Sindra—Ice Favored!
Ice Daggers!
The traced spell circuit fashioned ten ice daggers from the Ice-Anima. They floated around him, extending his Ryvia to cover the battlefield. Ewan moved his hands, and the daggers took their positions in the sky, fanning about the area. Their matted surface blurred all reflections, but the icy edges still glinted against the sun.
He eased his eyelids down and felt the plaza through his billowing Ryvia. Each movement, each action, each reaction was before him. The information surged in through his spirit with crisp clarity. He saw everything, heard everything, sensed everything. When the pieces of the puzzle settled into a clear picture, he acted.
Ice Wall!
The frosted block of ice nulled the lethal attacks and gave respite to his allies—the Severynths took the chance to pull their losing Astylinds back.
Rekindle!
He gave them the boost they needed and supported their backs when they were on their last legs. Aiding the Ashevas was much more expensive than the Kyron militia, but Ewan gritted his teeth and sponsored it.
Firedust!
He cast and the spell circuit transformed the Fire-Anima into fine but fiery dust, diffusing in the targeted area. The affected Ashevas and Astylinds halted, coughed, and some vomited. Their skins singed, eyes teared up, nose tinted red, and they gasped for air. The spell disrupted any assistance that was coming for the losing Astylinds and let his allies finish off their targets without resistance. Flowers of blood bloomed on the canvas of the fiery storm.
He bolstered his allies, tripped his enemies, buffed his side, debilitated the other. He wasn’t perfect at it, but he controlled the flow—the army was the orchestra, and he was the conductor. They fought on their own with little cohesion, but he held the rein.
Yet, even with his backing, the other side didn’t show any signs of falling apart. They stood strong against all assaults and maintained the status quo. If they were losing, they would push harder; if they were winning, they would ease up.
Are they waiting for something?
Their actions indicated so. Ewan couldn’t infer what it was, but he didn’t have the leisure to mull on it either. All he could do at this point was to break the stalemate and push the enemies out of the city. Else, he would have to abandon this place.
Bloodlust!
He traced the spell circuit—the blood threads in his blood-rune simmered.
“The next spell will affect your Astylinds, please do not resist.” He spread his voice to his allies with Ryvia. He could force the spell on wild Astylinds—most couldn’t resist—but those with masters were a different story. Even if some weaker than him Severynths couldn’t prevent the effect, it would for sure garner their wrath. Hence, he approached the issue with words.
Some ignored him, some rejected with a grunt and a harrumph, while some accepted with a hesitant nod. Ewan focused on the third and let the spell loose. The targeted Astylinds bayed and roared, their eyes bloodshot. Their fangs dripped saliva as they snarled, and their growls rumbled in their throats. They blasted off towards the enemies—spells, claws, fangs, talons, they used anything and everything to kill their foes.
And the plaza seethed with ice, fire, and blood.
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……
The stalemate held strong even when Drarith welcomed the moons, the serene nightfall contrasting the raid torn city. This could be to his advantage, Ewan thought, the wounds and the lacerations he ignored now stinging and aching with a dull pain. Some gashes had swollen purple, while some bled without end.
Toast had turned him nocturnal; his eyes bolstered his advantage in the dark. Either in support or direct offense, he could suppress his enemies.
When he thought to take a step forward, however, the enemy pulled back. They all backed off, and the bombardment halted. With a holler that came from afar, they receded like an ocean wave. No one chased, no one stopped them, as they all heaved an audible sigh of relief. They came on their own terms; they went back on the same—this was Drarith’s crushing defeat.
….
….
….
Once the heat of the battle cooled down, Ewan left the aftermath to Lance and trudged away, leaving drips of blood in his trail that couldn’t contrast the plaza today. Kiev also came back from the ports, and they met outside the plaza.
“How was it?” Kiev asked, covered in dried blood.
Ewan shook his head, the dull pain worsened. “We lost,” he said.
“They could’ve taken the city…,” Kiev murmured.
“What now?” Ewan asked.
“Let’s move to the tents outside, we’ll rebuild the defensive line there. We can’t have another battle inside the city.” He looked around at the damage to the structures.
Ewan nodded and followed him to the outer rim of the city, his head throbbing from the overdraft of Anima and Ryvia—depleting and recovering again and again tolled him. The wounds ached even more, his leaden limbs weighed him down, and the fatigue settled in. He just hummed in response to whatever Kiev said, his mind a bit fuzzy and his eyes droopy.
“I have a request for you,” Kiev said.
Ewan focused again—they were already inside the camouflage tent that acted as the temporary quarters, the flickering lantern lighting it up. He flumped on the wooden chair with a grunt and sprawled, closing his eyes.
“Hmm.”
“The whole raid smells fishy,” Kiev said, sitting on the bed, massaging his right forearm, and moving his wrist. “They’re planning something.”
“Hmm.” Ewan hummed again, tilting his head back. The wounds on the body were uncomfortable but the headache troubled him the most. The waves of pain hammered his head and hindered his thoughts, he couldn’t care less about the bizarre attack with this throbbing agony.
“None of it would’ve happened if grandpa came forward,” Kiev said. “Just his presence alone would stifle all schemes.”
“Yeah,” Ewan said, the bare minimum reply being all that he could afford.
“But if he came forward now, they would all know he doesn’t have much longer to live. That he’s getting weaker,” Kiev said. “Then we wouldn’t get schemes and plans, they would just sweep through the city. We would all die.”
“Yeah,” Ewan said.
“That’s why, we need to speed up what we planned before,” he said. “That’s why, I hope you can break through to Step-1.”
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Status: Overdraft | Injured
Step-0 [9th Awakening]
Name: Ewan Ayres
Species: Human
Vitality: 2.0
Spirit: 19.9
Anima: [Fire – 6.1 | Ice – 2.6 | Blood – 2.3]
Astylinds: 4 [Potential: 0]
Rolling Cat [Toast]: Step-0 [9th Awakening]
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Fire Monkey [Orange]: Step-0 [Level-9] [Grade-B]
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Imp [Frost]: Step-0 [Level-9] [Grade-B]
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Blood Lotus [Iris]: Step-0 [Level-9] [Grade-S]
Equipment: Common Clothes; Yurn [Neck Gaiter]; Moonkeeper [Crystal-Ball].
Storage: Journal; Elementalist—The Path of Anima [Subtype-Book]; Spellbook; Bloodlust [Spell]; Transmute [Spell]; Anima-Crystals [Novas Coins]; Obsidian Dagger; Hub-Connector; Ingredients.
Novas: 70,738
Crelith: 3,912