Eric hit the ground in a long diving roll to avoid the Primeval’s weapon as he slashed it through the air. The Infernal’s face was twisted in fury as he attacked, his long broadsword whistling through the air faster than Eric could hope to react. Until he could draw his own swords, he was forced to duck and run. But the Primeval kept after him, not giving him even the half-second he’d need to draw his weapons and defend himself.

“Centuries of planning!” the Primeval screamed. “We removed our greatest opposition, and you think you can stop me? You think you can defeat me?”

Two spells flew at the Primeval from Damien and Megan’s position, but as they passed Eric, the anti-magic radius of the Mage’s Bane covering him caused them to vanish. They couldn’t attack the Primeval with magic to alleviate his burden, and they definitely couldn’t put any protective or supporting magicks on his body. For about a dozen feet in every direction, Eric was canceling magic with just his presence. Not that it made any difference to the Primeval, who could kill him with the sword alone.

Eric rolled sideways as the sword slammed down, taking a sizeable chunk out of the cobbles where he’d been an instant before. Then a powerful kick connected with his left arm, and he felt something in his body crack. The Ancient runes almost immediately started repairing it, but it stopped him from rising to his feet, forcing him to scrabble backward.

Wait a second, he thought, in that small part at the back of his mind, while the rest of it was focusing on avoiding dying. Why were the runes working if he was covered in the one material that naturally dispelled all magic? Eric wasn’t that well-versed in magic, but he knew enough about Mage’s Bane to know that it even suppressed runes, preventing them from activating. He pushed off the ground with his right arm and threw himself several feet to the side to avoid another slash, and the answer came to him.

Ancient magic wasn’t affected by Mage’s Bane. Because it was, in essence, fueled by Ahya’s energy. So she wouldn’t be stopped by something that grew naturally in her world, of course. Not that the revelation helped him any, as he didn’t have any Ancient magic at his disposal. What had managed to recharge of the runes on his back wasn’t enough to make a big impact. But he might be able to muster some kind of Ancient magic if he wanted to, right?

As he leaped back to avoid yet another swing of the big sword, he realized he didn’t really have a choice in the matter. Each of the Primeval’s attacks was driving him slowly but surely into a corner, where he wouldn’t be able to evade forever. He had to try it, even if it failed. If he couldn’t muster the spell, he’d die. If he stayed as he was, he’d die. Lose-lose, he thought grimly.

With his next move, he darted towards the Primeval instead of away. As he expected, the blade swung around to meet him. But it was a powerful execution stroke, one that would take a little longer to recover from. He danced to the side at the last possible instant, actually feeling the passage of the blade as it narrowly missed his head and shoulder. He had to think of a word, and quick. Technically, the entirety of the Ancient tongue was in his memories due to how his Ahyan body had been created, but mustering the knowledge in the middle of the fight wasn’t easy.

Laban? No, that was for magic, and it only redirected something away from him. It wouldn’t do damage to the Primeval or force him back. In Samuel’s hands, perhaps it could do more, maybe shove the Primeval dozens and dozens of yards. Palayasin? The word that Menikos’ corpse had used to send him to Welsik would certainly work to prolong the fight, but he doubted he had the energy to muster that effect.

His back smacked into the corner of a ruined wall, and he was trapped. The Primeval advanced again, his teeth bared in a grin of triumph. Time’s up Breeden, Eric thought. The Primeval seemed to be thinking along similar lines. “Nowhere else to go, little mortal.”

He cut his sword in a wide arc, intending to slice Eric in half. But Eric had just barely managed to get one of his swords out in time and parried the blade upward. The force of it still rocked him to the side, but as he was already in a corner, he remained stable. The same couldn’t be said for the Primeval, who staggered back a step or two as his sword was forced upward. For a fraction of a second, his guard was undone, and his torso was exposed. And Eric didn’t need any more time than that. Diving forward for all he was worth, he slammed one hand into the Primeval’s thick leather armor and shouted the one word that came to mind like a prayer.

“Itulak!”

It felt as if a thousand blades were being dragged across his body as the spell took its fuel where it could. It nearly shredded him to pieces, but he managed to remain alert, pushing aside the agony to follow through. With a loud bang, the Primeval was thrown back and away from him. The force of that single word was enough to knock the sword from his hands and send him flying back twenty, maybe thirty feet. He would have gone further if it weren’t for the building on the opposite side of the high street, into which he smashed.

Reading on Amazon or a pirate site? This novel is from Royal Road. Support the author by reading it there.

The building, already badly damaged by Averin’s flame attacks, collapsed on and around the Primeval, burying him in about a foot of stone rubble, hiding him completely from sight. Megan let out a whoop, partially of excitement but mainly relief. Then she immediately became concerned. “Eric! What happened to you?”

He finally glanced down to see his arms and torso, at least those bits that were visible under the ripped tunic. He was sporting dozens and dozens of nasty cuts, as those imagined blades had done actual serious damage. So he’d nearly destroyed the closest source of Ahyan energy in order to cast the spell, then. As if waiting for him to become aware of the damage, his body suddenly lost a lot of its strength, and he dropped to his knees. Blood poured out of the many wounds in his body, and judging by the pool of blood, he could tell that his legs had sported the same wounds.

He couldn’t even feel the heat of the cobbles as he fell, since so much of the strength had been robbed from him, flowing out with his blood. His vision blurry, he could only stare with a fatalistic sort of acceptance. In his field of vision, he saw the rubble of the building fly apart. The Primeval strode over to pick up his fallen sword, then made his slow and steady way over. Eric watched through the haze of pain, impatiently expecting his death.

Michael appeared, his sword slashing in a blur. Despite their differences, in the end, his instinct was to protect. Without magic to rely on, he used his admittedly phenomenal sword skills and forced the Primeval on the defensive. A pair of hands, presumably Megan’s began trying to pick him up off the ground. There was no pain in the movement, but he was able to register that he was being dragged backward. A pale face entered his field of vision.

IT was blurred by his fading sight, but he thought bizarrely of Samuel as he looked up. The dark hair was the same color as hers, but the white streak was a glaring intteruption. He supposed he was imagining the streak, as he’d been thinking of Samuel a few times over the past few days. He would have laughed at the irony of it if he’d had the strength.

“Failed,” he barely managed to croak. “Sorry-”

“You haven’t failed,” the person said. His voice was deeper than Megan’s, and Eric’s confusion grew. “And you have absolutely nothing to apologize for.”

Eric frowned. Why did the voice sound like Samuels? It made no sense. Was his dying brain conjuring illusions so powerful that they felt real? Then, as suddenly as if ice had been shoved into his chest, he felt energy flooding into his body. The feeling was returning, and with it, the pain made itself known again. He gritted his teeth as the nausea of it swept over him, and jerked uncontrollably. Finally, he broke free of the stranger’s grip and rolled over to vomit onto the cobbles.

There was the sound of a heavy impact, and Michael came flying into view, smacking against the wall against which Eric had been laying. He was knocked out cold by the impact, and his sword fell from a limp grasp. Eric hurried over to him, only vaguely aware of his returning strength, and shook him. It was then that he realized the massive cuts to his arms were gone. Even his reddened arm was completely restored.

“I’m sorry I took so long getting back,” the deep voice said behind him. He whirled around and let out a sound that was half gasp, half sob of relief. “There’s a lot going on in the city right now, and I only just figured out where you all were.”

Samuel Bragg, in all his strength and confidence, was standing above Eric. He was completely unscathed, and his robes and sword were all in perfect order. He grinned down at Eric, his violet eyes flashing with hidden laughter. “Oh, you should see the look on your face. You thought I was dead forever, didn’t you?”

Obviously, the answer was yes. But Eric couldn’t find the energy to say it aloud, in spite of how much energy had been restored to his body. Noticing his hesitation, Samuel put out a cautioning hand. “I’ve repaired your body, but the power I gave you won’t last long. Just stay there and relax. I’ll take matters from here.”

He drew the ice-blue sword from its scabbard and turned away, rolling up the sleeve of his sword arm with his left. His stride was balanced and powerful, and as Eric watched, mana flared to life all over his body, coating it like a thick cloak. Runes flared to life around the crown of his head, forming an actual crown in their shape, and the chaos wrapped around his body would have been obvious from a mile away.

“Now, then,” he said, as bright and cheerful as ever. “I applaud your attempts to seize victory, Primeval. But I think it’s time you and Archmage Averin retired from this campaign.”

The Primeval took a half-step back, looking wary. At some point, he’d been cut on one arm, and it wasn’t healing. Had that been Samuel or Michael? Either way, he was looking at Samuel as if the sight of the mage terrified him.

“He-” The Primeval swallowed, his body tensed. “He told me you were an Ancient, but that chaos! You’re not just an Ancient. You’re also-”

“Enari,” Samuel said, finishing the thought. “Not just Enari, as I’m sure you can tell. I am a Kuguluhan. The same class of being as you, isn’t it? Except that I think I’ve got a bit more power on my side.”

The Primeval took another step back. “We killed you! I saw your body!”

“You saw one of them,” the Archmage replied. His voice was no longer cheerful. It was icy cold, and his eyes burned with an undeniably murderous light. “It may have taken me a while, but I had backups in place. And without Menikos here to help you, you’ll find I’m not so easy to defeat again.”