While there’s a bit of panic amongst the ranks, they mostly assemble, and begin preparation to retreat. Even if we do retreat though, we can’t afford to just keep running from chokepoint to chokepoint as Terrorzin chases us to engage his aura. I need to figure something out. Something drastic. I guess I could try dropping a mountain on him if I get a couple hours of rest somehow.
There’s a snort and a raucous round of laughter as my friends and family overhear my thought train. Shiz shouts, tears of laughter in his eyes, “Leave it to Schism, first go-to, change geography of the Spine and drop a mountain on the Ice of Rage! Bwahaha. What I wouldn’t pay, what I wouldn’t give, to see that. Aye, any limb. I’d pay the cost to see our Tyrant suddenly realize a whole mount was coming down atop him.”
There’s a cheerful round of agreement, and I wear a rueful grin as I apologize, “Sorry guys, I’m tapped out for at least six or so hours, and that’s if I zonked out right here and now. I’ve got nothing in the tank to try moving mountains with.”
The laughter continues as they wave me off. Thankfully none of them expected me to be able to. It still leaves us with a dearth of good options though. At least, those that I can think of offhand. I worry that someone might suggest—.
As I’d feared, Vylon steps up and offers, “That shield, when it falls, it’s going to hurt everything close, right? Explode? Terrorzin himself is coming, alone. He’ll be the one to break it. He’ll be showing off his strength, his power, doing it up close and personal-like, if I know the Ice, and I do.”
Grimacing, I try to interrupt but Vylon continues, “He won’t be expecting his own attack to literally blow up in his face. That’s when we strike. There will never be another opportunity like this Schism. And whether you mean to or not, I will stay here and take it. Whatever happens, remember, pain of all kinds is temporary my friend. Victory, eternal.”
The poetic finality of his statement reads like Vylon knows he’s going to die. He knows this won’t work. He knows how much it’s going to hurt us. I understand he has to risk it, for that slim chance at victory. I just, I can’t bear it.
My heart sinks as I plead, “Vylon, we don’t know how much, if any damage the explosion will do. I know the range on his aura, from personal experience, and for any of us to get close enough to hurt him, he will be close enough to instantly take us off the board. You heard Kinzul. She’s the only one that can engage him. My estimates were correct.”
Defiantly, Vylon crosses his arms and stares me down as he states, “Be that as it may, and though I do respect your perspicacity and sagacity, I cannot pass up this opportunity. If there’s the slimmest chance, even the slightest, that our Lady need not engage the Ice of Rage, because we defeat him here, first, I must take it. Are you telling me, that you’re absolutely positive, that the chance is completely absent, that it is zero, Schism?”
Sighing, I hang my head while shaking it. Shrugging a shoulder, I offer up, “I… no, no I can’t say I’m positive it’s zero. Vylon, we can’t lose you, not at all, but especially not this early. We… I’m not going to convince you, am I? You’re wise enough, smart enough, you know what arguments I might make, and you don’t care. You’re taking your shot, because it probably is the only one we’ll get.”
The gruff nod causes me to sigh again. I call for formations and begin handing out orders, “Lucky, you go ahead and take as many Spellknights back to your tunnels, and get working on bunkers. If you can get one placed just a bit north of Chokepoint #2, and if the Spellknights can pack it with explosives, you get a signal to me somehow, okay boy? I love you. Be good, and be safe. Zel, are you okay wi—.”
When Zelshiz nods, I thank them, “Good. Thank you. Shiz, I need you at the very edge of your sight range to the east. If I signal you, you signal everyone for attack or retreat based on the signal, or to detonate the bunker if it’s prepped, yeah? Good. Shaylon, if you need to rest, get into the bunker complexes with Lucky, get to the furthest one you can manage, and rest up. If not, get to Chokepoint #3, and begin your Latent. Boetah, I, I think you should get back to Atter, and rest. Lucky should be able to help guide you home with underground shortcuts if you need.”
Despite my suggestion, Boetah comes up and hugs me, shaking his head. He leans in to whisper, “Atty knows, Schism. She knows how many were viable, how late it was, when we got started. The rest, they’re not viable. We have five on the way though. Five Rocks or Thunderers, thanks to you. Rare breeds, the both of us.”
My lower jaw, and lip, quiver. I wasn’t fast enough, I—. Boetah hugs me tighter and shakes his head, adding, “You did everything in your power to get Atty a chance to bring that clutch into life, into a peaceful life. There is no greater deed Schism. Now, I get to be a father, but I want there to be a world for my children to hatch into. A world for them to bond with others, where they can eat, and be merry. Everything else will sort itself out. I am your Shield, as I am Atty’s, as I am our children. I am with you, to the bitter end.”
My eyes wet, I shakily nod my head, hugging Boetah in return. Though he’s kept me from self-recrimination, that he believes I don’t deserve, I’m still stunned, and emotional. Casting my gaze over at his defending-partner, Shaylon, Aegis, I wonder what the other Rock thinks of things. What Shaylon knows about Boetah’s mate Atty—Attraxiaz the Loud—whom I granted mercy and brought into our lives in Solace.
Thankfully, Shaylon, in their delightful serpentine hiss answers my thoughts, “Such as it is, we are surprised that any life would begin anew, during our war. Schism, stay safe, for Shield, and for all of us. Do not despair. Do not give yourself over to grief or sadness. So much, so many miracles have occurred, because of your association with the Onyx Dawn. Be proud. Sacrifice not yourself. Continue to be smart. Survive.”
When Boetah releases me, I float over and offer a hug to Shaylon’s large serpentine rock draconic form. I wave at the both of them as they trundle along east to Chokepoint #3. If only I could guarantee that they won’t have to face Terrorzin at all. If I could take him off the board, I’d sacrifice almost anything, despite what they said.
What I wouldn’t do to not know what I know about the Worldstorm right now.
Stolen from its rightful author, this tale is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.
Just one fact, that I’m not one hundred percent certain of, but the chances are too terrible to risk. To be able to use the cursed greaves. If the chance for the fact I believe weren’t there, if I didn’t know it, I’d risk it, divebomb straight down into Terrorzin, wearing the greaves, and take the consequences, even if he froze me. But I couldn’t, not when knowing that if…
I place up all my mental walls and don my circlet for but a moment. But I couldn’t do it, knowing it may kill Farzhis and slash or Kinzul, to continue draining the Worldstorm lightning for my own attacks. Sighing, I release my mental walls and doff the circlet.
Rattling my skull, I continue, “Lil, I need you to be east of me at the very edge of your breath range buddy, for an eleventh hour play if things go south.”
Lil’s face droops as he realizes I mean I might need him to breathe fire on me, he whines, “Awe man, you know how much I hate doing that Rej. I hate hurting you, I hate it mega bad, mega mega mega bad.”
Kissing my best buddy on the snout, and resting my forehead against his goofy-underbite jaw, I nod and respond, “I know Lil, I know. You’re the best dragon pal a goofy, mixed up, crazy, green-souled, Frosty-Fel Changeling Fae could ask for. Thank you for being willing. For being with me, all my lives. I love you. Whatever happens, always know that.”
His lower lip quivering, tears misting his eyes, Lil fibs, “I’m not crying, you’re crying!” despite no one accusing him of crying.
Flashing Lil a brow-raised smirk, I try not to chuckle as he blushes and averts his gaze, hiding his misting eyes with his wings. After a few more instructions to those gathered, we split up, to tackle our duties and prepare for the worst. Vylon’s staying the closest, but promised to stay where I told him until the barrier falls.
At least this way, Terrorzin can’t just freeze him from the other side of the barrier. I’m not sure if the barrier would block his latent or not, but I do not want to bank on it. I’m staying a single wormhole-warpstrike’s teleport’s distance behind Vylon. Hoping beyond hope that I can do something, if things need to be done.
My best buddy, Lil, is a bit closer to me than his maximum range, in case I need to teleport or cover ground more quickly than he can. He’s generally faster than me, but we’re working around a bit of wiggle-room in distance, and both of us are willing to pull out all the stops for speed, whichever way this goes. I can sense the lone figure closing in, marching purposefully in a humanoid form.
Before long, that same figure, the one from the vault, stands on the far side of the forcefield from us. His gaze takes it in up and down like he’s deconstructing it with his mind. Despite being in his human form, his towering, broad, muscular, human form, he seems larger than life, out here, instead of the claustrophobic space of the vault. This man, this dragon, nearly as old as the world, coolly, calmly assesses us, and the field. He nods as he makes note of us being just outside the range of his Latent.
He’s not stupid, he’s assessing what sort of traps we might have in place. It’s really only a few seconds that pass, before the action starts. But this seasoned warrior, this cold, intense man, with his thick, furrowed eyebrows, peers about as if gazing across his kingdom. There’s a matter-of-fact air about him, that when his gaze sweeps across you, he feels like he owns you and the ground you’re standing on.
It’s not enough that he feels that way, he knows he has the power to back it up. Somehow it shows in the set of his sharp, angular jawline, or his jagged, stormy-white beard. It’s hard to tell what exactly about him projects this aura of confidence. His nose, strongly shaped, but crooked, broken perhaps a thousand times over the ages, somehow doesn’t detract from this regal demeanor. He still somehow manages to look down it at everything beneath his gaze.
My worrying gaze goes to his armaments, or lack thereof, and his garments. The dark, wind-whipped cloak, reveals a symbol embroidered along its inside in the flashes of Worldstorm lightning. That same symbol I’d been seeing. The withered, weary, broken tree, held together by a knotted rope. A rope which is frayed to a single thread along one of the knots. Despite my thermal near-immunities, the cold wind that whips up seemingly simply being in his presence, within visual range of Terrorzin, sends chills down my spine.
Also, unlike some dragons, he’s smart enough to shift his scales into armor, instead of simple clothing, in his human form. The plates that make up his garb look like something that could only be forged in the hearts of stars, or deepest volcanoes. There’s this stark white char to them, that seems burned in place. Frostburned even.
Sneering, he announces, “Today is your last. These moments are fleeting, cherish them. For when I strike, this contraption shall fall, and you immediately after. Inevitable as the coldest winter chill.”
There is no bravado, no threat, it’s merely a statement of fact. Though, I sorta wonder if he rehearsed that on the way over. I could see him lining up a list of choices like, “Hm, should I say they shall exist beneath my feet, or my soles will trod upon their graves, or should I focus on the inevitability? What if we try to come off sounding benevolent? Yes, let’s tell them to cherish these last moments, simply *implying* their finality.”
Reggie? Mhm? You’re unhinged. Yup. Terrorzin is about to take down the forcefield. Yup. You’re imagining him practicing his villainous monologue. Yup. You’re deranged. Yup, never denied it. What even is your life? Dunno, but it’s about to get really tense. Are you the overlord of understatement or something? Really tense? That’s how you choose to describe what’s about to go down? Look, my brain is a little preoccupied to come up with a better analogy. I mean, you’re doing half the occupying. Reggie. Mhm? Focus on the fight. Right.
What his underlings couldn’t do over the last few hours, what took Teuila perhaps dozens, maybe hundreds of strikes to dismantle, Terrorzin unleashes a single punch to do. The calculated raw power, and the perfect point of impact synergizes and unleashes a cascade of force that booms like a thundercrack.
The forcefield reverberates to its Orichalcum sheet at the base of the device. Immediately, unexpectedly to Terrorzin, as the shield falls, all that same force explodes outwards, one single strike, one explosion strong enough to topple the most impenetrable barrier.
To Terrorzin’s credit, he remains standing, and skids rearwards, leaning slightly forwards into the explosion, dazed, his right hand on his temple, clutching his skull. Vylon charges in, and I want to scream no. I want to tell him it didn’t work well enough, but he wouldn’t listen. Everything slows down as my perceptions speed up. I ratchet my electrokinesis up to maximum to increase the speed of my reflexes, I pour over two hundred percent more electrical energy than my safe limit through my nerves.
My eyes wide with fear, I cast my signal back for the retreat, screaming, for Lil to begin breathing on me. He’d been stoking his flames, breathing them just within his own mouth for minutes. They’re powered by his Latent, “Solar,” and ramped up, hotter than the plasma I faced earlier today. They’re immunity-piercing. This is going to hurt.
Vylon closes the gap, or tries to, quickly, but Terrorzin, dazed as he is, still has his survival instincts. His aura goes up and out, immediately washing over everything in a blanket of frost, like my FFS on steroids. The sound of my scream, whether it travels fast enough to warn Vylon or not, does not persuade him to stop or retreat. It happens so fast. Vylon’s own momentum carries him all the way into the aura as his entire being is frozen over from the front, rearwards.
Rend, a friend, a comrade, one of the eldest members of the Onyx Dawn, is now an ice sculpture. Magically unmeltable ice. No Rayileklian dragonfire could save him.
Despite the subtlest hints of creeping dread visible within his countenance, Vylon’s final expression is one of unwavering determination. Terrorzin, though enraged, and dazed, begins to take his draconic form, and rears back to lash out, intending to shatter Vylon.