Gabriel lunged into the pandemonium. The world around him was awash in chaos—men crying out, steel clashing against steel, and the unsettling fragrance of blood mingling with the smoke from the sorcerer's flames. The sorcerer had shattered the army's formation, leaving no line of defense, no semblance of order. Honor and glory had vanished; only the grim specter of death remained.
Gabriel spotted a soldier pointing at him from the corner of his eye. “What are you doing, boy?” the soldier yelled.
Gabriel ignored him, his focus unwavering. He sprinted, sidestepping fallen warriors. The Paresh's brute strength and fearsome tenacity gave them a primal edge. As Gabriel maneuvered through the melee, he noted their unique shields. At a glance, they seemed circular, but the keen blade that extended from the bottom told a different story. The blades were drenched in blood. The Paresh weren't just defending with those shields; they were attacking, each shield a weapon in its own right.
Nearby, a colossal Paresh warrior was locked in combat with two soldiers. He parried a blow with his shield and swung his axe in the same fluid motion, severing a soldier's head from his shoulders. The gruesome sight sent a jolt through Gabriel's veins.
His blood turned to fire. He yearned for that inexplicable force that had enveloped him before, that uncharted well of power he'd once tapped into. He groped mentally for it, his emotions churning with rage, anguish, and desperation. Why isn’t it working? What’s missing?
Gabriel had no luxury of time for contemplation; indecision was a luxury he couldn't afford. Sweeping aside doubt, he maneuvered deftly around the combatants, his gaze riveted on the Paresh warrior engaged in combat with a Balatian. Stealthily, Gabriel approached from the rear, his fingers clenched so tightly around his sword's hilt that they paled compared to the weapon's steel. Every sinew in his body was taut, coiled like a spring ready to release.
Gabriel vaulted into the air with a guttural cry that seemed to erupt from the depths of his soul. He precisely drove his sword through the nape of Paresh's neck seamlessly. The blade erupted out the other side in a gruesome spectacle, casting a scarlet arc into the air as if painting the very skies.
As Gabriel wrenched his sword free, a mist of blood momentarily clouded his vision. Swiftly, he wiped his eyes just in time to see the Paresh warrior fall lifelessly to the ground. Turning to meet the gaze of his comrade, he found his eyes wide. Gabriel nodded in acknowledgment, a silent pact sealed between warriors, before plunging back into the fray.
Gabriel's feet were a blur as he darted through the maze of combat. His eyes scanned the chaos for Atlas and his company. Gabriel capitalized on his diminutive stature, turning it into an asset. His height rendered him nearly invisible to the towering Paresh, enabling him to sprint through the battlefield and cut at their ligaments as he passed. Perhaps it was a dishonorable tactic, but honor had no place here. Victory was all that mattered; death made no distinction.
He spotted a beleaguered soldier locked in combat with a massive Paresh. The soldier was barely managing to parry the relentless blows raining down upon him. His sword was finally knocked from his grip, skittering across the battlefield like a discarded toy. Desperate, the soldier raised his shield to fend off the assault.
Gabriel sensed the soldier was on borrowed time. He readied himself, timing his intervention. Gabriel lunged as the Paresh's blade descended upon the soldier's shield. He aimed for the enemy’s wrist with a swift, powerful arc. His blade lodged itself halfway through, halting abruptly as it mangled sinew and bone. He yanked the sword free with a deft motion, eliciting a guttural scream from the Paresh.
Enraged, the enemy swung his remaining arm, shield in hand, sending Gabriel hurtling through the air. He crash-landed, the wind knocked out of him, and his vision blurred. As he struggled to regain his senses, the Paresh advanced, his face contorted into a malevolent grin, spitting out words in a language Gabriel couldn't comprehend.
Just as the shield began its deadly descent, the soldier Gabriel had saved lunged forward, striking the Paresh from behind. The enemy staggered but did not fall. With a scream that shook the air, he swung his shield into the soldier’s abdomen, impaling him.
Fury exploded within Gabriel. He surged to his feet and charged, aiming his sword for the tendons behind the Paresh's knees. The enemy crumpled, collapsing to his knees, but astonishingly, remained upright. With their eyes now level, they locked gazes in a moment of tension.
The Paresh was incapacitated, but Gabriel wouldn't retreat. He had forsaken honor long ago; now, only victory remained. Gabriel scooped up a handful of dirt and hurled it into the enemy's eyes. Momentarily blinded, the Paresh roared in frustration. Seizing the opening, Gabriel struck at the man's collarbone, vaulting swiftly to his rear side. The Paresh swung his sword in a blind rage, missing Gabriel entirely. With a fluid, deadly grace, Gabriel thrust his sword through the man's neck from behind.
It was the second time he had killed a man in such a manner that day. And the feeling was the same each time—no glory, no honor, just the cold, grim necessity of survival.
Gabriel approached the fallen soldier, his eyes scanning for the rise and fall of a chest, a sign of life. There was none. The man's torso was grotesquely caved in. Shaking his head, Gabriel willed his focus back to the mission at hand: finding Atlas.
Dodging between combatants, he resisted the pull of individual skirmishes, each clash of steel a siren's call he had to ignore. He had a more extensive duty to his friends, who faced a dire situation ahead. Fireballs arced through the air, turning men into momentary comets before they fell back to the earth. The battlefield was an apocalyptic whirlwind of sound and fury. Gabriel knew any step could be his last. As he ran, his foot caught on something—a corpse, its eyes staring vacantly at the chaos above. Shaking off the grim reality, he forced himself to rise and sprinted.
Up ahead, he finally spotted his company locked in combat. They had formed a tight wedge, a united front slicing through the enemy ranks. Each man covered the one to his left, a disciplined formation that evoked memories of the Royal Guard. He had once told those men that he would learn to protect, just as they had saved him. Now was the time to make good on that vow.
Soon, Gabriel had closed the distance and rejoined his comrades. His shoulder slick with blood, Avis stood his ground, his sword arm swinging grimly. His shield lay discarded at his feet, an unwanted encumbrance.
“What are you doing here?” Avis asked, his voice punctuated by ragged breaths.
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Gabriel's eyes met Avis's, and no words were necessary at that moment. He was where he needed to be—side by side, facing the storm with his comrades.
Amidst the din of clashing steel and war cries, Gabriel discerned Atlas’s voice commanding over the turmoil, “The sorcerer is ahead. Keep driving!”
The disciplined assault of their company pierced through the disorganized ranks of the Paresh. Gabriel abstained from offense, his role reduced to a protective bulwark, allowing Avis to land lethal thrusts. His sword served as a guardian, deflecting and parrying incoming attacks.
Suddenly, a searing blast of fire erupted ahead, parting the melee. Gabriel felt its blazing intensity wash over him and sensed an opening in their ranks. Haunting moans and the sizzle of charred flesh filled the air.
His gaze swept across the chaotic display, finding Atlas, who had been forced to his knees. Nearby, Olof's visage transformed from stoicism into a tempest of fury and anguish. He looked at Gabriel without really seeing him. And then screamed and charged ahead to Paresh.
As Gabriel closed the distance between himself and the sorcerer, he could see the man's features with chilling clarity. Malevolent red eyes glared back at him, one half of the sorcerer's face a grotesque tapestry of burn scars. Ethereal wisps of light had begun to coalesce once more around his fingertips, signaling another impending incantation. Black rings adorned each of his fingers. At that moment, Gabriel knew—those rings were made from the same material as his own necklace. What is this metal? Why is he wearing it? Gabriel was momentarily frozen, not by the looming attack but by realization. The metal channels the magic, it’s what allowed me to use it.
Just as the sorcerer was poised to unleash the orb, a knife suddenly lodged into his shoulder, causing his aim to go awry. The fiery orb veered off course, hurtling perilously close to Gabriel's left. They all leaped away, but the sheer force of the blast sent Gabriel tumbling through the air. His ears rang with a piercing high pitch, and his vision blurred into a disorienting white haze. All sounds seemed muffled, distant.
Gingerly, Gabriel regained his footing, his eyes refocusing and taking in the devastation that resulted from the blast. Avis, who had been further from the blast, was rolling in agony; his leg was engulfed in flames. Acting on instinct, Gabriel threw himself at Avis, frantically beating down the fire with his hands.
Strangely, Gabriel felt the heat but remained unscathed, as though the fire couldn't harm him. What’s happening? His hands moved with a frenetic energy, and wherever they touched, the flames seemed to die out. Soon, Avis's leg was devoid of fire. Though Gabriel could see him writhing in pain, the young warrior's screams were muffled echoes in his still-ringing ears.
He couldn’t understand how he was unharmed; he was closest to the explosion of flames. The force had downed all the other men. Thankfully, they were not set alight.
Gabriel turned towards the sorcerer, whose eyes had widened in surprise. With an outstretched finger, the sorcerer pointed menacingly at Gabriel, his mouth contorted in a furious shout. Without hesitation, two Paresh surged forward, their sights set on the fallen members of their company.
In response, Gabriel's palm instinctively found solace against the chilled surface of his necklace. For a moment, he shut his eyes, channeling his thoughts inward. You’re not the only one with magic. He clenched tighter against the necklace. I can do this. An unfamiliar sensation embraced him, its tendrils winding gently around his being.
Time seemed to stretch into infinity. He observed the subtle rise and fall of his comrade's chest, each inhalation a small victory. His eyes caught the minute twitches in the enemy's muscles as their axes lifted skyward. Even the droplets of sweat meandering down their foreheads were crystal clear to him.
This time, he vowed, he wouldn't be too late. He wouldn't let the blade descend on those he yearned to protect. Propelled by this resolve, he surged forward, feeling the wind blend seamlessly with his movement. His sword met the blow from one Paresh warrior, deflecting it with a clash that seemed to resonate in slow motion. With nimble agility, he ducked beneath the swing of another axe.
He drove his sword through a man's abdomen and yanked it free in one fluid motion. Strangely, the man remained upright. This shouldn't be happening. He should have crumpled to the ground. Caught off guard, Gabriel barely parried an incoming blade.
Though he quickened his pace, the force of the axes didn't diminish. Off balance, he stumbled and fell. Seizing the opportunity, the other Paresh warrior raised his axe high, targeting Gabriel as he lay vulnerable on his back.
With a swift roll, Gabriel narrowly dodged the descending axe. On the next swing, he rolled to a more advantageous position near the enemy’s foot. He slashed his sword across the enemy's ankle, feeling the blade cut through the leather boot and encounter the resistance of flesh.
Gabriel executed a forward roll to position himself behind the Paresh warrior. With his knees planted firmly on the ground, he swung his sword with increased force. The blade sheared cleanly through the man's ankle, toppling him over. The other Paresh lunged at him as he readied himself to deliver the final blow. Caught in an awkward stance, Gabriel could only manage a hasty parry. The force was overwhelming; his sword was knocked out of his hands, out of reach.
The warrior capitalized on the moment, delivering a harsh kick to Gabriel's sternum that sent him sprawling to the ground. Gabriel saw the axe descending ominously toward him. His sore core betrayed him as he tried—and failed—to rise quickly. He lashed out with his foot in a desperate move, striking the man's knee with all the force he could muster. The knee buckled, throwing the enemy off balance and causing the axe to veer off course.
Gabriel rolled backward, drawing his dagger in a fluid motion. He was resolved to end this. But just as he prepared to charge, a knife whistled through the air, embedding itself squarely in the forehead of his foe.
Whirling around, Gabriel caught sight of Atlas, standing firm with most of their company. Then, without hesitation, he surged forward.
Reality snapped back with jarring abruptness. He could see Atlas mouthing to him, but the words reached his ears as muffled sounds, as if he were underwater. Trying to advance, Gabriel felt his energy reserves bottom out; he collapsed, limp, onto the ground. Above him, Atlas slapped his face, shook him, and shouted in desperation before charging back into the battle.
I have to keep going. They need me. Breathing was painful, each inhalation a struggle, but he refused to surrender to weakness. I'm no coward. I'll fight with all I've got.
Grimacing, he hauled himself off the ground and locked eyes with the sorcerer. To his surprise, he saw fear there. It made little sense to him. He wasn't the one hurling fireballs, just a boy who was quick with a blade.
He watched as the sorcerer channeled more energy, gathering light more slowly this time. The wound must be slowing him down, Gabriel realized. His gaze shifted to his company, inching ever closer to the magic wielder. A mere five Balatian warriors remained, fighting with grim determination. But their resistance would be futile if the sorcerer launched another volley of fire at them.
He gripped his mother's knife, drew it from his pocket, and then hurled it through the air, praying for it to find its mark. The blade veered off course, but the glow in the sorcerer's hands flickered and dimmed. Realization dawned on him—the sorcerer needed concentration to unleash his fiery assault.
Now, only three Paresh stood, having whittled down some of the Balatian forces in the interim. The sorcerer's hand began to glow brighter, the light merging into an ominous orb.
Glancing down at the dagger he still clutched, Gabriel took a decisive step forward and threw it with the last vestiges of his strength. The dagger spiraled through the air, its rotations mirroring the rapid beats of his heart. Please, let this be the strike that ends him.
The dagger hit the sorcerer's head hilt-first, jolting him sufficiently to break his concentration. The glowing orb fizzled out, its luminescence waning.
Gabriel caught sight of Atlas and Olof advancing in tandem. When the final Paresh warrior crumpled at the sorcerer's feet, they lunged. Preoccupied with reigniting the flame in his hands, the sorcerer had no time to see who it was that severed his head from his shoulders.
Feeling the last remnants of his strength ebb away, Gabriel's vision blurred as he collapsed to the ground.