A wave of offensive Ordeal Abilities was used, yet none of them were potent enough — a common theme Osias has found amongst the weak First Ordeals. Only a few were potent enough to kill Osias unless he was foolish to not defend, yet Osias whisked through them all, even cutting down a giant the size of Kiran made of stone.
…To Osias’s side, a fellow prisoner was stabbed with a spear in the belly, yet they viciously dragged the arm of the guard with unexpected strength and drove a scavenged knife right below the helmet to draw blood.
“Vi-Visalros!” The prisoner gargled out, bringing back memories for Osias of the many who died uttering his name in this world.
Shaking his head, Osias stepped forth, intent on breaking through the thin wave of guards who were still struggling to bring the flailing and manic lady toward the gate.
“Don’t let him approach the lady, you useless lot! Wall! Warren, where’s my wall?” A voice sounded, trying to grasp any semblance of unity amongst the crowd of guards.
They were such an unorderly bunch in this situation that Osias could almost laugh. A few projectiles even hit their own before they made it across the low ceiling of their dark chambers. Even more so as some of the prisoners dove deep into the wave of guards ahead of Osias to sow even more chaos in their feral rampage.
But just as Osias’s stolen blade was about to behead a crippled Ordinary, a barrier of some sort that shone in an orange flare managed to block his blade. Alas, the barrier cracked and in another hammering blow it shattered and the guard fell before him.
‘Quite potent, that ability.’ Osias frowned, but nevertheless advanced to catch up with the others who were headed for the lady.
“Back! Back!” Piercing cries sounded from behind a few guards. The lady was astraught, flailing her plump arms and legs in the air and against the attempts of the guards to calm her down.
The rabid and gleeful howls and roars of the prisoners who’ve managed to kill and take some weapons and even advanced further than Osias as he was occupied against First Ordeals for them were almost an arm's length away from the lady.
“Damn it all! Grab our lady and retreat! Someone call the warden or I’ll have your head before he takes all of ours!”
…By now, Osias has slaughtered almost half of the First Ordeals and shattered the chains of many of his fellow prisoners to have them fight better.
The numbers were in their favor as well… they seemed to thrive in such dire straits, unlike the guards. Osias could sense it — the guard’s essence and movements were erratic. They weren’t expecting such a situation to occur while as for the prisoners… blood and death were something they’d all awaited.
This was the time to return their suffering in chains tenfold as their immortal leader led them forward as he had always done for them.
Unhindered, Osias abandoned his worn-down blade picked up a spear a little too small for his size, and rushed forth alongside the prisoners who were so close to the crying lady.
He spotted a guard who was busy trying to defend himself, let alone his lady, against the ravenous and insidious blade style of the Red Sky that Osias imparted all of the prisoners with and he reared his arm back and threw it with thunderous might, impaling him through their aged leather armor and all.
The guard was thrown back, knocking down a few others and in a blink, Osias’s titanic figure lept past a row of prisoners and barrelled into the bewildered guards.
Abdonning any sense of self-preservation, Osias braved the onslaught of weapons and charges when they regained their slight composures, but it was too late.
They were spread too thin against the wild prisoners.
Osias tightly clasped the ankle of the fallen and flailing lady with a sickening crunch. With all his strength he squeezed and likely broke her bones and he lobbed the crying lady behind him and over his head with a crazed snarl as swords and spears impaled and cut him.
Supported by the other prisoners, they struck down the guards who tried to cut Osias down. Bringing a bleeding hand to their still-live bodies, Osias had a mad glint in his eyes as he hissed out:
“I’ll be taking this!”
Draining two guards with a hand burrowed in each, Osias disregarded their pleading screams as another prisoner slammed the tip of a spear into their heads, and Osias felt that he could take their blood essence faster with the loss of their conscious will.
“Forward! Kill them! Slaughter them! Take their lady and ravage her bloody!” A familiar voice bellowed somewhere beside Osias.
Osias looked around, trying to spot the prisoner, but when he did… he sullenly frowned.
Finding the source, Osias found that it was Uron — a friend of the lighthearted Yoren crying tears over Yoren’s corpse who hissed out such words. Letting go of his old friend’s bloodied hand, Uron wiped away the streaming tears, smearing his face with Yoren’s blood as he ran wildly, almost on all fours before pouncing onto an Ordinary guard.
Gritting his teeth, Osias rushed ahead once more… his task wasn’t over with the capture of the Black Warden’s daughter. He needed to preserve as many prisoners as he could to aid him in his final battle. He needed to rush ahead before they could close the gate. He needed to reach the courtyard the moment the Black Warden returned to his keep to deal with the ruckus.
‘Will he be alone? Mistress Seol must’ve accounted for this, right?’ Osias thought, gutting another First Ordeal.
Even though he was bleeding from a few wounds despite his heightened disposition, before he could even worry about such a thing… he smiled to himself.
He felt it.
The unfathomable pull was getting closer. But it also meant he needed to hasten their assault.
“Visalros!” A dark chant began.
Newfound fervor sounded, perhaps they were invigorated by the sight of the once lofty and mighty guards who tortured them for so long being cut down so easily.
They were strong! Visalros, their immortal leader has taught them well!
These guards who hadn’t seen the same dreadful battles they’ve seen weren’t a match for them!
Support the creativity of authors by visiting the original site for this novel and more.
“Visalros!” Another collective roar sounded as they watched Osias crush another First Ordeal below his feet with a wet stomp.
“Close it! Hurry you fool! Forget the lady, we’ll explain ourselves and fight later!” A guard bellowed from behind the gate.
‘Damn!’ Osias thought, quickly bending over to grab a fallen guard’s corpse and hurling it at the gate.
But it didn’t do anything as a large orange barrier once more arose, blocking anything from wedging the gate from closing.
Rushing ahead past a flurry of Ordeal Abilities and blades, Osias desperately tried to reach the end of the chamber, tbecause even he could not force such a heavy mass open…. They’ll be sitting ducks for the Warden to slaughter when he’s not blinded by rage, perhaps even using his position to garner the support of another Second Ordeal in caution.
The great gate was quickly closing, but Osias was too far away to do a thing, even with his immense power and speed.
‘No!’
The potent barrier still covered it… and Osias couldn’t hurl a body or anything else to gain another second. His head pounded as he thought of something to keep it open, but in the next moment the orange barrier shattered abruptly.
‘What is this?’ He thought, and then his head perked up as he heard cries from behind the gate.
His pace never waned and he quickly approached as he stepped over the shattered shards of the orange barrier and pushed the gate wide open until he passed through into the grand hall that led into their chambers only to find a grand amount of blood and the dead bodies of the few guards who’ve retreated enough to close the gate.
Osias’s steps slowed as his bare feet submerged into the blood, and his eyes traced to a single small sheet of blood-soaked silk atop the face of the guard Osias recognized as the one that led the others when the Black Warden wasn’t present.
Then, the same eerie method sounded in his ear… the same voice no matter how quietly spoken reached so close to him.
“Visalros, my champion. This is all I can do, any more and the seers of the court would find my direct support. The Black Warden is coming, band together your brothers in chains. Remember, if you wish to free them, save them… then you must kill the warden.” A soft voice whispered in his ear, sending a cold shiver down his back as he scowled.
‘How much of this is a reward and how much of this is a scheme?’ He wondered.
Before he could think of continuing ahead, he heard ragged breaths approach from behind him and as he turned, a bloody hand reached around the gate.
It was a fellow prisoner.
“Visalros… there’s only sixteen of our brothers left.”
“It’s enough. Quickly arm yourselves. Strip them of their best armor quickly — our fight is not over yet. What of the women?”
“She’s collapsed, and the moment the fighting stopped the others had already–”
“Enough, hurry them. The warden awaits… you’ve done well. Bring her along with us, we cannot fight against such a powerful Second Ordeal unless his mind is broken at the sight of his daughter in such a condition.”
Pulling Uron closer, Osias said something in a low voice right beside his ear, earning a dark smile to twist Uron’s frown as he returned inside once again.
‘Home… that’s right, home. It gnaws at my being, the thought of home. I don’t belong here.’ Osias brooded, watching as the prisoner returned inside the chamber to gather the others.
Eventually, the survivors filtered out, each of them armed to the teeth in mismatched armor and weapons. Seventeen Ordinaries including Osias were to meet a Second Ordeal, who was by no means weak, in battle.
“Visalros here’s what you’ve asked for… also there’s also this too — I don’t think you noticed it on the guards, but here,” Uron stepped forth to the front to meet Osias. But in his hand was something Osias had long forgotten of…
It was the great sword he once ripped from the hands of a slain First Ordeal all those years ago. The same one that he could alter the weight of in the midst of battle — an aspect of his guile and trickery in combat.
Its length was already immense, but its thickness was enormous and made it unwieldy for anyone under the Second Ordeal… and Osias could recall the large-statured First Ordeal who wasn’t quite adept at wielding the sword and was killed because of it.
The essence needed to imbue it to make it either as lightless as a feather or as heavy as a boulder was also something Osias had to adapt to even with his mighty reservoir. Knowing this in hindsight, this could’ve been something made for Second Ordeals rather than the First.
Lifting his gaze to the blood-caked Uron, Osias nodded and accepted the return of his once mighty symbol that led Uron and the scarce few who saw him in battle before their capture.
“If I had the armor of a Jentys on hand, then it’ll just be like back then,” Osias said with a grim smile, resting his hand on the well-made hilt of the great sword.
His tattoos still possessed quite an abundance of blood essence — something he made sure of throughout his imprisonment. He didn’t waste any needless essence as he fought and trained the others. He scavenged the blood of all who died in the cells and who were unfortunate enough to be picked alongside him for a death match atop the courtyard.
All so he can be sure his body will continue to be strengthened over time and have enough to account for the final battle that was bound to happen.
“Visalros, take these–” Another prisoner said, handing him a few sets and pieces of armor from the largest of the guards before returning another solemn smile, “It’s not the armor befitting a Jentys… but you’d look a little as you did back then.”
Osias grunted as he adjusted the ill-fitting armor, the metal creaking with each movement. The filthy, dim hallway stretched ahead, damp stone walls glistening in the sparse torchlight. The wet, musty smell of rot filled the air, mixing with the stench of sweat and blood.
Donning some mismatched greaves and a chest piece fastened a little too short for his size and a dirty helm still smeared in blood, Osias led the ragtag bunch out the hall with the sullied woman dragging in tow.
“Uron, to me,” Osias said with a turned head.
The rushed clanking of boots and armor splashing atop the filthy hall sounded as Uron made his way beside Osias in the front.
“Take the daughter and stay behind the entrance. You’ve been around war enough to judge how far a Second Ordeal’s senses can reach… go beyond it if you must.” Osias directed the red-eyed and maddened Uron.
“Not fight? But Visalros! I must–”
“No. Stay with the daughter, tie her down with something, and keep her there… for if the battle reaches such a state, I want you to bring her out. Cause a lapse in the Black Warden’s judgment — then, we’ll strike to an end.”
Uron wanted to protest in defiance, but after a quick second of thinking… a wicked sneer was stretched across his lips, and with a nod, he returned to the rear.
‘A little more… just one more battle and I’ll return.’
The shuffles of seventeen grizzled men walked, their steps echoing through the dim hall.
‘Kiran… Myra. Clann Grimm. My debts are many, and I haven’t had the chance to even repay them all. But
Osias trudged forward, great sword in hand. As they neared the end of the hall, Osias felt it again — the pull. A deep feeling that thrummed beneath his skin.
The Black Warden, he must’ve left the palace already.
Strong, oppressive, like the air before a storm. The closer they got to the courtyard, the stronger the sensation became, like an invisible hand pressing down on his chest. The others couldn’t feel it, but Osias knew. The warden was coming increasingly closer.
‘I’ll return and find Kiran. Reunited, there is nothing we cannot do. Perhaps we can make use of Clan Grimm and pay back my debt all the same time. Ah… there’s so much I need to tell him, what I’ve gone through — what he’s gone through.’
The door ahead groaned as they approached, creaking as Osias swung it open. A rush of cold, damp air hit them as they stepped into the Black Warden’s courtyard, a desolate place shrouded in shadow. The sky above was a dull gray, barely visible beyond the towering walls. The courtyard was vast, with uneven stones beneath their feet, each crack and fissure glistening with the rain that had fallen earlier.
‘There’s just so many things I want to tell her…so many things I want to ask her.’
“Everyone aside from Uron will wait with me,” Osias said grimly before turning his head towards the small back road that led to the territory of the Black Warden.
“He’s coming.”