Eparch had retreated up Zakiros's central tower toward his throne room, ostensibly guarded by his army waiting above. Though our forces dwindled, we'd have no better change to strike at the king. Nephus ordered Dagda, Frode, and Arina to cover our vulnerable flanks outside the citadel. I would join Peitha, Nephus, and Ramses in the final push on the Throne of Midnight.
Arina hadn't come this far to turn back at the last minue, however, and she told Peitha as much. Peitha acquiesced, and the five of us—a pair of Tyrians and a few Kryptis rebels—began our trek up the tower as Frode and Dagda disappeared through the portal back to the coliseum.
We fought our way up Zakiros's central spire as Peitha, Nephus, And Ramses sensed the ever-present loyalist army looming above.
As we neared the army, Ramses feared that we marched to certain death. It was jarring to hear him say such a thing. Peitha confirmed her sense of the overwhelming size of the writhing forces arrayed against us. Her plan, it seemed, was to attempt to win some of them to our side. Somehow.
Ramses interrupted in disbelief, and I can't say I blame him. But Peitha answered simply, "There is no other way."
Just as we approached the army's position, Peitha and the other Kryptis sensed something happening to the army, and we picked up the pace. Nephus ordered the breach, and we piled inside, hoping to turn the enemy to our side but ready to fight to the death. Instead we found ourselves in a massive reliquary room, filled wall to wall with the essence of the Kryptis dead.
There was no army.
I realized that what Peitha, Ramses, and Nephus had sensed was the writhing essence of countless numbers of their people, sacrificed—willingly or not—to fuel Eparch's strength.
I knew that Eparch, Labris, and their followers had consumed their own kind. I'd witnessed it with Heitor and Irja...even with Labris's sacrifice to Eparch himself. But this... The scale was unimaginable. I also found it hard to imagine the power Eparch must've consumed as he'd drained the reliquaries just minutes before.
Ramses moaned in horror as Peitha recalled what Labris had said about having "the strength to do that which the common Kryptis will not." All I could do was help Ramses release the essence from the reliquaries, preventing it from ever being consumed in the future, if nothing else. With every second counting against us, Peitha spoke a few quick words for the dead, and we moved on in grim silence. Having just feasted on countless Kryptis souls, Eparch awaited in the throne room ahead.
Inside, the Midnight Ling loomed over the Throne of Midnight—the throne and title that Peitha went to war to usurp, back before I'd ever set foot in Nayos, or even been aware of the existence of the Kryptis. Flanked by the hulking twin generals Alkaeus and Zantharon, Eparch exuded control.
There would be no negotations; the king demanded nothing less than Peitha's life. Zantharon ordered her to speak her last words.
Peitha's "last words" did not please the king, to say the least.
Snarling in rage at the insult to his wife and queen, Eparch's control snapped. Hungry for even more power, the king shockingly consumed his own general, Alkaeus, in blind fury. Zantharon, seeing his own brother murdered and absorbed by the king he'd sword fealty to, turned against Eparch, The throne room erupted, loyalists shouting accusations and changing sides as Eparch himself attacked indiscriminately.
He was practically invincible. Fast as we could hurt the Kryptis king, the strength of the Kryptis essence healed him faster. Even Peitha, strong as she is, couldn't stand before him.
Our attack was on the verge of falling apart. Our strategy failed. Peitha would fall. Eparch would reign, unchecked. We needed to retreat. Retreat, or die.
A portal ripped open, and Isgarren stepped through.
The wizard and the Midnight King faced each other for the first time in centuries as the battle raged around them, I'm told that the tables had turned since the last time they'd met—-it was clear that even Isgarren couldn't harm Eparch now. Not alone, at least.
But Isgarren didn't fight alone. We combined our strength—Isgarren and Peitha, with me wielding the Heart of the Obscure—hitting Eparch with a blast of magic strong enough to prevent him from healing himself.
Through our combined efforts, with Nephus and Ramses on our side and chaos swirling around the Throne of Midnight, we finally brought Eparch to his knees.
In his last moments, the king of the Kryptis conceded tha tPeitha would rule. He acknowledged that Peitha would take the throne, that she would be the Midnight King. Knowing his fate was sealed, Eparch didn't scream in defiance; shockingly, he instead urged Peitha to consume him. To take his power and use it, as he had, to lead the Kryptis from a position of strength.
I saw no hesitation. Peitha lifted Eparch into the air, and then, in a display of both strength and willpower, she blasted him into pieces. I wonder, did she consider, even for a second, taking his power? It's likely I'll never know.
After a tumultuous campaign of triumphs and setbacks, alliance and attrition, the Throne of Midnight and the title of Midnight King were now Peitha's. Isgarren had waited until the last possible moment to intervene, but intervene he did, and while General Nephus let his frustration be known, cooler heads prevailed. King Peitha would set her house in order and pay Isgarren a visit in the near future.
We exchanged brief good-byes with our Kryptis allies, knowing we'd reconvene soon at the Wizard's Tower.
***
