54.
The sewer grate broke free in a spray of stone and rusted steel, Erak staggering as the sudden disappearance of resistance sent him reeling into the muted light of the city. The familiar stench of the fires, ash and cooked meat, burnt fabric and smoldering stone, all mingled together in a toxic cloud. Erak coughed once as his lungs rebelled, used to the clean air of the sewers.
“Times like this, I’m glad I’m a spirit and not corporeal. This can’t be healthy to breathe in,” Pomp said from his shoulder. In the last few hours since he had taken the Channel Bond skill, the dragon had grown more solid. If not for the fact he weighed nothing, Erak would have sworn he was a little hatchling.
“Erak, where are we?” Illyria asked as she came out of the sewer, her last few guards only a foot away from her. They all looked nervously into the clouded skies, their weapons freed and clenched in white knuckled grips. One of them swallowed nervously as they saw the shadows racing in the clouds of smoke above.
“Not far from the Armory. A few blocks and we should be able to have a clear line of sight on the hill. I’ll take the lead,” Pomp said. Erak nodded in confirmation and started to walk.
“Other way,” Pomp whispered. Erak changed directions and started to cut across the tightly packed tenement buildings that rose up to block the view of the skyline. Everywhere he looked he saw bloodstains, rust iron and flaking, but no corpses. Erak stepped into a narrow alleyway between two of the tall buildings. The stone that made the tenement buildings were stained and covered in various graffitis, shadow deep in the narrow alley.
Erak looked to his right and stared into the depths of the apartment building, his gaze locked with half-dozen sulfur-yellow eyes that glowed in the depths. Erak walked into the building, ducking under the broken stone and into the room. The beings were clustered around a table, eyeing him in shock as he walked up to them.
Infernal Commander lvl. 19
Infernal Commander lvl. 19
Infernal Commander lvl. 20
Infernal Commander lvl. 21
Infernal Commander lvl. 21
Viscount of Iron-Flames lvl. 25
Erak stabbed the lowest ranked commander through its chest, the bulbous eyes widening even further as the spear blade pierced its thin armor. Its pale skin leeched even further of color as it died, hacking a single cough filled with blood that splattered across Erak’s breastplate.
The room was silent, the five previous occupants frozen, all of them staring at their impaled comrade. Erak put his foot in the dead commander’s chest and shoved it, throwing the corpse onto the table they’d been gathered around. Wood shattered in wild splinters, the action spurring the rest of the room into action. The remaining commanders grabbed at their short whips, the barbed and corded leather bursting alight.
Erak slammed his shield in the closest creature’s face, shattering bones and throwing the creature backward. Erak stabbed the second with the spear, blade piercing the squat demon’s throat. He left the spear buried in the creature’s throat and drew the sword of discord, the rasp of steel leaving leather loud in the closed space. He caught the Viscount’s short sword thrust with the sword, twisting his wrist to send the thrust behind him. Erak stomped on the Viscount’s knee as it passed by him.
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The creature howled as Erak waded deeper into the room, standing on the remnant of the table as whips lashed ineffectively on his armor. Erak slashed and cut a head free, blocked a dagger blow with his shield, and then crushed the skull of another commander with a downward blow with the pommel of his sword.
Erak slaughtered them with economical efficiency, none of the commanders able to stand against him for more than a single exchange, their equipment poor and failing to stop him. The Viscount was soon the last left, standing with the hole to the outside to his back as he looked at Erak with burning rage in his yellow eyes.
It was pale like the commanders had been, but taller and more fit, its features fitting its body. It had long ears, curved and ending in hard points like a bat’s. Its armor was lacquered wood, stained wine red with gold glyphs that glowed in the poor light. A scar puckered its lip into a permanent smirk and Erak stared at that ugly line of scar tissue and the arrogant look it had on its face. Erak wished to see it removed.
“You are hunted. The word has spread amongst the nobility of you and your might. They will be jealous that you shall die by my hand, your head shall be mounted as a trophy, your armor displayed in my halls with the rest of my trophies,” it rasped, voice deep and sounding like sandpaper over rocks.
Erak lunged, crossing the distance in a blink, the point of his sword inches from the creature’s armored breastplate. The Viscount stepped back, slapping away Erak’s thrust with contemptuous ease. Erak punched the noble in the face with his shield.
Blood flowed and the Viscount stumbled back, spitting fangs to the ground, white teeth mingling with black blood. Erak hacked down at it, a brutal cutting chop that the Viscount tried to block. Its short sword was shoved back down, biting into its own armor as it snarled at Erak, gaps in its teeth showing.
It ducked down, spinning on a foot to slide to the side and out from under Erak’s sword. Erak kicked it as it spun by, his foot catching its gut and picking the Viscount out and throwing it backward. The demon flew back and out of the building, slamming into the stone wall across the narrow alleyway.
Cracks ran up and down from the impact, spiraling out as the Viscount staggered towards him, eyes glazed and unseeing as it tried to raise its sword up. Erak stabbed at it again, a strong lunge aimed to pierce its chest through and through.
It swept the shortblade up to swipe his blade away and Erak battered through the parry and pierced its armor and into its sternum and out its back and into the wall behind them. Erak watched as the Viscount’s eyes lost the vigor of life and its face relaxed, the arrogant look fading from it.
Erak put his foot on it and pried his sword free as Illyria and the others walked up to him from the alleyway. Erak looked at her and she shook her head as she slid past him and into the ruin of the room and the dead commanders.
“Six! You raced into a fight with six enemies without a thought!” Illyria sounded angry as she rifled through the paperwork the demons had been looking at. Erak peered over her shoulder and saw the papers she was looking at looked like dried skin. The words written on the parchment were asymmetrical and spiky runes, a sense of ominous horror radiating off the parchment.
The largest piece of parchment had a rough sketch of the area surrounding the Armory, signs written on it that they couldn’t decipher. Erak looked around at the others, not able to see any weapons that he wanted on the commanders. Their whips had disintegrated into ash and their armor was thin scrap. Erak looked back at the sword and armor of the Viscount, but the blade was gone already as the horde of people had started to pass by.
“I think this shows the base camps they have established. These marks, here and here,” she pointed at the brutal strokes of ink with small runes around them. Erak nodded along. They were on the other side of the Armory, opposite of where the assault had taken place.
“Take them and give them to Foy when we arrive at the base. We have a different mission,” Pomp said from Erak’s shoulder. Illyria grabbed the paperwork and they marched out of the building and towards the Armory.