustled sadly, "or as my father?"

She heard his breath hitch gently, his mandibles grinding audibly. He was thinking of how he was not obligated to answer, his hands white-knuckling the stone balustrade. Taking her chances, Myra flanked his side and left a good foot of distance between them. The city fell to scraps below them, just like how she ended things with the Mandalorian. Her mind refused to think of him, her frozen heart icing over more as she thought of how his words had struck regret that she never knew existed. 

"The Mandalorian bounty-hunter," the king spoke suddenly as if he had sensed where her thoughts wandered. "Did he hurt you?"

"Not at all," she said, a small smile coming alive on her lips. 

"He took you."

"And I left him."

The Mandalorian had taught her about everything in the galaxy; the beautiful, the bad and the ugly. Furthermore, he was the best thing that happened to her in decades and she didn't regret anything about her little escapade. The ice in her veins chilled over more with her words, causing her throat to constrict. 

"Did you have a Sight?"

"I did," she said formally, surprised that her father knew the witch's Ways. 

"I was going to die." It wasn't a question, just a statement of the truth that would occur. 

She sighed, nodding. "Hence, I came to take you away. To Millius Prime."

His head snapped to hers in surprise. "My home."

"You'll be safe there," she told him, finally facing him. Her eyes searched his face with a gentle smile. "Once the war is over, you can return on transport."

"And what of the people?"

She was clear in her reply. "I can't save everyone."

He chuckled darkly. "That's the most fucked-up shit I've heard today."

Myra didn't respond, her eyes strained on the flames that spasmodically arose from the decimated divisions of the city. She felt her mind go into unrest every time a scream of terror fell on her ears, shutting her eyes close with pursed lips. The war was dying out, the line fighters falling back into the sharpshooters and she couldn't feel more relieved.

"Whenever you're ready to leave," she forced out through her teeth.

"I may be tyrannic but I am not a coward," the king stated firmly, his eyes set to the clouds where the enormous Imperial ship called for more pods to stream down over the citizens. 

"I'm not leaving Iego until the Imperials are dealt with."

"I saw you in that Sight," she hissed, "I saw you bloodied and beaten right there," she pointed to the widely spaced flagstone floor near the bedpost, "in my arms. You think I'll let you go through that?"

"What have I ever done for you?" Myra didn't have the time to process anything, his sneer twisting ravaged around his beard and his dark eyes pouring nothing but hate. "That you just had to come back for your father who never cared?"

"Prejudice is what fools use for a reason," Myra answered bravely. "And I have learned to never cast an opinion without judgement."

He heard his mind race with humiliation, the mortification of being called out for his blunders. The simplest of treason that he had done years ago had come back to rain hell down on his city. His lips pressed against each other to hold back a wearied sigh, shaking his head with the tiniest of smiles arriving on his lips.

"You really are the wisest witch of your age," he said in a satisfied voice. She granted him a demure smile, looking away.

"But you should know, they are here for you, Myra."

She looked at him, shocked; mortified. "For me?"

"They found out about you from the Guild alliance and the fob you sent out," he informed. "Apparently the Mandalorian refused to take the bounty on your head from one of the Imperial Clients."

She swallowed hard. "And?"

"This was the last known location of yours from the fobs," he sighed. "And the Rebellion of Iego found out about your parentage. They want the head of the witch princess they will be burdened with."

Myra burst out laughing to her father's surprise, keeling over the stone balustrade with loud peals of laughter. She pursed her lips, trying to calm herself and tie down the sounds to her throat but she had sputtered out laughing again. The king watched her without an inch of amusement in his face and Myra held her sides with deep breaths. He waited; listening. 

"So," she chuckled once more, "one wants me dead. And the other wants to capture me?"

"What is so amusing—"

Myra's instincts fled faster than her father's sly grin on his face. She drove herself forward, pushing the king's large shape behind her and her mind calling for the Ichor just as swiftly. She wielded stopping friction at the pod that raced for the porch in flames, fracturing through the horned, stone ceiling of the palace and the amber fire crackling away with the terminal counteraction that fled out of her fingertips. She grunted in pain, her feet quivering with the force she was left to handle. 

Her father was quick enough to shake himself out of the staggered stupor, honing a silver-gilt pronged axe from the side and hurling it for the engine of the TIE pod. The long panels around the circular cockpit had burst into flames as if a bird's wings had gone ablaze, her father's axe nailing itself in the engine beside the fiery inset, shredding it down to its last atom with a punch of flames out in a loud explosion.

"Get inside!" His throaty yell was preceded his actions, large arms pushing her away from the blare that threatened to swallow them whole. The balcony had chipped off with the explosion and tilting ungainly on an uneven axis. 

Her hands reached out to call for the axe, unhinging itself from the blazing eruption and flattened into the palm of her hand. Passing it to her father, she scrambled to the safety and confines of the king's chambers.

"Are you alright?" Her father's hand went to her shoulders, his massive hand cradling the side of her face. Her chest felt full at the expression of his paternal affection, breathing out softly. 

"You're exhausted. Wait here—"

"We have to leave," she placed a hand over his to stop his motions. "Please."

"I told you," he growled. "I'm not leaving until this is over."

"I lost at love once and I'm not doing it again," she whispered in a voice that broke more as she spoke. Her tears were contracted to the Ichor, powerless to portray her relief and sadness in any other way. 

"Father, please."

His breath hitched when she heard her call him out by his true title, his dark eyes lightening to that of concern. His hand brought her close, pressing a warm kiss on her forehead. Myra smiled—a smile so large that she thought she might split her face in half. It was just as she had imagined it would be; tender, protective and sweet.

"Your mother's beauty," he told her, barely smiling.

"Take my hand." She outstretched her palms for him to take. Her father looked down at her smooth, dark-skinned hands and hesitantly laid his own over hers. 

"Just don't panic," she whispered to him with a small laugh. "It's going to—"

"Oh for fuck's sake, child," he hissed, fixing the axe over a hook on his armour. "I have fought for a thousand years. This is nothing."

Myra's golden eyes shut close to beckon for the Ichor quietly, her lips moving to incur the request and demands with a bowed head. King Hyllus watched her lips flutter just like her mother's had when she had departed after leaving Myra at his care. 

The perfect escape plunged to a standstill.

The cessation of the chant resulted in a dark stroke of laser that sliced into his daughter's middle, causing her to gasp into him with an arch of her back. Crimson steadily oozed from her spine, spilling over the gold silk in a tainted dream. The king yelled out wordlessly, holding the back of her head as she took a few breaths painfully.

"You think I'm an idiot, Hyllus?" A strange man clucked his tongue, leaping out of the debris of the fighter pod that Myra and King Hyllus had battled. "You hide in your chambers while I set fire to Iego?"

"Daor!" The king bellowed for his daughter. "Ñuha tala, kostilus. Daor..." (No! My daughter, please. No...)

"This is your daughter." The man kissed his teeth. "How long did you think you could this enchanting siren from my people? From me?"

The man who ascended from the flames was built of metal. In the literal sense, he was comprised of metal, around his shoulders to his toes, whirring with his every movement forward. Patches of muscle and flesh disbanded over his strong build, but the wiring was plenty. Myra shuffled on hand and foot, into her father's arm who held her protectively. The blood pooled around the flagstone floor, ridged into the cracks and under the footing of the metal soldier. 

"We don't need a feud, Karstark," King Hyllus said, his call plunging into fear. Fear for his daughter's life, fear of the humanoid devil who could slice them in a single flick of his obsidian sabre.

"I warned you about the Rebellion," his venom-filled green eyes pierced into the monarch, his peril eminent. "I warned you about what I was capable of."

"You want Iego, don't you? Take it," he breathed out, hoping for a compromise. Myra cried out loud as the cut burned deeper into her spine, unable to heal herself.

"The throne, the palace—all of it. Leave my daughter be."

Karstark Knox, Myra knew his face as clear as day. The leader of the Rebellion on Iego, going against the king and his absolute kingship. His hostility was devastating because they lacked pity. Because they gave decisions for enthusiastic vileness—those unending papercuts to the heart. 

"I am a man of laws and custom, a man of the people," he said as if teasing the king. To taunt him further, he dropped his blaster and the sabre onto the ground. 

"I want a legal, lawful exchange."

"Watch your—"

"Alliances, Hyllus," Karstark raised his voice to interrupt the king's angry tone of dismissal, "go a long way. As your dearest witch of a descendant dies slowly, I can't help but see how... sumptuous she has grown to be."

"Knox!"

"I want her," he demanded throatily. "I want all of her. She's mine."

"You pathetic little shit," Myra managed to spit out from her painful pants that focused around the deep lazer that cut into her back. She cried out as the flesh burned away deeper, infecting the bones. 

"Promise her to me," Karstark continued, tonguing his canines as he crept down to Hyllus' level while balancing his weight on one foot. "And I will take my place rightfully as the next King of Iego. And this glorious deity, as my queen."

"She's a witch," King Hyllus interjected with a growl. "They can't regard sovereignty or matrimony. It is forbidden."

"Oh, fuck their whore Ways!" He chortled, a sneer bending frightfully over his skin-born face. "Do you see the Imperial aircraft out there? They'll swallow the city in seconds on my word."

"And many of my men have never tried a witch before," he continued and dipped his finger into the trail of blood that bled out from Myra, rubbing it around his metal and flesh fingertips. A disdainful smirk coloured his lips. 

He dragged his finger down his cheek, Myra's blood leaving a vindictive imprint on his skin. "I bet she tastes as good as she looks. Maybe after I'm done, I'll give her to my men. Let them have a taste."

Hyllus shook his head in a warning. "Don't do this."

"No, then?"

"Fuck yourself, Karstark. You and your little Imperial cocks."

The next incidents occurred in fleeting trices. A hand had lobbed over Myra's leg with an unexpected force, lifting her midair. only she wasn't lifted, she was tossed into the bedpost that laid beside them and the frame shattering with her strength. She watched, only to scream. 

The obsidian sword of Karstark Knox's met King Hyllus' flesh, sinking into the brigandine armour and then into his abdomen. It was squelching, lilting the edge deep into his abdomen until it impaled him to the granite floor. Her father's cry was a loud sound, guttural chokes in agonizing fear. The cascade of the man's life source gushed out, blending with the crimson of his daughter's split blood and his mouth gurgling up more scarlet liquid.

Karstark bent forward to whisper into the king's ears, "Long may he reign."

∞

Myra's wrath held all the influence of verve, you could essentially see the flares exploding in her resplendent eyes, willing to enkindle anything that she grew to come in contact with. Her teeth were bared as she cradled her father's head to her chest and grieved louder, her cries swallowed by the screams of the civilians outside.

"Father," she mumbled out in mercy, "no!"

A hand secured itself at the base of her neck, wrapping ingot fingers around the thickness of her hair. A muscular timber joint kneaded into the burning flesh at her back, eluting a yell out of her lips. Tears refused to flee her eyes, only panting breaths of mercy. 

"Father," she continued to wail brokenly.

"I heard that you're not supposed to touch a witch without permission," Karstark muttered into her ears, his lips brushing the length. "I guess all rules are meant to be broken."

He chuckled when her groan emanated louder, deeper, faster. "I can taste your ferocity. It's... refreshing. That much power," he whispered, his tongue dragging an acidic line up her cheek. "You, witches, simply have it made."

"You almost never earn what you don't understand," Myra bit out.

"Understand? No, no, no, princess. I don't care if you're a cadaver. I only want the ink, flesh and bones that make you," he took a long sniff up her neck, "you."

"Fuck you."

"I'd be delighted to oblige, gevie riña," he teased. "Would your father want to see us?"

Red. Everything around her dived into a foul cerise. Her vision clouded dangerously as a spark swirled in the pits of her stomach. Her head went on overdrive as it picked every moment that she'd spent crying; mourning. Her ice-cold heart wanted blood, the Ichor wanted to taste the metal as it licked on her sides and permitting her to kill.

She had vowed to never hurt a soul—this monster didn't have one.

The fires in her stomach inflated up to her chest and inching through her seams, taking over the rest of her body. Her fingers coiled into fists, the Ichor manifesting deep, dreading hate in her as she felt the wound in her back knit together in a slow, unnerving process—muscles fixing—bones mending—skin repairing. Her eyes lifted from her near-dead father to straight ahead, levelled with the broken vanity mirror where Karstark's face reflected.

"You'll die for that," she muttered.

"I'm part droid," he chuckled into her hair, breathing in deeply. "You can't kill me."

Within moments, she was soaring. Blood rising to her cheeks, the term anger vanished into something that barely even touched the guzzling volcano she was. Her hands called for shapeless orbs of blackened smog which danced with white whips of electricity near her fingertips as if a storm were coming alive between her hands.

Karstark watched to observe, not to fight and feeling the grievous strike at his chest. That was all he remembered. The flashes of golden from the witch.

In moments he awoke, jolting to see his core deaded and a mass of corroded black. 

In the chambers of the monarch, King Hyllus' body missing and the dauntless witch. 

"Qrugh," he hissed, impaling his sabre right into the wet trail of Myra's lifeblood. "I will have you, witch. Even if it's the last thing I do."

X X X

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