Chapter 41

The Stag grew in size as more and more of the motes rejoined with it; it was only perhaps half the size it had previously been, and it lacked a certain solidity, the spirit seeming to reform before the body. “Rally up!” One of the men shouted, startling the others back into motion. Lyrella was a bit wounded, much of her energy spent in the frantic, focused fighting. Cenna looked despondent, daggers hanging loosely in her hands as the Stag straightened itself, the coat taking on a more physical sheen, the motes of energy returning to glow dully from within its’ coat, as if its’ body had become a cageful of fireflies.

A healer who seemed to use herbs as a focus was kneeling over the prostrate body of the Lightning Mage, frantically trying to get him back up. Judging by the small movements, the Mage was alive, but only just; he was in little state to help get the fight back in motion. I shoved my hand into my spatial sash, and tossed a pair of potions; one red, one blue, toward the healer. “Pick your favorite,” I told them, turning to face the reformed Stag, its’ starry crown lifted proudly, defiantly; it seemed reluctant to restart the fight, every moment seeming to restore some of its’ solidity, while no one on our side seemed keen to take the first step.

I popped the cork on a mana potion, tilting my head back to greedily gulp it down. Tranquility rolled over me, pushing away fear and uncertainty, doubts that had gathered like flotsam on the beach washed away in a moment’s breath. “Potions!” I shouted out, gathering my energy. A brief bit of inspiration led to refilling the potion bottle with fire, pouring in enough energy that only Crystalflame allowed it to absorb so much. I cocked my arm back and hurled the bottle like a shotput. The bottle exploded as it struck, a surprisingly large ball of fire that seemed to stagger the huge creature, though the damage was superficial at best. I began hurling firebolts as fast as I could form them, drawing together the energy into shapeless orbs of power before launching them, peppering its’ mossy-looking hide with fire.

Lyrella was only a moment behind, mixing feints into her strikes and lunges. The feints seemed to match with the phantasms, the impacts startling the stag as much as wound it, seeming to have caught the tempo of the Stag’s fate-bending dodges. Cenna returned to her previous tactic of trying to climb the beast, landing cuts all along the way; I was shocked to see that between attacks she was actually running on its’ hide, only seeming to need a grip when she stopped to strike; attached to its’ body, the little twists of fate that defended it from outside attack was useless, taking her with it instead of shaking her off.

A small section of its’ hide, peppered with a couple of dozen firebolts, began to smolder, the fur burning slowly, reluctantly, damp and mossy; the smoke was thick and dark, but steady. I continued showering that part of its’ hide with firebolts as it thrashed around, headbutting through trees and kicking at its’ attackers, scattering warriors with every step. Arrows pelted up and down its’ flanks as we surrounded it, every foray it made answered with the other sides closing in, landing so many blows that even the reality-flickering steps failed to take it clear of more than one or two attacks before it risked moving into another.

Its’ movements, its’ tactics were familiar now, those who couldn’t keep up already having fallen in the first round. Only the veteran warriors remained, their attacks slow but steady, raining down on the starry Stag like hailstones. The Stag seemed hurt but unbowed, pressing here and there against the encircling ring of attackers, driving them back here and there with a careful hoof or a quick swipe of its’ immense antlers. Finally, it caught an opening; one man with a spear overextended, and the Stag caught him with a swipe of its’ antlers, launching him into an archer and some kind of ice mage that was flinging bolts of stunningly blue crystals. A small gap opened in the ring, it leapt out through the opening, turning to savage a hasty archer that tried to block its’ path, slamming him to the ground with a fierce headbutt, and then stomping his ribcage, bones cracking like dry sticks. It kicked and bucked, forcing the gap open wider, and then slammed its’ hip into a tree, forcing Cenna to choose between letting go or being crushed; she hopped off and rode the falling trunk to the ground.

Unfortunately, the tree it had struck fell at an angle, the uneven break twisting it to swing out and crash through two of the trees forming my ring of fire. All at once, I felt the oppressive heat in the air pouring out, energy spilling out into the world with enough heat to curl leaves and scorch the grass. The Stag twisted to face the opening, and gathered itself for a leap.

The world slowed as I pumped myself full of energy, greedily sucking in as much from around me as I could to fuel my movements. I sprinted forward, fast as a thought, the intensity of energy pouring through me enough to overcome my resistance granted by [The Fire Within] , and I could feel my flesh heating up, pain radiating through my body as my blood felt like it began to boil. I pushed past Cenna where she tumbled in slow motion past me, leaping onto the trunk of the tree, and jumping off of it, bracing myself off of a branch to redirect my launch right into the Stag’s path.

The horns caught me as it leapt past, only quick thinking and a flame shield saving me from being gored on one of the celestial spikes, snatching a hold of the rack and twisting around it to swing between two of the branches, bracing onto them for support as it landed, nearly throwing me off just from the force of impact. The Stag steadied itself for a moment before leaping straight up, and dropping back down onto its’ hind legs, only to leap forward once more as soon as they touched the ground. I felt the world spin around me as it thrashed frantically, clinging to the horns like a shipwrecked sailor. It landed hard, and stumbled, clearly drained from the constant bombardment of attacks that had turned its’ hide into a sap-drenched mess, the motes within its’ body blinking fitfully as if struggling to escape.

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In the moments where it remained stationary, doing little more than flicking its’ shoulders to try and unseat me, I pulled both of my hands free of the antlers and slammed them together, pushing power and intent as quickly and forcefully as I could muster. I pushed some energy to my foot, and stamped down with a small burst of flame, my flame-wreathed fist as effective on my foot as my hand; in response it bucked, hard, head dipping and then launching up.

The air chilled rapidly, heat drawing inward to my hands in a torrent of wind, nearby leaves thrashing in the sudden hurricane. I dragged the heat into the shape of an enormous axe, concentrating as much force as I could into the crescent-shaped head. The blade cut deeply into its’ neck, right ahead of the shoulders, even as it tried to twist fate and get out of the way; rather than cutting into its’ spine, the blade chopped deeply into the side of its’ neck, a move that would’ve been critical if the blade had been a fixed size.

I extended my will, the end of the blade lengthening by a few feet; not a lot, but just enough to reach, cutting deeply into where the creature’s spine would be. The front legs collapsed like a puppet with cut strings, and I let the energy in the blade dissolve even as its’ body started to do the same. The blade burst apart into a torrent of flame, my intent no longer keeping its’ power caged. I let [The Fire Within] drop, the deep burning in my muscles more than persuasive in ending the ability. Besides, I needed all the energy I could get for my next trick.

The Stag’s body fell apart, and the Motes sprung outward; I noticed the stags it formed seemed more solid and corporeal, the does ethereal but brimming with light. Instead of trying to target them all, I mapped out their directions in my head, drew deeply on my reserves of energy, and then exploded with flames, the nova this time much larger and farther-reaching than it had been against the Mistwalkers. The flames poured outward in a torrent, selectively slamming into the fleeing does, each blow a hammer of flames that struck and exploded, scattering embers around and burning away at any other motes that were too close to each other. The attack struck before they had the opportunity to move very far apart, consuming most of them in an energetic frenzy, flames lashing blackened lines along the plants nearby.

I tossed out a handful of firebolts after the fleeing stags, making sure that no does remained among them before giving chase. Just as I had hoped, when I caught up to the reforming Stag, the lights within had faded entirely; it was now a quarter of its’ original size, and its movements were sluggish, eyes dull and glassy. Pain and fatigue wracked its’ weakened state as it clearly considered fleeing, but instead turned to face me, head hanging low, antlers little more than a dull outline in the air, bereft of their celestial power. I had guessed from their differing appearances that the stags represented its’ physical body, and the does its’ spirit, and that guess had borne fruit; it seemed unable to fight, trembling with weakness. I staggered toward it, my legs wavering beneath me, pain clouding my thoughts. I drew in a deep breath, preparing to muster up a finishing strike; a single long javelin of force and flame extending out of my hand.

I never had the opportunity.

A bolt of lightning nearly a foot wide crackled through the air, the impact of the blinding flash coming an instant before the world-ending crack of thunder, blowing the deer physically apart in a tempest of energy and heat. Smoldering fur landed all over the clearing like bloody raindrops, and I turned to see the others standing at the other side, Cenna leaning on Ella, the Lightning mage – still absolutely torn apart – propped up by the irritated healer, who held the unused healing potion in their hand.

The healer lowered the mage against a nearby tree, and they turned to face me. Their hair was cut short, their frame slim and athletic, giving them an androgynous look. The neutral voice only reinforced their androgyny as they called out to me. “He drank the damn mana potion. Took it right out of my hand.” They shook their head, and settled down next to him, looking worn out. “At least he’s not going to die of his injuries, but he’s not participating in the last two fights, either.”

Cenna dropped to sit beside a tree, looking sore and tired. Lyrella leaned against it, unwilling to look weak in front of the others. Only a handful of other fighters were even in good enough shape to make it this far, of them none looking willing to leap into another conflict. I sighed against the pain wracking my muscles, and allowed myself to sit down in the middle of the clearing. “Alright, fine. We’ll take an hour, then I’ve got to go after that bear. I’m hoping to get all three Deathmarks before we take on the Greenwarden. Just make sure you’re in the fight enough to get the marks, okay? Don’t overextend yourselves.”

Speaking of overextending; I found my eyelids really hard to keep open, and reflexively summoned a circle of flames around myself as I fell into meditation. The last thing he was aware of were a few shouts of surprise, and Cenna’s tired voice. “No, it’s okay, seriously. He does that sometimes.”