The temple walls collapsed around them. From every direction, stone tumbled and fell. The vaulted ceiling would not hold for long; Havoc could hear its slanted sides grinding against each other, ready to cave in and crush those below. It was a miracle the temple had stood as long as it had—only the delicate balance of the concave covering had kept it standing. But that balance was shifting.
‘Just run!’ Havoc shouted as lightning tore from where he had thrown the fragment, scorching the stagnant air and searing into the cradlefiend which had breached the leftmost wall. The reek of ozone and burning flesh rushed to greet Havoc like an unwelcome guest—overbearing and forceful. He could only grit his teeth and barrel onward.
The cradlefiend’s chest bubbled and burst, seeping fetid, emerald blood as the creature jolted backward from the lightning’s striking impact. Though mangled and raw, Havoc could already see the monster’s flesh flail and squirm to remould itself. He would not give it the chance. Withdrawing a second fragment, he pulsed Harmony into the slate and threw. The fragment crumbled unleashing a wave of concussive force, shattering what was left of the wall and hurling the wounded cradlefiend and its gathering kin backward.
Stone crashed down to the ground but Havoc would not slow. A mass of fallen roof plummeted inches from his wake, its splintered shards pelting his back. He kept pace even as his shirt clung to his skin, fastened by the adhesion of his spreading blood.
With no other impulse than the drive to push forward, he passed through the breach, entering the bleak city night.
A sea of pale blue eyes vacantly stared in his direction as a horde of cradlefiends loitered outside. At first, they held still—heads tilted, mouths ajar—their faces bearing an expression ghastly innocent. As Havoc pushed onward, their eyes seemed to focus, their parted lips warped into smiles, and they began their giggling waddle forward.
With no way past but through, Havoc’s heart beat a wild rhythm as he rushed to meet the gathering swarm. Taking hold another fragment, he readied himself to throw, but before the slate could part from his fingers, a roaring ball of fire blazed past his shoulder, exploding on impact with the cradlefiends ahead. Sweat stung Havoc’s eyes as the explosive heat wafted over him. Wiping them clear he continued his advance as flashes of light bombarded the cradlefiends in his path.
From behind, Havoc’s companions launched their assault, battering back the horde. As though nature’s rage had descend, passing righteous judgment upon the aberrations barring their path, raging torrents of fire and water pummelled the cradlefiends. Arcs of lightning ravaged the creatures, and lacerating shards of bone-freezing ice tore into them, clearing the way for the party’s advance.
Despite the eviscerating assault, the cradlefiends would not stay down for long. Their regenerative ability was a sight to behold, but Havoc had no intention of staying to watch. Without hesitation, he spirted past their mangled, writhing, reforming ranks, his party close behind.
They were no longer surrounded but they were pursued. Peering behind the derelict, hollowed corpses of the desolate cityscape, blue eyes shone with a greedy light.
‘Keep going!’ Havoc yelled, his breaths heavy as he spoke.
‘Didn’t need ya ta tell me that!’ Ugly panted his response.
Creeping from the shadows, the cradlefiends began to converge on the party’s location. Dozens of the infantile monsters poured from the alleys, and burst through broken buildings, scattering shards of debris as they emerged.
Fragments already in hand, Havoc waited for the cradlefiends to group before launching a wave of elemental force, blasting their ranks with devastating power. Following his lead, his companions did the same. When the monsters grew too close, they would be hammered back by pulverising fury.
We can’t keep this up, Havoc lamented.
His pockets, once full, were nearing empty, the few fragments that remained clacking in the vacant space as he ran.
‘How far?’ Havoc asked, glancing at Aaron, now at his side.
Aaron rotated his head in a full sweep, as if finding his bearings.
‘There!’ Aaron yelled, pointing toward a bell-tower.’
Slate by slate, the tower had been built, its jagged stones slanted from base to peak. Sizeable portions lay open, exposing to the elements, its interior. Yet despite its marred and damaged exterior, the structure stood firm, a scarlet bell visible between the arches beneath its steepled roof.
They were close—racing closer—but guarding the ancient building, no fewer than nine cradlefiend stood watch, smiled carved into their faces as the party approached.
Unleashing their remaining fragments, upon this final obstacle, the party rained down Hell. They held nothing back. Elements swept across the cradlefiends like an enraged god. The ground melted under the assault, smoke and steam billowing from the points of impact. No matter their resilience, under the unrelenting savagery of the sustained assault, the creatures fell, their flesh sparking from their corpses, marking their demise.
We can make it, Havoc thought, adrenaline coursing through him.
‘Naereah, Lucia, Ugly!’ Aaron yelled with laboured breaths. ‘The bell… It must ring for sixty seconds. Havoc, we must hold the line!’
The enemies before them were dead. But behind, a legion of monsters trampled the ground, swaying steps heavy as they drew near.
A minute… impossible, Havoc despaired, his hands fumbling through empty pockets, searching for a fragment he knew was not there.
So close as to see his salvation, he would not surrender now. It did not matter if it was possible, he would make it so. Everything! He would use everything; nothing less would suffice. His secrets would not serve him in the grave.
Damn it all to Hell, Havoc resolved as the Stone Guardsman slowly began to shimmer into being. With clenched fists and a steady breath, he faced the oncoming tide of monsters barrelling down.
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****
I will not perish in this place, Aaron resolved as scales coated his hands, arms, and chest. Black, leathery wings sprouted from his back, and his hands sharpened into claws.
The Servant Remnants of the house of Crest were individually supreme for their rank. Each one was forged from the Prime Remnants of the Black Dragon himself.
The Lesser-Drake’s Claws and Scales were a stern defence, and the fire he could spew from his Anchor, the Lesser-Drake’s Tongue, was unparalleled in its rank. Aaron’s mastery over his Remnants went far beyond the norm. He had uncovered secrets known only to the most prodigious of his family, elevating the already powerful Remnants to something truly extraordinary. He doubted even his father knew the scales could be fired as projectiles or that the wings could do more than grant flight; with the right technique, each leathery appendage could cut like knives.
Rarely did he need his full might, but as cradlefiends descended upon him, bulking arms swooping down to smear him into the ground like paste, he feared his abilities would fall short.
Loath as he was to admit it, he would not have survived a full ten seconds without Havoc’s interventions. The bell had not begun to ring, yet already their struggle threatened to overwhelm. It was all they could do to survive the onslaught—prevailing was impossible. Aaron was far from certain they could even buy the time promised.
Leaping back from the quinsecting downward swipe of a cradlefiend’s claws, then rolling to his side to avoid the flattening stomps of another, Aaron pointed his fingers upward mid-roll, launching the tips of his claws and bloodying the eyes of his screeching pursuer.
Despite the frantic pace of relentless combat, Aaron did not fail to notice something amiss. Aaron did all he could do to hold back the creatures, scotching and lacerating them at every opportunity with a fervent zeal. Even under the circumstance, he was impressive. But the wounds mounting on the beasts were far more numerous than for which he could take credit.
The lout? He wondered, taking flight to avoid a cradlefiend’s lunge. Could it be? Aaron asked himself. Even as he leaped from fiend to fiend, narrowly slipping past their upward swipes and grasps, his mind turned over the possibility. For a Servant at only his second step, he could begrudgingly admit that Havoc was unusually talented. The fact he had Harmony remaining was a testament to his might, but Aaron had been careful to disarm the boy. In preparation for their future unpleasantness, the only Remnants he had offered were purely defensive.
Aaron was not arrogant enough to believe that he alone could plunge a Remnant’s depths, unearthing its hidden potential. But the Stone Guardsman had been a Crest family treasure for more than a century. Its Prime was possessed by the Living Fortress—his most talented uncle. Its power had been known only for defence—never once had it shown the potential for more. It was inconceivable that the lout could have discovered something the Crests had not.
It cannot be… Aaron concluded, a hint of unease pricking beneath his skin. Still, prudence demands I be prepared, he decided.
****
Above even the cradlefiend’s screams, the bell cried out, hammering the air with its thunderous beat. In a forward roll, Havoc slipped through the parted legs of a cradlefiend then turned onto his back, launching spikes of ethereal light into its eyes and blinding the creature. As the beast stumbled back, it swung its heavy arms wildly, battering its kin in its blind rampage.
Its eyes were rapidly reforming, vitreous humour squirming as they moulded back into shape. Sweat running his face—and no time to breathe—Havoc fired two more shards of phantom light into the cradlefiend’s eyes, blinding it once more.
I can’t… Havoc began to despair, but he shut out the thought. Whether he could or could not no longer mattered, all that was important was that he must. He had come too far to fall now. He could not give up—not when he had yet to give it all he had.
Even amidst the chaos of battle, Havoc was still holding back. He was using the Stone Guardsman’s offensive abilities to slow the horde, but only when he was certain Aaron was not watching.
Around his neck, he wore a silver-encased eye—a charm known as the Scout’s Eye, allowing him to see in every direction. Though its enhanced perception was disorienting, by activating its power in short bursts, Havoc turned what could easily become a hindrance into a crucial asset. He needed its power, but even its modest drain was climbing too steep for his harmony to maintain.
Something has to give, he thought as he weaved a barrier between Aaron and certain death. His lungs burned, each step was its own battle. As things stood, neither one of them would last the full minute.
****
It was now or never, Aaron resolved. With his Harmonic purity at one-hundred percent, it was not often that he came this close to empty, Yet here he was, down to the final dregs. But thirty seconds—he had enough for thirty seconds, at least. And that would be enough.
A Set was more than the sum of its parts. So powerful were they that they could bridge the gap between ranks. The founding Set of the Crest household was especially potent. They had given them an edge over their competition beyond the settled floors. The only drawback was that it required complete Harmonic purity to use, drastically limiting the members of his household who could wield that power.
Father should have recognised my potential, Aaron thought bitterly. None of his siblings could do what he could, yet they had not been consigned to wedded bondage.
Stop it! That hardly matters now, he chided himself, his mind snapping back, shocked into focus as a fist careened toward his skull—escaped only by one of the Guardsman’s barrier.
To synchronise his Harmony across each link of his Spirit Chain required total presence of mind. He could not afford unnecessary thoughts. To wield a Set, each link of his Chain had to be as one, merged together, compounding their might.
As the bell blared, scales spread across Aaron’s body from head to toe. Growing larger, he dropped onto all fours as spikes jutted from his spine, his teeth sharpened, and a long, muscular, prehensile tail shimmered into being. His wings stretched to match his size. Twelve feet tall on all fours, the lesser-drake stood—his transformation complete. With each breath, plumes of fire flared from his nostrils.
This was his pride—the true power of the house of Crest. His siblings were mighty, yes, permitted to progress as they were. But, he alone could achieve the full transformation. He alone was worthy to be called his father’s son.