He didn’t remember waking up. It was just fading out of dissociation, and then boom. In front of the nether portal, rough seas battering the beach, and Emissary and Matern engaged in a serious and heated conversation, wind whipping both their hair around. Wilheim hurried over to them both and they turned to see him approach. “Wilheim!” Emissary’s voice was stressed, and he grabbed his hands. “Please, we need you to fully focus, now that Blighton has Strawberry.” Wilheim was shocked for a moment, but then it all came rushing back. The poachers. Retribution for lying about Lyss and Esme. Their threat against Matern. Their “benefactors,” who allowed them to buy more men, and more sophisticated weapons.
Fury overtook him, and he squeezed Emissary’s hands comfortingly. “We’ll save him. We’ll beat them, we always have.” He said, reassuringly, but inside he had a dark feeling. Matern sighed with relief, trusting in Wilheim having it under control, but he didn’t have the first idea how to go about this. “I think we should begin by surveilling them. Did Gale come back with anything?” Matern’s eyes filled with tears, and Emissary hastily cut in. “Gale came back… in a wooden box. The GUILD can repair him, but it’ll take a bit.”
Wilheim felt hot blooded fury course through his body, and he gripped the hilt of his sword, still sheathed on his hip. He’d never trusted Gale, not since the incident concerning how the three of them got together, but this was over the line. “I’ve just had a change of heart.” He turned, and started walking. Matern’s eyes widened. “Where are you going?” But she knew the answer. Wilheim paused in his stride, his face softening only for them. “Get somewhere safe. Please. I’m going to their camp and i’m going to see how many of them are left alive within 20 minutes.”
There was a warp a few hundred blocks away from the main camp, and Wilheim walked with purpose. Swords in hand, he’d had it with these vile humans. When he’d first heard about their history with Matern, that was enough to make him upset at them. And then the whole business with Wind, Lyss and Esme. And then the business at the Institute. And now this. They’d got far more diverse and creative since all of this. But now, they’d taken it too far. His son.
There wasn’t anything that needed thinking upon. He started coming across stragglers, small tents on the outskirts of the camp, and he’d clear them with two slashes of his swords. No words, no effort, no heart, just unbridled anger. At some point, an alarm was raised, since a whole group of poachers charged him, and died, and he moved on. He reached the centre of the camp in no time, and sheathing a sword, picked up a flaming piece of wood from the bonfire, and tossed it onto one of the largest tents there, catching fire almost instantly. Wilheim stood, almost in a daze, watching the flames spread before he realised- Strawberry.
He quickly found the cells, an unassuming underground entrance, and after passing and freeing various hybrids, who did not come out of their cells, he eventually found Strawberry in the final cell on the row, looking dejected and upset without his hammer. “Strawberry.” Wilheim said, breaking the lock, and Strawberry jumped into his arms, and Wilheim squeezed him, knowing that he’d have been ok, but glad that he was anyway. Strawberry held his embrace for a few moments, but wriggled out, agitated. “Back! Back! Pine-ma in trouble!” He grabbed Wilheim’s hand and dragged him to a waystone inside the cells area, warping back to his house.
There was a rush of commotion as he teleported, and there were shouts and screams as his vision cleared. He saw Matern being dragged from Emissary, who was both parts angrily yelling back and begging the one dragging Matern to let her go. There was Blighton himself, with multiple people around him, all armed to the teeth, and he motioned to two other people to go and take Matern. They both took a step forward, and with one tug, and a vicious cross punch from one of them to Emissary who fell tumbling, and one to Matern for good measure.
Wilheim lunged forward, swords raised, but all of the individuals around Matern raised theirs at her, and she hastily shook her head. Wilheim gritted his teeth, and swore. He knelt next to Emissary, who was struggling to his hands and knees, and put a hand on his shoulder, turning his cheek to look at him. “Hey.” Emissary’s unfocused eyes zoned in on Wilheim’s red ones, and Emi tried to smile at him, despite the circumstance. “Hey.” Emissary’s eyes wavered, filling with tears. “I- I tried, I couldn- I didn’t want to hurt her, Wilh- I tried-” “Shh, shh.” Wilheim hushed him, giving him a soft kiss, and wiped a tear from his cheekbones. “It’ll be ok. Get Strawberry out of here.” Emissary nodded, and staggered to his feet, holding his hand out to Strawberry, who took it and they both took the elevator back down to the base, and didn’t come back up.
Wilheim turned once more to Blighton, where he stood absently blowing smoke from an obnoxious cigar, billowing into Matern’s face. She always looked so different when confronted by these poachers. So… small, and traumatised.
“Your ears have changed, my dear.” Blighton said, his voice authoritative and commanding. “What have you let them do to you?” Matern remained silent, knowing better than to talk. Blighton stroked his thick, hairy hand down her cheek, down the side of her neck, and rested the meaty paw on her shoulder. The entire motion made Wilheim sick. “Don’t worry, I’ll make you better.” He phrased it oddly, in a way that made Wilheim want to rip out his eyes and force them into his mouth. “So, why are we here then, Wilheim?” Blighton continued, spitting the cigar out onto the sand, where it rolled for a moment, still smoking, and he stepped forward a few paces, abreast of the rest of the poachers. “You tell me.” Wilheim could hardly speak. Every instinct he had was saying to hurl himself at them all, behead them and be done with it. But he couldn’t. “Well, truth be told, you’ve caused a hell of a lot of trouble for me, Wilheim, and your method of “if I kill enough of them, they’ll leave us alone” just isn’t going to work with us, i’m afraid.” Blighton smiled the most chilling grin. “Unfortunately I can’t kill you. In fact, you could kill all of us here, right now, couldn’t you?” Wilheim nodded. “But not before we kill that.” Blighton motioned back to Matern, where one of the poachers was standing with a strange gun aimed at her head. Wilheim’s confusion was evident, since Blighton elaborated. “That- is a special project that we have been working on. It removes the regenerative cells in the body, so that when one of my hybrids has catastrophically failed, we can deal with it as needed.” That sickly smile returned, and he snapped his fingers. One of the others pushed Matern to the ground with a yelp, and the one with the gun took aim and fired.
“NO!!” Wilheim cried, as the green flash blinded him temporarily. He prepared to charge at them, but as his vision cleared he saw she was still there on the ground, alive. Blighton let out an enormous laugh. “Oh, you thought the gun would kill her? No, like I said- it removes her regenerative cells. Her next death will be her last.” Wilheim had never felt anything like the anger that he had inside him right now. Even his years of savagery didn’t equate to how he was right now. Now, he had purpose, and reason, and the motive, and- “You’ll kill it now, of course, to make sure you don’t try anything like this again.” Wilheim’s brain lagged. “You what?”
“Kill it.” Blighton repeated. “Shouldn’t be too hard, it’s only an animal. You’ve already killed so many of my men, after all. So just… kill it and we’ll go.” “No…!” Wilheim’s mind was racing, frantically searching for ways to save her, to kill them, to alert someone, but he came up blank. He was inwardly distraught. “Kill it, or we’ll get the sniffer boy out again, and begin sawing parts of his shell out. Or, maybe we’ll take that tail and antennae from the silly fish guy. Maybe that’ll make you listen.” Wilheim’s mind was racing, but it was just the same thought over and over again. Make it me, make it me, make it me. Not her. Please, gods, not her. “At least- let me talk to her. Please.” Wilheim hated that he was in Blighton’s grasp, but he couldn’t do anything other than beg. Blighton motioned to the men, and they shoved her, stumbling across the sand, falling into Wilheim’s embrace, supporting her so she could stand. “I’m ok, I promise.” Matern whispered, holding his face, visibly shaking. “Wilheim, I dont- I dont think we can get out of this one.” “We can, I just- I need more time.” He muttered to her, angry at himself, because he knew as well as she did that their time had run out at least 10 minutes ago. “Hey- it’s ok. I always knew I was going to be the first one of us three to go.” She smiled sadly, tears already streaking her face. It looked as if she hadn’t stopped crying since he’d arrived. “I just- I wish it could be me. You deserve longer.” Wilheim looked down to cover the fact he was tearing up again. “If I had longer, it wouldn’t be the same. I wouldn’t have you.” Matern traced a line across his cheek, cupping his jaw. She leaned up to kiss him, one final time, but just before their lips touched, she was brutally pulled away by a large poacher, and she shrieked, reaching back for him, crying his name. He leapt forward, panicking, trying to take her hand, pull her back to him, but he himself was held in place by another poacher. Wilheim turned, and quick as a flash, sliced off the poacher’s hands, followed by his head, and in the same movement, used his momentum to continue forwards. Someone crashed a bludgeon on his hand, making him drop the sword, and ripped the other from his grip, but he barged through both of them, jumping catlike at the poacher dragging her, landing on his back, and gripping his throat with his fingertips. “She’s mine.” Wilheim growled, and tightened his grip, and pulled this man’s oesophagus out of his body, a spray of blood splattering Matern’s face, and as the man’s body slumped to the ground, he landed deftly on the floor, took her by the waist, and kissed her, for as long as possible, before they pulled away, breathless, and she nodded to him, staring into his eyes as he pulled out a dagger, and pushed it into her heart.
At the same time as this was happening, the elevator sounded, and Emissary took everything in front of him. Some of the poachers were still there, and Matern was gasping for breath, but Blighton was nowhere to be found. Emissary whipped out his Tempests, and took care of the final poachers, only 5 of them remaining, which he dispatched with minimal difficulty, as Wilheim knelt with Matern, who was struggling to focus her beautiful eyes as the life faded from her. Emissary came running up, weapons falling in the sand, collapsing to his knees over them, busily muttering, stubbornly shrugging off Wilheim’s soft words as he tried to say it was futile. “Emissary, you can’t-” “Yes I can.” Emissary’s gaze was determined as he applied pressure to the wound, where the dagger still was embedded. “No, the deal-” “NO!” Emissary roared angrily, and the ocean mimicked his desperation, enormous waves washing away the sugarcane and flooding the enchanting table. Despite this, his hands continued pressing on her chest. He whispered prayers to gods higher than him, that any one of them might take pity on her, but even any god that heard would know it was too late. As the blood continued pumping out of the wound, slower and slower, Wilheim’s tears fell silently, as Emissary grew more and more frantic, more desperate. He’d stopped speaking now, and was also crying, as Matern’s eyes flicked to his, barely focused, before any part of her body that was tense, relaxed, and her head lolled to the side. Wilheim let out a sob, and immediately swallowed, holding it back, however futile it was. Emissary collapsed on her stomach, holding her hands, and let out a silent scream.