Midhir Induen-Ardagh readied his blade against the man in front of him. His gaze met with that of his opponent, only seeing the cold, blue-silver glow of the otherworld shining through his eyes.
Noises of clashing blades, the chime of the power of crystals being called upon, and the roars of the raging inferno behind him echoed in his ears. Ahead of him, the otherworldly shine of the defensive pylon threatened to blind him.
His heart raced, adrenaline pumped through his veins, heightening his senses. The world was clear and vibrant, he could hear every footstep, every cling of metal hitting metal. The scent of blood, sweat, and smoke filled his nostrils.
His opponent, a soldier of the Third Division of the Imperial Army, and one of the men he shared a breakfast with just this morning, dashed forward. His spear aimed for Midhir’s heart, marking the beginning of their fight.
Midhir grasped his sword with both hands, its slightly curved blade reflected the sunlight and the flames roaring behind him. His knees bent slightly as he lowered his centre of gravity, and with one quick strike upwards, he deflected the spear’s strike. As the sound of metal hitting wood reached his ears, he dashed forward, keeping his body low and his eyes on his opponent. He struck downwards this time, a fluid continuation of his previous strike, and dug the sharp edge of his blade into the side of his opponent’s neck, cutting through flesh and bone with little resistance.
Blood gushed from his opponent’s wound. He pulled his sword out of the wound, and as the otherworldly light faded from the soldier’s eyes, he shouted. “Arwen!”
“Right away!” A voice clear as a bell rung back. Golden light concentrated on his opponent’s wound. Midhir leapt over his fallen body, ignoring the spectacle of lights Arwen’s resonance casting created. His gaze focused ahead on the tower housing one of the pylons of the Northern Defensive Formation.
His feet kicked the ground as he maneuvered around the fights taking place scattered along the Northern Wall. Groups of soldiers wearing the same armour, wielding the same weapons, and carrying the same insignia fought with each other. The metallic, heavy scent of blood festered in the air – proof of the severity of their situation. With a mix of emotions raging within him, he ran past the falling soldiers.
As the tower drew closer, he noticed two familiar faces fighting against a pair of soldiers. His steps slowed down as he tightened his grasp on his blade. Hesitation gripped his heart as his gaze shifted between the Pylon’s tower, and his instructor and classmate. Their opponents had the same otherworldly glow in their eyes as the soldier he brought to death’s door a few moments ago, and without Arwen by their side, it wasn’t going to be easy for them to win that fight. At least not in a manner the Empire would find acceptable.
Reluctantly, he ran towards them, knowing Arwen was just a few steps behind him.
“Instructor Soraya!” He shouted, only to be met with the furious gaze of the tall woman.
“What in the holy blood’s name are you doing?” She shouted. “Go to the Pylon – we’ve got this!” She pointed at the foot of the tower with her sword before taking a step to the side to evade her opponent’s spear, then stepped forward and hit his helmet with the side of her blade with enough strength that the sound of metal hitting metal echoed across the battlefield.
“She doesn’t need our help.” Arwen placed her hand on his shoulder. “Neither does Willow – the Pylon, on the other hand…” Her voice faded.
Midhir nodded. The glow had grown even brighter – it was enough to rival the sun high in the sky. “They’re almost finished.” He hissed as they continued running.
Just before they reached the door at the foot of the tower, a young man wearing the same uniform as them caught his attention. Wielding his spear against nearly half a dozen opponents, their classmate was like a whirlwind. The ancient Orlein style of spear-fighting was on full display as he knocked out his opponents with fast, precise strikes while also defending himself from their attacks.
Just as they spotted him, he saw them. “Hurry, I’ll be right behind you-“ He paused to kick one of the soldiers in the groin, then smacked the back of his head as he bent down in pain, knocking him unconscious. “We don’t have any time left!”
Midhir didn’t even slow down to nod or answer. They all knew they were running out of time. His heart raced as they reached the door at the foot of the tower. Blood rushed through his veins as he ran up the stairs. “Focus on the Pylon,” He told Arwen as they climbed the spiralling stairs two steps at a time. “I’ll handle whatever troops they have guarding it.”
The girl nodded, tightening her grasp on the staff she had chosen as her weapon. “I’ll stop the ritual.” Her voice was but a whisper, muttered with confidence and certainty.
They soon reached the top of the stairs. A wooden door reinforced with metal blocked their path forward. “Step aside.” Arwen said as she pointed her staff at it. The air around her staff vibrated, reality seemed to bend for a split second, then the door flew off its hinges, slamming into someone with a resounding crash, while a scream of surprise and pain echoed through the air. Midhir ran out the now doorless doorway, then stopped in his tracks with a gasp.
The tower’s circular roof terrace was surrounded by tall parapets, and at the very centre was the Pylon – a human sized crystal floating mid-air above its gold inlaid base. The crystal’s silver-blue shine had begun to dim rapidly as streams of spiritual power left the Pylon, flowing into the air above a symbol painted onto the ground.
“You again!” A familiar voice reached his ears. The person hit by the door Arwen sent flying crawled out of under the wood and metal debris. He wore a masked helmet, hiding his head completely from view. It looked silly, since he didn’t wear any other pieces of armour, but it served its purpose well enough – they still didn’t know his identity.
Before Midhir could respond, the air above the symbol painted onto the ground seemed to twist. A vortex of silver-blue colours formed in the air, then began to grow. A frigid wind blew against them, forcing them to take a few steps back.
Arwen gasped behind him. “Have you lost your mind?!” She exclaimed with a high-strung voice. “You called them here? Why?!”
Reality itself twisted as that which should remain unseen was revealed before them. The Veil tore apart as the ritual reached its conclusion. Amidst foreign whispers that echoed despite the frigid wind, a large being veiled in silver-blue mist stepped out of the tear in the Veil.
This book was originally published on Royal Road. Check it out there for the real experience.
Midhir’s heart raced. He watched in a mix of awe and excitement as the mist slowly dissipated, revealing the being from the Otherworld. A tinge of fear allowed him to stay calm and collected while adrenaline rushed through his body, urging him to test his mettle against this being.
It was tall, large, and imposing. The humanoid being was over twice as tall as Midhir. It had a human’s face, and a pair of beautiful, yet morbid antlers decorated with skulls and gemstones growing out of its head. Its strong, thick arms ended with claws that could tear a person apart with ease.
Midhir tightly gripped the hilt of his blade as his gaze lingered on the being’s face. Perhaps it was the contrast with its deer legs and certainly not-human claws, or perhaps it was the fact that it was a morbid grey colour that reminded him of a dead body. But even looking at it made his skin crawl. It was wrong - something that shouldn’t exist here.
The being sniffed the air as its silver-blue eyes looked around. It moved slowly, almost as if it was trying to get used to its body.
A hand gripped Midhir’s shoulder. Arwen leaned against his back. “That thing – we need to send it back,” she whispered into his ear.
“Kill them!” The masked man suddenly shouted, pointing at Midhir and Arwen. “I summoned you here, so heed my word! Kill them before they harm me!” His voice was more of a shriek that carried absolutely no hint of authority whatsoever.
The being from beyond the Veil first slowly turned to look at the masked man, then with a huff, turned its gaze towards Midhir and Arwen.
It opened its mouth and spoke. Its words were wrong. The sounds were just wrong, and no matter how much he tried to remember, Midhir couldn’t recall them seconds after hearing them. A sharp pain stung the back of his mind.
“Kill them!” The masked man shouted again, this time with some more confidence in his voice.
The being from beyond the Veil seemed to hesitate, then it took one step towards them. Arwen gasped. “You stand no chance against it!” Her whispering cry was loaded with fear and desperation. “We need to run-“
He shook his head, his gaze locked with that of his newfound opponent. “If we leave the tear in the rift so, this whole region will suffer. Do your thing, Arwen. Hurry.”
He would have spoken more, but the being suddenly moved forward, reaching towards them with its deadly claws. Midhir leapt back, dragging Arwen alongside him. “Hurry!” He hissed, pushing her further back, towards the Pylon, then turned his full attention at the being from the other side.
“Lechen! I order you to kill them both!” The masked man shouted at the top of his lungs. “Don’t waste my time!”
The being called a Lechen took another step forward, then again reached with its claws towards Midhir – no, over him, towards Arwen.
He swung his blade at the arm reaching over his head, slashing its surprisingly thick skin, and drawing some blood. The Lechen flinched, quickly pulling its arm back and looking oddly offended. Its thick, bushy eyebrows lowered as its expression slowly turned into a scowl. Its lips parted slightly before it let out a deafening roar.
With the masked man’s laughter filling the air, Midhir and the Lechen clashed. The sound of blade hitting chitin echoed in the air.
The air smelled like fresh water and wet earth as Midhir and the Lechen clashed. Cold air swirled around them, dragging the silver-blue mist rolling out of the tear in the Veil to the edge of the tower’s terrace roof.
Midhir grunted the moment he deflected the Lechen’s strike. His arms felt as if he had just blocked a yerk from a large stallion. His boots slid on the slightly wet ground, threatening his balance as he took a few steps back.
How powerful was this thing? He knew nothing about his opponent, nothing in his training had prepared him to fight against a being from beyond the Veil. He should have been feeling desperation, but instead he smirked.
He lifted his blade over his right shoulder, pointing ahead as he gripped its hilt with both hands. His body was low, his torso turned sideways and his knees slightly bent as he slowly circled away from Arwen.
The Lechen growled – how a human face could make such a bestial sound was beyond him.
“Well,” he called out, wondering if it could even understand him. It seemed to understand the masked man but was it the words it understood or him pointing at them, he had no way of knowing. “We can just stare at each other,” he suggested, prompting a second, louder growl. “Or we can fight!” His legs kicked the ground, he dashed towards his enemy, lowering his sword, and holding it beside his body, closer to his hip.
The Lechen’s silver-blue eyes glowed brightly. Its artificial looking expression turned to confusion as it looked like it couldn’t believe Midhir would actually try and attack. It swung its claws almost as an afterthought, slashing at the air and ground, leaving deep marks on the floor as it neared Midhir.
The young swordsman leapt over one claw and ducked under the other as it tried to catch him. He dashed closer swiftly. As he neared the Lechen’s unprotected leg, he slashed upwards and left, then horizontally once more, leaving two deep wounds.
Black, goo-like blood oozed out of the wounds as the Lechen snarled and stumbled back. Every step it took shook the tower ever so slightly.
Midhir backed away as the goo spread on the ground. He ought to be careful – this creature was not from their worlds. What its blood did if it touched them was a mystery. Holding his sword with both hands before him, he retreated a few more steps.
Now he could see Arwen with the corner of his eye. His blonde classmate was kneeling on the ground behind the Pylon, desperately etching symbols into the ground with her dagger. Their gazes met for a split second. She raised her hand, with all five fingers stretched open, then closed, and opened her hand two more times.
Fifteen seconds, Midhir nodded. He hoped it was seconds – no matter how eager he was to challenge this being, he couldn’t hold out for fifteen minutes.
The Lechen growled again, raising its clawed hands, and smashing the ground between it and Midhir. The tower shook violently as pieces of rubble scattered across the roof terrace.
“What are you doing?!” The masked man shouted in terror as the tower continued to creak afterwards. “Don’t destroy the tower!”
Neither Midhir nor the Lechen cared for the man’s words. The Lechen, enraged by the wounds Midhir inflicted on it, rushed forward like an angry bull. Its antlers, decorated with jewellery and morbid items like small critters’ skulls aimed for Midhir’s torso.
The young man threw himself aside, getting out of the Lechen’s way moments before it crashed into the parapets. It dug its claws to the floor, upheaving the slabs as it slid to a halt, only to turn around to face Midhir again.
His heart was racing as he stared at the Lechen’s fury filled eyes. A second passed, then one more, but before the third could, the creature charged at him again. The jewellery on its antlers began to glow brightly, and a blue-silver mist spread from its body as it growled.
Midhir’s heart sank, and for the first time today, fear overcame excitement. He could sense the rush of spiritual power around him, different than the flow he sensed from the tear in the Veil. Cold sweat rolled down his chin as he bent his knees and lowered his body. Every motion he made seemed sluggish, as if the air around him had thickened.
The blue-silver mist tugged at his clothes, it clutched his body and his blade, taking away his only advantage against the Lechen – his agility.
Watching the enormous being from the other side rush at him, his chest tightened. He loosened his grasp on the hilt of his blade with his left hand, and ran his palm along the blade, leaving a trail of bright red blood. The pain made him wince as he then once again tightened his grasp on the hilt, letting blood seep through the cotton wrapped around the hilt, and touch the tiny crystals embedded within the wood.
His spiritual power drained instantly as blood touched the crystals. He turned his body partially sideways bent his knees slightly and lifted the blood-covered blade over his right shoulder while gripping the hilt with both hands, its tip pointing forward.
One strike. He had one chance to stop this creature – if he failed, Arwen would fall with him. That thought alone, the thought of that cheerful, bright soul falling at the hands of such hateful people was enough to ignite the hate within him.
The Lechen charged, and Midhir stepped forward. His blade moved in the blink of an eye, bursting into white flames as he slashed diagonally. He felt the flames burn away flesh, but at the same time, pain blinded him as his body flew across the roof terrace.
The last thing he saw before his consciousness faded was the ominous blue-silver colour of the Pylon turn golden, like soothing sunlight.