Chapter 14: The Exchange: Part Two
Ravananaer knew that he was the disappointing and pathetic runt of his family.
That was not to say that he was weak. The Wild Hunt would not have accepted him as one of their leaders if he were some weakling. Though he was not the Head of the Hunt he had led portions of it when the Hunt chose to split up to cover more ground. He had the power to enforce his will on any challenger that faced him, be they vampires, elves, naga, goblins or demons.
Yes, Ravananaer was strong.
But he also knew he was so much less than he should have been, given the blood that flowed in his veins.
His mother had been the daughter of a powerful Chinese Taoist monk, a user of magic who had travelled in order to benefit himself and his family. Ravananaer’s father had seen her, and lust had always been one of his sins. Despite being under a curse to never use force upon a woman the great demon king Ravana had used seduction to gain what he wished. Once his lust had been sated he had left, leaving his discarded lover to face her father, pregnant and disgraced.
And so, Ravananaer had been born to a mother who, although not cast out of her family, had never the less been relegated to its periphery. Not mocked or treated cruelly, just simply ignored as a disappointment. He grew up under the simple name of Yu and spent most of his early life being completely unremarkable. He had come into his power late in life when he was past his prime, his mother an old woman. His Awakened divinity had restored his youth and transformed him into an idealised version of himself. It had granted him more power than he’d ever imagined for himself and let him finally stand out.
He had learnt from his mother who his father was, and he had arrogantly travelled to the isle of Lanka to present himself to his royal father. He had thought he would be received with awe, with adoration, with entreaties to become his father’s heir.
Instead, his father never even knew he existed, and never would.
Yu had found his way to his father’s kingdom just as his epic war with Rama, the human incarnation of the great god Vishnu, entered its final phase. The demigod had been witness the sheer power of the combatants. Rama, Ravana, Lakshmana, Meghanada, compared to any of them he had been nothing. His illusions of power had evaporated like morning dew cast into a forge. He had simply hidden and cowered, using every ounce of power to conceal himself until the battle ended.
And, when the victors had left and the battlefield grew silent, he had picked over the remains to find some overlooked treasures such as the gada maces he now wielded. He had been able to increase his power by an appreciable amount in the end.
Then he had fled the entire Indian subcontinent, travelling northwest until he finally met the Wild Hunt while in what would become western Russia. He had managed to impress them, talked himself up and chosen the name Ravananaer on a whim, trying to seize some part of his dead father’s reputation for his own. His father’s name with a European twist. It had worked, and he had been accepted into the Wild Hunt. Empowered by their immortality he had survived the cold centuries when divinity had been exiled from the mortal plane.
He had built his reputation within the Hunt during that time, and he could not let this winged demigod take it from him!
He frantically swung a mace, his speed just enough to let him strike the bolts of energy that came at him. The impact ran down his arms and he internally winced at the sheer force of the blows. This winged demigod was powerful, Ravananaer had known that. No weakling could face Herne and live. But this was more than he had been expecting.
The son of Ravana’s eyes darted from the scabbard at his opponent’s waist, to the unconscious boy half-hidden by grass. A bitter curse formed on his tongue, but he swallowed it down. It had been his idea to trick the winged demigod, to use a changeling to gain the scabbard, and then flee before the deception was discovered. Changelings were some of the best shapeshifters in the world, almost undetectable, and the Hunt had a few dozen in their ranks. It had seemed like a good idea at the time. In the end, they had decided to go with it, the temptation of securing both the scabbard and the young demigod being too tempting to pass up.
The grass around him writhed without the touch of the wind, blades of grass growing in size and thickness until they resembled the blades of huge swords. They lashed at him, their green edges sharp as razors, but could not break his skin. They succeeded in distracting him though, and Ravananaer’s eyes widened as he saw the winged demigod reach out with his magic to seize the unconscious boy.
NO! If the boy was taken and the scabbard lost then it would be Ravananaer’s fault!
His mind was filled with images, thoughts of what would happen after such a monumental failure. A thousand possibilities passed before his mind’s eye, everything from being hunted down by Vishnu so as to finish off his father’s bloodline, to ending up as the meal of some monster after being abandoned.
Then he was moving, his actions spurred on by fear as he slammed into the angelic demigod, his maces abandoned, and grappled the winged man, forcing him away from the boy. In the distance, he heard an explosion and felt power ripple through the air.
Incredible, some small part of him was still reeling with amazement that not only was Old Hefnd crazy enough to take on Kali, but she was also powerful and skilled enough to still be fighting her, to actually be able to hold her off.
It was a very much at the back of his mind though. The vast majority of his mind was frantically trying to hold on against this demigod, who was proving to be very, very strong.
Damn it! Damn it! Damn it! How was he so strong?! Was he not meant to be a Legacy? Ravananaer was a direct child, his sire mighty and his mother with power of her own! So why was this so difficult?! He could feel the winged demigod straining against him, and it was taking all of his strength and limited skill to keep his hold on the white-haired man. His wings flexed and tried to bat at the older demigod, but he pushed them aside as he tried to force his foe to the ground. Bolts of lightning, tongues of flame, shards of ice, all beat against the demon king’s son, but he ignored them, even as pain flared across his skin.
All he had to do was hold on and not let go! Ravananaer focused on that as he felt his muscles scream. Just a bit longer, then his allies would come to help him! Herne, Loraxis, Skliros, one of them had to be coming!
Sweat began to bead on his skin as he forced himself to tighten his grip. But the strain . . . the strain! How long could he hold on? Just how strong was this demigod? No! He had to hold on! He could not fail! He could not let them know how weak he was!
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I fought as hard as I could to escape Ravananaer’s grip, but no matter how hard I tried I just couldn’t shift him.
He was so damned strong! Worse than that, he knew what he was doing, each attempt of mine to break free or twist to get leverage was countered immediately, almost as though he was reading my mind!
No doubt about it, this guy was one of the worst foes I could have gone up against. Yeah, he wasn’t as huge as Etienne or as powerful as Herne, but he was just shrugging off every elemental attack I hit him with, and nothing I did shifted his grip as he kept pressing me down relentlessly. He wasn’t using any showy gimmicks or tricks, this was just plain physical power and skill.
His knee hit the back of my leg, and it folded, unable to support my weight. I knew I was stronger than that, but somehow it didn’t matter, his weight pressed down on me as though someone had strapped a boulder the size of a house to my back! Even my flight wasn’t working, seeming to stutter and fritz when I tried to use it!
This . . . this wasn’t something I’d ever encountered before. I felt a surge of panic start to claw its way up my throat, but I forced it down, even as my face was forced down into the grass.
Come on! I could get out of this! I just had to use my head. Come on, what could I do?
The arms around my arms and chest tightened even more, and I was damned glad that I didn’t need to breathe nearly as much as I once had. I was pretty sure that if I’d still been a normal guy I’d have been out cold by suffocation by now, or crushed like an empty soda can.
My wandering thoughts were brought back into sharp focus as I felt a heavy breath tickle my ear. I didn’t think, I simply threw my head back as hard as I could, pure reaction.
Sharp pain exploded across the back of my head as I felt like I’d slammed my skull against the side of a block of reinforced steel. Still, I felt something crunch, and I felt a surge of savage joy at the thought that it had probably been that sculped nose getting flattened. I heard a pained grunt and the arms holding me loosened for just a second.
I forced my arms and wings out as forcefully as I could manage. There was resistance, even if I’d caught him distracted Ravananaer was so damned strong, but then it gave!
There was a grunt from behind me, and I spun to see that the force of my breaking free had been enough to send the shirtless man flying backwards into the grass. He was back on his feet almost immediately, but I felt some satisfaction in having gotten out of his hold.
Then I saw something sparkling gold on the ground between us and I felt my heart freeze in my chest.
My hand fell to my belt and I felt a distinct lack of something that should have been there. The scabbard! It’d come loose! Had it been during our struggle? When he got a grip on me? I saw a smile cross Ravananaer’s face and realised that it’d been his plan all along! Getting me in a grip, forcing me to the ground, if he could subdue me then great, but even if I broke free then he’d have managed to get the scabbard off me during our struggle.
I heard a small groan off to the side and saw the kid’s legs start to stir.
Great, just great! If that’d happened only a few seconds ago it would have been great. But now I had to get the scabbard back, and I had to watch the kid. My burdens had doubled in the space of seconds, and I still didn’t have any clear way of dealing with this guy.
Wait! Had that been his plan as well? It seemed crazy, but had he somehow sensed the other demigod recovering?
As I drew more power into my hands I found myself mentally stepping this guy’s danger ranking up a few notches. Strong, resistant to my magic, smart enough to think several steps ahead . . . this guy might be even more dangerous than Etienne when his monster was in control!
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Ravananaer had no idea what to do!
He had begun to panic when the demigod forced him to let go, the force of his wings spreading enough to throw him back. It was only when he was getting back to his feet that he had seen the scabbard lying amidst the flattened grass.
That had caught him by surprise. When had that come loose? The winged demigod had been keeping it close, but it must have come free during their brief struggle. He saw the moment his foe realised the sheath was vulnerable, and Ravananaer could not help but let a smile briefly touch his lips. A smile which spread as he heard the unconscious demigod let out a groan, dividing the winged demigod’s attention even further.
He was not going to argue with good luck. He was going to seize it!
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“HA HAH! C’MON! MORE!!!”
Kali might not look it, but she was an old goddess, thousands upon thousands of years old. She had seen much in that time, had fought fearsome enemies, demons, monsters, madmen and women who had fallen into depravity and bloodlust. Sometimes she herself had been the one to give in to her own thirst for battle, becoming a blood-drunk ravage that could just barely tell friend from foe, and not always reliably. She had butchered her way through armies, leaving the dead numbering in the millions in her wake.
“MORE! MORE!! MOOOORRREE!!!”
But she’d never faced anyone like this!
Her enemy looked old, at least in her sixties, her hair white with age and her face wrinkled. It didn’t seem to be slowing her down any though. Covered in ragged brown leather, a tattered cloak, and boots that looked like they were ready to fall apart she looked more like some old tramp than a warrior.
Kali turned her head and spat out a mouthful of blood, even as she retaliated. How long had it been since Kali tasted her own blood? She was so used to overwhelming her enemies through sheer strength and power that she couldn’t remember. Sure, she’d been hurt while living as a mortal, but not in her true godly body. But this old woman had managed it, had slammed her in the face with a fist covered in enough ice to turn the blow into a smash from a club. And it had hurt! Somehow that blow had hurt her, even with all her power and resistance to injury!
Kali’s elbow came up in a vicious blow, aiming to cave in the left side of the old woman’s skull. Instead, ice sprang out of nowhere, forming armour over her head and softening the blow. The ice then shattered, shards flying everywhere, even at the woman’s own body, leaving shallow but bleeding wounds. In response, the woman’s face remained locked in a mad grin. Her face was bloody, her nose was broken, she was bleeding from more than a dozen minor wounds and had even lost a couple of teeth, but it didn’t seem to matter to her.
“GIVE ME MOOOOORE!”
Fire replaced ice as the woman swung her other arm in, flames blossoming in a deadly flower of heat and force as her fist impacted, a blast strong enough to drive them apart and to actually scorch Kali’s exposed arm.
This . . . this was crazy! Kali knew she wasn’t going even close to all-out, she couldn’t, not with her allies near enough to get caught in her more destructive abilities, but this old woman was somehow taking it! What was more, she wasn’t using any of the higher powers, such as creation or destruction. All she used were fire and ice, two of the most basic and primal elements there were. And on top of that, this wasn’t a goddess or a spirit. Sure, she had some divine blood in her, but the rest of it felt fey, as well as something else Kali couldn’t put her finger on. This woman felt like she was even more of a mixed bag than Adam when it came to bloodlines.
However, two factors were making her a pain to fight, even though the Hindu goddess was sure she had her easily outmatched in both power and physical ability.
Firstly, she was skilled, insanely so! She’d managed to block Kali’s waves of Destruction by conjuring walls of ice. It sounded simple, but Destruction was a power that transcended the simple act of physical annihilation. Under normal circumstances, ice like that would have just been erased as the Destruction continued on. The fact that it exhausted her power to destroy the ice simply showed the skill and power that had gone into making the ice more ‘real’ than it should have been. ‘Real’ enough to exhaust the Destruction. That was also what was letting the old woman fight so well, her ice and fire packed more of a wallop than should have been possible for such small manifestations of basic elements. It also fed into the second reason she was such a pain.
Namely, she was crazy!
“Come on, Kali,” the older woman spoke, her voice something other than a loud cackle for the first time since the fight started. “Aren’t you going to give Old Hefnd a good fight? Is this really all the legendary fury of the Black one amounts to?”
Without even waiting for a reply the woman . . . Old Hefnd, threw herself forward again, fire on her right, ice on her left, a mad grin on her face.
Kali had fought berserk rakshasa drunk on blood and poison that were less crazed than this woman! Her fighting style was so close to suicidal that it made the mind spin, yet somehow she made it work! She was always on the attack! She never retreated! When she did dodge blows it was by such small margins that it was insane! She used her ice to tank blows in a way that should have left her dead three times over! She was dancing on the very edge of the blade, but somehow she managed to keep it from cutting her too deeply.
Fire came at Kali, and her own flames responded, blasting back and neutralising them. Ice formed on the ground, rising up in wickedly pointed spikes and she swatted them aside. Then she didn’t have time for anything else as Hefnd was in her face, so close Kali could almost smell her breath. The old woman was like a dervish on crack, always moving, spinning, dodging!
“RRRAAAHHHH!”
Frustration burning in her heart Kali slammed both her fists down, missing the old woman but hitting the ground so hard that the soil caved in and a shockwave rippled out from her. Even as she was hurled back by the force the old woman just cackled, her grin impossibly wide and her flames bursting out to stabilise her, letting her land as gracefully as a ballerina.
Kali felt her anger rising in a burning tide. No, not anger, fury would be a better word! This . . . this was beyond infuriating. She was the Black One, one whose name was synonymous with destruction and ruin. Gods fled before her, demons died screaming, the earth broke and the skies wept at her approach! And she was being toyed with?!
It took all her willpower to hold back the urge to give in to that rage, to lose herself in bloodlust, and simply fight with abandon, uncaring of cost or consequence. That was no option, not if she wished to keep her oath to Shiva.
No, she had to use her head, be more than just a berserker. That woman’s name, Hefnd, it was strange, but it tugged at Kali’s memories. That name sounded . . . Norse, from Odin and his lot. More than that though, she knew that name, knew what it meant. Hefnd . . . Hefnd meant . . . vengeance?
Yes! She was sure of it. So . . . vengeance, fire and ice, crazy fighting style. She had some pieces, and she could swear that they were adding up to something, but they just weren’t clicking together.
Her thoughts were cut off as the madwoman charged again, spears of ice being propelled by rockets of fire. It was insane, but somehow it worked, and Kali was forced to block the shards, the ice breaking on her skin but somehow managing to send shockwaves through her arms even though it defied logic!
You know what? Screw this! To hell with working things out! To hell with trying to use her head! She was going to do things her way!
Kali’s fire flared to match her enemies and the world around them distorted as the power of destruction began to slip its leash.
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Joan was not sure why their enemies were employing a different strategy, but she was finding it effective. Rather than using the effigies of past members of the Hunt her allies were instead facing champions, the strongest members of the Wild Hunt as it existed now.
Well, not all of them were facing champions. The French Saint swung her sword, bisecting a ghoulish creature that seemed almost to be rotting. The yellowish-green flames of the hunt flared up around it, beginning to restore it, but Joan had no time to pay attention. A vampire came at her from the left, and a blue-skinned naga fired arrows at her from behind it. One hand left her sword to throw up a defensive bubble of light to block the arrows while her other hand stabbed her sword through the vampire's right eye, then wrenched the blade sideways, carving off most of his skull.
There was no reprieve though, as one foe fell another took their place. But that did not slow the resurrected saint for a moment, she was no longer a mere mortal, and she could keep up this pace of battle for hours if she needed to. Still, even as she continued to carve her way through each opponent thrown at her, Joan’s mind was coldly assessing the situation.
The champions were engaging everyone else, except for her and Lancelot. They were being forced to deal with an unending stream of the Hunt’s rank and file, deadly to mortals, but manageable for them. Joan supposed she could understand it, even as skilled and powerful as they were she and the Knight of the Round Table were the two weakest members of the group, even Adam outshining them in terms of raw power. While the masters of the Hunt stalemated with the goddesses, demigod and angel the saint and the knight could be held at bay by a steady stream of immortal foes.
In truth, Joan was astonished that they had been able to field a combatant able to take Kali off the board as they had. Given her power, it made sense that they would make this attempt only if they had some sort of counter to her. Simple to say, but to actually accomplish it . . . that was something else.
Slash! A vampire fell, bisected from shoulder to hip. Slash! The head of a goblin spun away as its body fell to the ground. Stab! Her sword’s point thrust into the eye of a huge black hound, running its brain through and ending its life as though a switch had been thrown. Each kill followed the last at blistering speed, and they were only the latest in a series of almost a hundred.
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Unfortunately, by this point, the first of her kills were already starting to stir, pulling themselves back together and rising to their feet.
The simple fact was that of all the combatants facing the Wild Hunt Joan was having the hardest time. In the initial exchange of blows one of them, a tall gaunt figure wrapped in robes and a cloak, had somehow managed to dispel her transformation into an angel, returning her to her more mortal form at the cost of them turning into dust. The French Saint was less powerful in this state, but still strong enough to deal with the chaff being thrown at her. The problem was that it was keeping her out of the main fight.
It was a simple enough strategy, but with their numbers, it worked. They could tie everyone up with preselected enemies that could match or stalemate their chosen enemy, leaving others free to run interference.
Joan saw Herne moving through the throngs of the Hunt, now back on his mount and wielding his spear.
This was bad! Very, very bad. Joan had lost sight of Adam in the melee, but she could sense his magic flaring not too far away. He was fighting, but he was not being overwhelmed, at least not yet. But Joan could feel . . . something coming.
The battle had a tempo to it, a certain ebb and flow as combatants fell and rose. Her training meant she was aware of this pressure, at least partially. She knew of veteran angel warriors who could read that quality as though it were letters upon a page and could use it to direct an entire battlefield as a conductor would an orchestra. Though the resurrected saint was not at such a level she could follow the beat, and what she sensed made her grip on her sword tighten and her heart pound.
The Hunt was waiting for something. Their initial frantic rush had fallen back into a holding action as they prepared. What was it? Reinforcements? Some sort of weapon to be used as a trump card? Joan did not know, but she knew she had to get to Adam!
Light burst from her free hand in a searing beam that tore through a hound and two hunters! Her sword swung and two werewolves fell, their bellies cut open! Still, she forced her way forward, every step contested, bought with the blood and bodies of her enemies, but slowly she was making her way closer to Adam. She could see the others facing their own enemies, Athena and a huge centaur, Lancelot and a band of satyrs, Hadriel tore through the sky so fast she could not even see who the angel fought. Then there was no time to observe the others. Joan’s enemies encircled her and she kept fighting, driving them back, advancing, until . . .
A wind raced through the battle, harsh and forceful, and carrying with it a scent of burning and bloodshed. For a brief instant the battlefield quietened as the fighting slowed, the pressure of what was coming weighing on all.
Then the stars and moon vanished into darkness.
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Hadriel’s sword hacked at her foe, lightning bleeding from the edges of her weapons. Before and around her, her enemy wailed, a sound that scratched at her very soul, clawing at the invisible connection between her spirit and her body. Had she been a mortal rather than an angel that connection might have broken, sending her soul to the afterlife as her body simply fell over dead. As an angel though her metaphysical connections were far stronger, able to shrug off the attack, not that it was a pleasant sensation though.
The foe she faced was a huge amorphous creature made out of a dense fog, the edge of it glowing with a combination of unearthly blue and white, and the now-familiar yellowish green of the Wild Hunt’s fire. What was even more disturbing was that the roiling mist was constantly forming shapes that then melted away, only to be replaced with new forms. Faces, arms, hands, silhouettes, animals, creatures that might even have been angels themselves at one point. All of them came and went, all of them glaring hatefully at Hadriel as the battle continued.
In truth, even though it shamed her to admit it, even to herself, the angel was thankful that the Hunt was not using their effigies of past members as they had before. There was no threat of her facing Satan’s shade once more. No threat of being forced to hear his insidious words once more.
Instead, she faced this . . . monstrous creature, something new, even to her wide experience.
When the battle had begun Hadriel had taken to the air with the intent of supporting Adam from above, raining fire and lightning down upon his foes. Unfortunately, as soon as she had risen above the battlefield she found herself being mobbed by flying banshees, ghosts, elementals and even a few winged fey. Every member of the Hunt that was able to fly had swarmed her in an attempt to keep her from entering the main battle.
It was a brave effort, but she was just too strong for them. She was an angel, a tool of the Almighty forged to serve him as a weapon! She was the perfect severing edge of the High Heavens! These . . . these vermin were no threat to her, not even in such numbers!
The sky lit up as lightning and fire crackled about her, exploding outwards and shattering her attackers. The banshees dissolved into smoke, ghosts dissipated into mist, elementals of air and fire were scattered into fragments, the fey fell as charred husks! Hadriel knew that this was only a temporary fate for them though, the Hunt would bring them back soon, but for a few moments, she thought them to no longer be obstacles.
She was wrong.
Rather than slowly being reformed by the sulphurous flames of the Hunt the remains of her enemies instead drew together into a single mass. The bodies and the wispy remnants all seemed to implode into a single point, then explode outwards into the monstrous mist creature she had been forced to fight since then.
This thing . . . it was powerful. Hadriel was unsure as to what it was exactly, but as far as she could tell it was a merger of all the creatures that had gone into its creation, the strengths of all, and none of their weaknesses, and all of it magnified by violence and madness.
As a counter to her, it was a good fit. Her swords could cut its ghostly flesh, but it then swirled back together as mist, mist that neither her fire nor lightning could harm it in any meaningful way. She could find no core, no central point to attack to bring it down. All she could do was hack away at it, slowly whittling it down as she endured its retaliations.
Unacceptable!
Hadriel was meant to be Adam’s ally, his protector, his strength! Behind her head her halo began to hum, responding to her rising determination. It might not be a Crown, but it had been her faithful companion from the instant she came into being, both a part of her and a reliable aid when needed. Power gathered in its metal, pooling and then passing to her as she readied herself.
Her title was the Angel of Swords. Not fire, not lightning, not light. Swords. Yes, she wielded the elements of flame and thunderbolts, but those were but simple tools to her. Swords, her swords, those were her power, her identity!
The creature she was fighting was not equal to a god such as Herne, nor was it on par with the other champions of the Hunt. They had skill, experience, and centuries of refining their control and expertise with their powers until it was not a brutal club but a deadly blade instead. This thing she faced was without skill, discipline or even intelligence. It was simply an amalgamation of some of the Hunt’s more troublesome members with those difficult aspects, such as intangibility or soul attacks, backed by pure savage power. It was a pseudo-champion, something intended to stalemate her long enough for the Hunt to steal the scabbard, and maybe even Adam as well.
She refused to allow that! Instead of wasting her time carving her foe apart sliver by sliver, she focused her power into her blades, her swords.
These swords had been forged in the High Heavens, a place where the laws of physics that allowed the mortal plane to exist were all but null and void. The smith that forged them had been older than many of the stars in the sky, their skills refined over epochs. The metal they were made from was every bit as divine as herself, one of the first gifts of her existence. Her blades, her swords were her first companions, as much a part of her as her arms, and they, like her, were strong!
Her power sank into the swords, strengthening them, empowering them at a conceptual level. This was nothing so simple as sheathing them in energy to increase their sharpness or empowering them to multiply their kinetic energy. This was making a sword . . . more.
A sword was a weapon, a piece of metal shaped into a form with a single purpose, to kill. Yes, swords could defend, disarm, or subdue, but those were all secondary functions that came after the prime purpose of a sword. What Hadriel was doing was bolstering the conceptual foundation of her weapons, taking the concept of ‘a sword kills’ and augmenting it, making it larger than it should have been.
Her blades passed through the roiling mass . . . and it died.
It was a chain of events that was imposed upon reality by an augmented concept now able to bypass impediments such as physics or causality. The components of the creature fell apart, returned to individuality as they died, falling to the battlefield below as Hadriel paused for a moment, recovering from the use of such power.
Yes, the hunters that made the mass up would be returned to life, their immortality ensured it, but for now, they were out of the battle. Hadriel had to pause for a few seconds, the effort of what she had just done forcing her to take a brief moment to recover. It was not something to be done lightly, especially since a more powerful foe might have been able to resist, if their own conceptual foundation was strong enough, and they could retaliate while the angel was vulnerable.
As she took deep breaths, circulating her magic and preparing to re-enter the fight, her eyes sought Adam out. Though she could not immediately spot him she could sense his magic. It was further away than she had been expecting, right across the battlefield. Hadriel could easily move to meet him, now that she had temporarily wiped out the Wild Hunt’s dedicated fliers.
That was the last thought to pass through her mind before a sudden and tremendous impact slammed into her back!
The world blurred, and then she slammed down into the ground, her head spinning and her vision swimming. The angel tried to force herself to rise but felt a sharp pain in her back even as a weight bore down on her. It took her a few seconds to understand that the blow she had received had been so forceful it had literally driven her into the earth as she hit it.
Orienting herself Hadriel pushed upwards, ignoring the pain radiating from her spine. Soil and gravel fell away as she forced her way free, but as she tasted fresh air her legs gave way beneath her. Feeling gingerly behind her back the angel could tell that one of her wings was broken, hanging at an awkward angle, and a long gash ran down her back. Her angelic physiology meant that the wound had already stopped bleeding, but it would be some time before she was able to fully heal. Until then she would be weakened.
Around her she could hear the chatter of the Hunt, an eager sound, as though they could sense her weakness. Her swords returned to her hands and she once more rose into the air. With her wing broken she could not attain the same altitude as before, nor fly with the same speed, but it was still enough to offset her immobile legs until she recovered.
Damn it! This was going to slow her down even more!
As her blades slashed at her enemies again she could not help but wonder what had hit her so hard! If whatever it had been, went after Adam . . .
Her swords moved faster as she redoubled her efforts.
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I slammed a fist into Ravananaer’s face as hard as I could!
The shock of the blow shot up my arm, as though I’d just hit a steel statue instead of a flesh and blood face. I’d just hit this guy hard enough to behead a statue, but all it had done was make him stumble back a couple of steps.
The few exchanges we’d already been through had been enough to teach me that I shouldn’t give this guy an inch or a second. Even as I drew my fist back my left wing came around, slashing at his chest with my sword feathers. Ravananaer let out a sharp growling noise as he flinched back another step. I could see blood running down from some cuts on his chest, but even though my wing had hit as hard as it could I could tell those wounds weren’t much more than papercuts.
That was how this fight had been going, this guy was just so damned strong and tough! It wasn’t as bad as going up against Kali, but it was a pretty close second. What made it worse were those brass maces. I already knew that a hit from those would seriously hurt, if not take me out of the fight completely. My right wing was hanging at an awkward angle because of that. I could feel it slowly recovering, but it wasn’t going to be any good in a fight soon enough to matter.
We’d been going back and forth like his for . . . how long? It felt like ages. For some reason the rest of the hunt had yet to reinforce him, something I was deeply grateful for, but I didn’t know how long that could last. I had to do something to change the stalemate between us, or I’d just be stuck here until that changed and I ended up swarmed.
“Uuugghh . . .”
Another moan from the kid. He was taking his sweet time waking up, but then again, it wasn’t like I knew what had kept him out. Maybe he was fighting off a spell, or recovering from being force-fed a potion of some sort. Whatever the case, he didn’t look like he was going to be recovered soon enough to make much of a difference. That meant that I was going to have to break out of this on my own.
I needed something that’d come as a surprise! Something he wouldn’t see coming. But what? All the elements I was used to weren’t working! I didn’t have anything that would beat this guy!
. . . beat him?
The realization slammed into me like a freight train! I didn’t have to beat him, that was just a trap I’d fallen into! I didn’t even have to hurt him, I just had to make an opening!
Something must have shown on my face, because Ravananaer suddenly charged forward, swinging his weapons at me. My reaction was purely instinctive, grabbing onto my half-formed idea and going with it. I threw myself backwards, opening a bit of room between us and dodging the swings of his maces, and threw my arm up as if I was violently lifting the hood of some invisible car.
In response the earth suddenly rose, but not in a wave or like a fist as I’d done before. This time it was as though a huge carpet had suddenly become animate and wanted to hug my enemy.
I took a certain level of satisfaction in the brief expression of stunned bewilderment that crossed Ravananaer’s face just before I lost sight of him. He might be able to shrug off a punch that could crack stone but I wasn’t aiming to hurt him, I was almost literally pulling the rug out from under him.
My enemy was down, and I wasn’t giving him the chance to get up. The carpet of earth, roots and grass kept moving, rolling him along like a bowling pin that had fallen over, then falling on him, burying him. It wouldn’t hold him for long, but I didn’t need long!
My eyes focused on the scabbard as I rushed for it, even as I reached out to the recovering young demigod with my telekinesis and yanked him towards me. I planned to grab them both, then wing it, literally. My right wing was still damaged, but I could still fly, I was sure. If I could get some distance then my allies could disengage from their own fights and we could pull back. It wouldn’t be a complete victory, but we’d have rescued the kid and kept the scabbard, and that was a decent win in my books.
I reached out to grab the scabbard and-
WHAM!
I think I blacked out for a second. The impact . . . I didn’t actually feel it, all I felt were the aftereffects as I was driven into the ground so hard that I thought I felt something crack inside me. The unforgiving dirt beneath me cratered under my fall, but not enough to cushion me.
I just lay there, too stunned to process what had happened, then something hit me, as though someone had swung a sack of potatoes into my side. It was enough to make me turn my head and see what it was, a kind of numb curiosity driving me to do it.
It . . . was the kid? The one I was trying to save? My muzzy thoughts stumbled around in my head, failing to connect as I blinked stupidly, my chin still resting on the dirt. Then I remembered pulling him towards me, just before I . . .
My mind cleared as I rolled over. Pain flared across my back, fierce and biting, but even that didn’t stop me. I’d been hit so hard! What had done it? Had Hern caught up to me? My vision swam in and out of focus as I tried to force myself to recover. I could make out the mound of earth and roots that had held Ravananaer, coming apart as he started to fight his way free. I could see distant flashes of fire, light, and lightning, back where my allies were fighting. And above me . . . at first I was confused, wondering why the stars were gone. Above me, there was only darkness. Then I saw something move and my eyes finally came into focus.
What I saw . . . well, as stupid as it might have been my first thought was that I’d somehow managed to pick a fight with Godzilla.
The thing was massive beyond anything I’d run into yet. I’d thought of the Golem as a giant, but now he seemed almost like a toy. Etienne in his monster form had been the size of a truck, but this thing made him look like a rat before a wolf.
My dazed mind struggled to make sense of what I was seeing, taking in each component but somehow failing to assemble them into a complete picture. Enormous plate-like scales the colour of blood, a huge crest of horns, jaws huge enough to swallow a minivan in one bite, clawed feet and forelimbs with talons larger than my whole arms, huge wings that seemed to block out the stars above and shrouded me in darkness! I was seeing it all, but it wasn’t coming together. It was . . . It was . . .
That massive head darted forward on a long neck, almost like a swan. Nothing that big should have been able to move like a striking viper, but somehow it managed it! I barely had time to grab the unconscious boy’s leg and throw myself to the side, my wings flapping wildly to make sure I moved fast enough, even as my fuzzy mind did its best to use my flight. I got us out of the way, but as the head drew back I could see dirt crumbling away from the jaws, leaving a hint of gold to glitter in the darkness.
NO!
My head cleared as I realised what that glint was. The scabbard! That thing had grabbed it in its jaws as it made the bite! That thing . . . That . . . That . . .
Holy crap, that was a DRAGON!
For a brief moment, I actually forgot about the scabbard as I stared up at the living avalanche towering over me. Okay, it might not be quite Godzilla-sized, but it couldn’t have been too far off. The thing looming over me was a classical Western dragon. Four legs, wings, long tail, long neck, vaguely reptilian, vaguely avian head covered in horns, frills, spikes and scales. Its jaws revealed fangs that could have made the most bloodthirsty crocodile in the world fall into a mire of inadequacy, and then there were those eyes . . .
I could barely make them out, but the brief glimpse I got was enough to send shivers down my back. Those eyes burned with intensity. Rage, determination, arrogance, they were all there, but what overshadowed them all was the intelligence. Behind those eyes was a thinking mind, not some overpowered animal ferocity. Those eyes took in the world, broke it down, worked things out, and then built plans, solutions and evaluations as needed, not as an animal, but as a person. This thing was intelligent, maybe even more so than a human.
On top of that was its sheer scale! This thing wasn’t big like a truck or a tank, this thing was huge in the way that overshadowed that. It was a creature that could tear through a city, treating cars as toys and people as insects. I couldn’t guess any measurements, not with it moving around in the dark, even with my improved sight, but if someone had told me it was bigger than a jumbo jet, I wouldn’t have been surprised. This was the thing that hit me? The fact that I hadn’t been reduced to a bloody smear spoke volumes about how durable I’d become. This thing looked like it could treat a T-rex like a cat could a rat!
And it was glaring down at me.
It was my halo that saved me. The thing was ringing as though it wanted to replace a fire alarm, a single continuous note that somehow shocked me into action when I should have been stunned into helplessness. Those jaws opened, and fire poured from them, like a released river of flames trying to scour me out of existence, and all I could do was call on my power as I threw my arms up.
I called on the colour of fire, that brilliant yellow and orange that was tinted with hints of red, green and even blue, the concept of fire. It was easy, after all, fire was all I could see, it swallowed my whole world!
The colour answered and power flowed through me, through my wings, through my halo, and through my flesh. It poured out in response to my will and the torrent of flames split around me. The ground burned, stones glowed and melted, the sand in the dirt shone gold as it bubbled and melted into liquid glass. But around me the grass survived, the soil held, and and the barely conscious demigod and I weren’t reduced to ash and charcoal.
But it was hard, so very hard. My arms burned, not with fire, but with exhaustion, even though I’d only raised them seconds ago. The flames . . . it was as though they had a weight to them, a terrible crushing force that pressed down on me, even as I diverted the heat and fire. These flames weren’t just fire, there was more to them, desires and convictions, an arrogance and contempt that couldn’t be found in the normal fire I worked with. It roared and clawed at my control, and as my magic fought it I could feel the cost of the effort running through me. I’d had hard fights. I’d been beaten before, hurt, all the stuff you’d expect from fights, but I’d never faced something so exhausting before, something that ate away at my reserves as I tried to hold it off!
Dragon fire. It was one thing to read about it in books and games, to be told that the breath of dragons was more than just fire, it was death, their will to incinerate all that stood before them. It was another thing to face it, to feel the emotions behind the attack. Overwhelming confidence, contempt of those who defied them, rage against their foes, and a desperate hunger that seemed willing to consume everything. The emotions matched the towering dragon, and, for the first time since I’d Awakened, I felt so small.
Still, I didn’t quit!
Yeah, I was small, but I wasn’t going to roll over and die! I wanted to live, damn it! Life was sweet, and lately, it had gotten even more interesting. If this dragon wanted me to die then it was going to have to kill me first!
I think some distant part of my mind noted that my last thought might not have been all that coherent or logical, but I’d fallen into a sort of mania as I forced myself to devote all I had to forcing the fire away. I watched as veins bulged on my arms, swelling grotesquely until I could almost see the blood rushing through them. My fingernails bled as the pressure grew too great and their edges burst my strained skin. Pain, heat barely held back, fear and defiance, it all consumed my world.
But I held!
The flames cut off and I saw the dragon stumble back slightly. It was a step or two for it, barely more than a shuffling of its feet, but it was so huge it was like watching an avalanche in reverse. For a moment all I could do was stare stupidly, trying to wrap my head around what could have made such a huge creature flinch back, and then I saw it.
In the creature's side was a hole, one big enough to fit a small house! It was as though a huge chunk of it had just been deleted, wiped from existence leaving only exposed blood and organs beneath a flow of freed blood. I could see the yellowish-green flames of the hunt at the edges of the wound already, but it was so huge that even their power was having trouble staunching the injury, let alone healing it.
“You . . . you’ve got a gift for pickin’ fights, don’t you?”
The voice came from beside me, and I turned to see Kali there. She looked a bit worse for wear, her clothes visibly singed in places, a visible bruise on her face, and even some plant stalks caught in her hair. Still, she seemed every bit as confident as when she’d walked out to cow the entire Wild Hunt, and even though the dragon was glaring at her I could see wariness in its eyes. There was calculation there, that arrogance from before giving way to the cold analysis of reality and the evaluation of its chances against the goddess before it.
Apparently, it didn’t like its odds, because rather than lashing out to attack it pulled back, its wings spreading and its muscles tensing.
“Oh, come on!” Kali’s irritation was clear in her voice. “Isn’t anyone going to just give me a straight fight?!”
I might have made a comment, but before I could open my mouth to say something . . . unwise Ravananaer came into view beside the dragon. I could see his eyes darting from me to the dragon, to the scabbard still somehow held in its teeth, to Kali. Then those eyes firmed with a decision made.
“Loraxis! We’re leaving! Now!”
As he spoke the shirtless man . . . dissolved into the flames of the Hunt, his body becoming trails of that green and yellow fire that seemed to flow out into the darkness of the night. Looking around I could see other streams joining him as other members of the Hunt likewise dissolved into flames and flowed away. Panic gripped my chest as a thought struck me and I looked back to the dragon. Sure enough, it was also dissolving, the effect starting at its claws and wingtips and working its way inwards, only its sheer size having kept it from leaving already.
“NO!”
I lashed out without even thinking about it, one hand throwing the strongest TK blast I could while the other focused on grabbing the scabbard and dragging it back to me. Pain exploded along my arms, almost making me lose control of the magic, but somehow I managed to hold on. My jaw clenched and I think I might have bitten my tongue because I could taste blood in my mouth. Still, I remained fixed on my efforts, trying to-
The bolt hit the dragon in the mouth just as the dissolving into fire reached the base of its neck. I must have managed to pack in more power than I’d expected, because the huge head actually reared back in surprise, and those huge jaws opened reflexively as its eyes focused on me. The second its jaws relaxed I pulled on the scabbard as hard as I could. All I needed was a moment, to get it for just a bit, then the change to flames would pass over its head and it wouldn’t have a chance to snatch it back. At least that was my guess.
I didn’t get the chance to find out if I was right. The dragon’s eyes widened and its jaws clapped down, catching the sheath in a vice or fangs just as I was about to pull it free! I was forced to watch as the behemoth head disappeared into streams of flame, taking the scabbard with it.
“Damn it!”
I wanted to shout the curse, but somehow all that came out was a whispered croak. I tried to turn to check on the kid, who’d been right next to me, but as I turned it was as though the world was swimming around me.
“Hey, Adam!” Kali came into my view, though I felt I was looking at her through a fish tank, her image distorted as I tried to focus on her. “Are you okay?”
“I . . .”
Was I okay? A moment ago I thought I had been, but now everything was starting to spin. I brought a hand up to my face, then stopped as I saw the blood on them. Not just that, my fingertips looked dark brown and smelt a bit of . . . bacon? I blinked slowly, trying to get my brain to work as it started to feel as though it was full of cotton wool. Were . . . were my fingertips burnt? When had that happened? I thought I’d managed to hold off the fire.
“I . . .”
God, I was tired. Had I really done that much though? I hadn’t felt this bad after my fight with Etienne, and that had been worse than this, so . . . what the hell? Oh, right. Kali had asked me a question hadn’t she?
“I . . . I think I might have pushed things a bit too far.” I admitted, then muzzily blinked down at the demigod I’d managed to rescue. “We . . . we should make sure he’s alright too, shouldn’t we?”
Was that what I was meant to do? I was having trouble remembering. Was I meant to give him to Lancelot? Or was that someone else?
“Adam?”
Kali was reaching out to me now, but that damned fish tank had somehow gotten bigger, and I was having trouble making anything out. The world seemed to tilt for a moment, then there was a lot of white. I was confused for a moment, then recognised my own wing. Oh yeah, I did have those, didn’t I? I was still getting used to them, but had they always been this soft? Wow, I hadn’t realised I had something so comfortable so close to hand.
I blinked again, my eyelids feeling like they had anvils strapped to them, but still managing to open them enough to see that others were joining Kali. They were talking, maybe even shouting, but my wings were so soft, and somehow they muffled the noise as I buried my head into it.
“-’m just going to rest a bit, ‘kay?”
It was more of a mumble than anything else. But it was the best I could manage. My other wing was still not working right, but it didn’t hurt as I moved it, so I drew it over me, covering me and wrapping myself up as my eyes drifted shut and comfortable darkness pulled me into its embrace.