[Edit: I misread the prompt initially and thought everyone
except the nocturnes were affected. But I liked it enough that I'll just say that they were unafflicted because *magic*]
Pascal, one of Nethyliir's engineers.
Sheol, a young dragon afflicted with a strange mutation.
Levi, director of Nethyliir's spy network.
"Can we get the power back on?" The echo of Levi's voice sounded far more petulant to his ears than the Director really cared for. The absence of the ever-present hum of machinery and wiring made the clacking of his claws on the steel floor seem blasphemously loud - even the storm above the Spire seemed oddly muted, grumbling discontentedly. From further away in the gloom came a sudden flash of blue, and for a moment there were two shapes thrown into sharp relief - those of Pascal and Sheol - before the burst dimmed and the electric crackle of the engineer's voltaic suit returned. It was difficult to tell with the poor lighting, but he didn't look hopeful.
"The containment protocols of the Spire won't let me back into the system. We'll need to find another way out." Pascal's wings drooped into a protective canopy as the older nocturne rested a talon on his sword's pommel, regarding the window. The striped engineer shook his head, "That window's not glass, sir, it's some kind of transparent metalloid. You'd have an easier time digging through the floor than shattering the pane."
Levi's spines bristled with irritation, and if Pascal noticed he chose not to comment on the matter, moving from the empty workstation to examine the door again. The Nocturne Roost had been corrupted, right under his nose, and now the rest of Nethyliir was gone, spirited away to some netherworld. It had happened in an instant, there hadn't been any warning. And just because three of them had remained untainted, there were no guarantees they were safe, whatever this Shadowsong said. The silence from the rest of the Spire was damning.
Swallowing his rising fear, the Director made his way towards the edge of the Lightning Oak's bed, where he could just make out Sheol's form, and that of their fallen comrade. The blue eyes along her right side locked onto his approach, and the older dragon suppressed a shiver of revulsion, but the young drake's primary gaze was on the sleeping form of Almasy, his pale scales catching the wan light from the desert night.
"Any change?" The green nocturne shook her head, and he noticed now that she clutched her trident uneasily in both talons. Somehow he took comfort in the thought that two of them were armed. Her voice was quiet, unsteady with fear.
"No. H-he's... he's sleeping." Her primary eyes brimmed with unshed tears, "What are we going to do?"
"We'll think of something." Levi summoned the certainty he no longer felt - even if Sheol discomforted him, she was still of Nethyliir, and of its Roost. That made her his responsibility, especially during a crisis. But sitting about wasn't going to get them anywhere - if they couldn't get proof of life out to the rest of the Spire in 72 hours, the Stomrcatcher would send a clean-up crew to "decontaminate" the lab. Everything organic and/or magical would be purged, in order to protect the other employees. They
needed a plan.
"Why don't we see what Pascal's doing? Maybe we can lend a claw?" Sheol seemed not too keen on the Director's suggestion, but after a moment where her myriad eyes seemed to consult silently with each other, she nodded and fell into step next to him.
In the gloom of the lab, the blue halo of light around the engineer was an obvious beacon, the pair making a fairly conspicuous approach. Pascal muttered to himself as he examined an open panel in the wall, pausing to consider the array of tools strewn around him. Levi was about to comment that it seemed as though their friend had a plan, when he noticed Sheol had halted and was watching the striped nocturne with wide, horrified eyes. All of them. Trusting his instincts, the older dragon remained silent, gently drawing he and Sheol back a short distance, using the canopy of his wings to muffle their conversation.
"What is it?"
"You couldn't see it?"
"See what?"
"The shadow. The
mimic"
A wing parted, narrowed red eyes peering out of the gloom to study Pascal. Shadows flicked about him as electricity arced along his wing talons and over the livewires connecting his coat to his boots. Levi lowered the shroud again, shaking his head,
"I'm not sure what you mean, I didn't notice anything strange."
"No, you wouldn't be able to see it, would you..." Sheol frowned, pointing to her own face, "These eyes are being fooled. But these," She swept the talon along her watching side, "it's magic doesn't work on them. The shadow's hugging tight against his body."
The Director sighed, shaking his head,
"What can we do about it? Neither of us are mages..." The weight of the sword on his hip no longer seemed so comforting. If it came to it, they outnumbered him. Sheol, though, considered carefully,
"The shadow isn't enveloping him entirely, it's under his coat. It's not on his wings because they're too close to the electric field."
Levi suddenly grinned, red eyes flashing, "We need to break the insulation. Pascal might not thank us for it, but better than losing him to that awf-"
The rest of the word was suddenly cut off by a shriek of pain and an arc of lightning, causing the Director to throw Sheol back. As the young nocturne rose, steadying herself with her trident, she watched in horror as the Director collapsed on his back, limbs twitching with electric discharge. Looming over him, smiling that too-wide smile, was Pascal.
"My my, such an
interesting conversation you two were having..."
The green nocturne tensed, leveling her weapon at the infected drake, and then pounced. She was fast, but the engineer was faster, rocket-powered boots shooting him across the gap, electrified wing talons leading. Sheol managed to duck one but the other caught her by her wing, crushing the knuckle joint and arcing electricity over her body. Not-Pascal chuckled with sadistic glee.
But unlike Levi, she was not Plaguewrought. Unlike Pascal, she was not of Gladegrown. Sheol of Nethyliir was
Stormborn, and the sting of a little lightning slowed her strike not at all. With the swiftness of a bolt from the blue, she sliced across his arm, tearing a wide gash in the insulating fabric and exposing the writhing mass of shadow below. Before the infected drake could disengage from the warrior, she whirled the weapon about and stabbed the tip of the trident right into the coat's generator sphere. There was no sound, only a massive burst of light, and the feeling of being lifted off her feet. Afterwards came only darkness.
---
When Levi came to it was with a sudden fit of motion, a sense of disorientation, and a steady talon on his chest. A familiar voice reassured him,
"It's okay, try not to move too much."
"Pascal? What happened, where's Sheol?" He tried to right himself but stopped with a hiss of pain, wincing as he felt his shoulder and wing protest to movement. The engineer replied, humbled and rebuked,
"She's gone through the air vent to get help - I managed to get the cover off..." He looked away, ashamed, still covered in silver-green mimic powder, "
After I regained consciousness. Thank-you both for stopping that thing from getting loose. I'm so, so sorry..."
"How did this happen?" Levi meant the question more in the rhetorical sense, but saw the guilty expression cross the engineer's face,
"My father's mirror, the one he keeps with him? That he uses to go places? I sort of... borrowed it." Pascal's lower lip quivered, "I just wanted to see how it worked."
"Pascal..." Levi pushed himself upright, wincing through the pain. Noble could appear and disappear at will, and always seemed to carry far more on his person than seemed physically possible. He would be just the sort of felow to have in a crisis like this, but if he, too had been corrupted..."Where
is your father?" The engineer choked back a sob, green eyes filling with tears,
"I don't know."