Darrin Ordin

I coughed as I slowly came back to consciousness. Water streamed from my lungs as I hacked, each jarring movement sending pain through my body.

“Stay still, damnit!” a familiar voice said, though I was having trouble focusing. “You’ve put on weight, Darry! Just don’t move and I’ll get you back! You won’t bleed out here!”

I was being pulled through the water in movements. Someone was hauling my body by my collar, and they weren’t being gentle. Blood trailed through the water in my wake, what was left of my leg seeping crimson.

I coughed up more water, making my rescuer curse.

My mind slowly caught up with what had happened. Being thrown into the lake. I’d begun to swim up immediately, but something had latched onto me and pulled me down. Something huge.

The snake was still underwater somewhere. How had I even escaped?! It was easily the largest thing I had ever seen. I’d expected something to lurk beneath the water, but that was absurd. The mangled, rotting flesh had made it seem like something out of a nightmare.

But I’d seen something before I’d lost consciousness, hadn’t I? A streak in the water as I struggled in vain to free myself?

Toren is down there, I thought. I shifted slightly, feeling my nerves rise in worry. Fighting that demon.

“Stop struggling!” that familiar voice said from behind me.

“Dima?” I said numbly.

“Can you move, Darry?” my old lover asked. “Never mind about that. We just got to get you to the raft.”

I finally took the time to look past my leg.

And I immediately paled.

Arrayed in the distance, thousands of undead waited near the waterline. Their eyes glowed a deep purple, shifting and flaring like countless fireflies. And at their forefront were horrid, mutated conglomerations of rotting bone and bodies. Five commanders held out their hands, directing the myriad corpses around them. I recognized them from Toren’s description: they were mishmashes of limbs, as if a child had jammed a dozen parts of their dismembered dolls into a massive lump of clay in a vague, humanoid shape. Atop their grotesque torsos were single, blemishless skulls.

“What are they doing?” I asked, horrified.

Dima didn’t answer. Instead, she hauled me up as she reached the raft, dragging my limp form onto the safe haven. I cried out in pain as my leg–a mess of pulped flesh and shards of bone–jostled against the rim.

Dima knelt over me, holding a thick wad of bandages. All around us, mages scrambled about, preparing spells and flaring their mana. Shouts of alarm and combat rang in my ears, but I was having trouble focusing. The blood loss was making my thoughts hazy. “I… I need to get up. They need me. To lead.”

“Will you stay still for once in your life?” Dima cried, fumbling with bandages as she leaned over me. Her body blocked my view of the undead, yet I could feel their ire from a quarter of a mile away. “Always standing up to help and lead and fight! Can you do nothing but give all of yourself away?!”

Wet liquid hit my chest as she haphazardly stretched out a tourniquet. My ex-lover was weeping quietly as she tended to my body, the crash of spellfire and screams of men fighting echoing overhead. I groaned as Dima snapped the tight bondage around my leg, trying to staunch the bleeding. “You’re going to stay down here, Darrin, and we’ll make it out of this. Okay?”

“No,” I said weakly, pushing against the metal ground beneath me. “I need to–”

“You need to fucking stop!” Dima yelled. “Move too much more and you’ll bleed out. Can’t you see that?”

The haze started to clear from my thoughts. Yes, I could see it. But I was the leader of this group. Without me, they’d be overwhelmed.

“You and your savior complex,” Dima hissed. My body failed to respond.

The stubborn caster finally stood, drawing her wand from her pocket. She turned, facing off against something far off. Yet as she moved, it gave me a perfect view of what was happening.

The undead had begun to form their own sailing vessels under the direction of their commanders. In groups of fives and tens, corpses floated on flimsy blocks of ice and thin bowls of metal. Dima, along with the other mages that could be spared from blocking stray spells from reaching the group, began taking potshots at the approaching undead. They aimed at the feet of the monsters, trying to take out their meager rafts.

Most of these attacks hit, sinking dozens of vessels every second. And while these phantoms of the Relictombs could do many things unnatural, swimming was not one of them.

For a second, I allowed myself to hope. We were dead in the water, true, but every attack that came our way was turned aside. If they just lasted long enough–

But a few of the groups inevitably overwhelmed the spellfire barrage of the combined efforts of the Unblooded Party, Aensgar Exiles, and Twinfrost Party. Those that reached our wide raft scrambled up for purchase, causing my heart to thump in alarm.

I shifted, trying to stand straight as a zombie approached. I still had most of my mana in my core, yet my body felt weaker than it ever had. Being nearly drowned had taken a lot out of me.

Yet a blurring line decapitated one of the undead before it could reach me. Two more suffered a similar fate as Sevren Denoir blitzed forward, his strange weight-altering spellform allowing him to move in short, rhythmic bursts.

As I struggled to stand, Dima was suddenly at my side. She wrapped an arm under my own, supporting my weight with a grunt.

“I can’t make you sit still, can I?” she said, something wounded in her tone. I was taken aback by the outburst of emotion, not knowing how to respond.

“I need to help them,” I said simply. “I’m their leader.”

“Of course you are,” she said, her blonde hair covering her eyes.

As Dima supported me, I threw weak punches with my opposite arm. Each blow was infused with my Martial Gale emblem, my limp strikes still sending out punches of wind against anything that got too close. Undead fell in droves, each of my attacks pinpoint-accurate even in my weary state. I’d done this for too long; fought for too many years to let this break me.

An undead–one of the more intact variants–lunged at me from a poor angle. I quickly recognized what would happen, gritting my teeth and reinforcing my mana barrier.

The thing drew fire-clad claws across my flank, the heat scorching my ribs. Dima and I tumbled, the disruption toppling our balance. Yet as I fell, I swiped my hand to the side. Wind blew apart the elite undead’s skull, splattering Dima and me with bone and brain matter.

I swayed, the burns on my ribs compounding with everything else that ached.

“You always preached about the benefits of shielding runes,” Dima said breathily. I’d landed on her, unfortunately, yet she appeared unharmed. “You have an annoying tendency to be right.”

I pulled my lips back in a smile. “It’s one of my many charms.” She shoved me off of her, then helped me back to my feet.

Dima rolled her eyes as we began to fight again, yet I took the brief lull to call out. “Tri-layer circle formation!” I yelled, my voice hoarse. “Now!”

The narrative has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the infringement.

The mages around us reacted as if electrified, quickly moving into a better defensive formation now that they had a simple direction. At the edges, Jared, Jameson, and Jana positioned themselves, ready to ward off anything that got too close. Sevren Denoir and the Frost Twins took positions near a shield, ready to lash out at anything nearby. And on the inside, I huddled with the rest of the group.

Yet as the group finally came together, I realized we were still missing someone.

Toren Daen.

The moment that thought resounded through my head, something changed under the water. A tyrannical force pulsed outward, causing Dima to stumble. The ambient mana itself seemed to tremble under the strange power, and I felt sweat bead on my brow.

I’d met Retainers before; felt their aura and suffocating whirlwind of power. I’d struggled to even stand in their presence, cowed just by their proximity. Yet the force that radiated from underneath the water wasn’t the barely leashed power I remembered. No, this was something closer to an unhinged wildfire, the heat scorching even from afar.

The sounds of battle around me quieted, even the undead pausing in their relentless assault. I the entire battlefield seemed to take a collective breath, the outflux of power pulsing against our nerves.

The serpent is still down there, I remembered with mute horror. In the chaos of my blood loss and the urgency of the immediate fight, I’d almost forgotten the horrid monster that lurked in the untold depths of the lake. Yet this wasn’t like the serpent. This was something else.

“Toren Daen?” I said numbly.

Then the presence shifted. A crack thundered through the ambient mana, like a trench suddenly forming in the crust of the earth. I barely had time to contemplate what that meant when the undead assault redoubled.

And the first of the commanders reached our raft. When it set its massive leg upon the vessel, the entire thing tilted from the weight, making many of us stumble as water splashed. It immediately rushed toward our group with the force of a charging iron hyrax, barreling through all the nearby corpses.

Jana’s shield met it midway, yet she was forced forward as the hulking monstrosity continued to push forward. Hands thrust from the sides of its body as it rammed against the woman’s tall tower shield, reaching around to try and tear off her face. She struggled to hold, already unbalanced by the loss of a hand.

The Frost Twins met it midway, working in perfect tandem. Numar’s sword cleaved three grasping limbs from the creature’s flesh as it tried to tear at Jana. Bered’s mace sank into its wide legs, a burst of lightning erupting from his face as it struck.

The commander simply continued to try and shove itself into our formation, ignoring the two mages nipping at its heels.

“Aim for the heart!” I cried, feeling like my voice was a wrung towel. “That’s its weak point! There’s an undead in there you need to kill!”

Sevren Denoir was the first to heed my warning. One moment our formation was almost broken, Jana having been pushed too deep into the fold. The next, Sevren Denoir struck the monster with a perfectly executed dropkick, sending it skidding back. A shattering boom echoed outward, the commander’s ribcage cratering inward as the monster nearly toppled. Lord Denoir exerted far more damage than he looked like he should have.

I felt a reinvigorating force draw at my body, giving me a sense of strength. I looked to the side, noticing the last shield of the Aensgar Exiles. His name was Mralka, and he specialized in single-target support instead of wide-area defense like the others.

His breathing was strained as he held his hands aloft, focusing on some sort of spellform. Looking down, I noticed streaks of pure mana wrapping my limbs, suffusing me with power. A few of the other mages around me sported the same bands, bolstering their defense. Furthermore, there was a strange fuzzing of the air around us that seemed to confuse the undead trying to assault us.

“Can’t hold this for too long,” Mralka said wearily. “But it’ll make these monsters easier to fight!”

Sevren Denoir blurred past the undead’s arm as it lunged for him, wrapping his strange glinting wire around the limb. He skidded to a stop on the other side, twirling his dagger.

A dozen limbs erupted from the commander’s back, spells primed in their hands. Sevren blitzed to the side, his weight reduction spellform granting him supernatural speed.

It must be a regalia, I thought absently as I continued to throw wind blasts. I couldn’t assist nearly as well as I wanted to, effectively hampered by my wounded leg. Yet with my spell’s power bolstered by Mralka’s support spell, I was able to keep up with the tides of undead crowding around our little raft.

The mages around us were forced to leave Sevren to his one-on-one showdown, the tide refocusing our attention. I kept one eye trained on his fight even as I pummeled enemy after enemy, quietly ready to try and help if the man ever made a mistake.

Sevren jumped, simultaneously throwing his dagger at the monster. The thing seemed to expect this, the burning pits in its bleach-white skull flaring. It raised a giant hand, catching the dagger as it embedded itself into the commander’s palm.

The amalgam of bodies tugged, causing Sevren to lurch as he flew toward the monster’s primed fist.

Then the Denoir heir flicked his wrist, flexing the wire he held. His dagger severed the commander’s meaty hand as a whole. He barely ducked under the flailing wrist, skidding to the side and wrapping his wire around its hulking torso.

Another crash rumbled through the lake beneath us, causing the raft to shake. Sevren didn’t let this stop him, jumping to the side as the commander grabbed a nearby corpse. At first, I thought the monster might try and throw the bodies at our formation, but that wasn’t the case.

Instead, the corpse it grabbed simply liquified, the parts running along its arms. Slowly, the commander’s massive hand reformed.

But not fast enough. In that time, Sevren had darted around the monster, wrapping it in his strange wire half a dozen times over. When it next tried to lift its foot, it strained against its bonds, toppling forward with a colossal crash.

Sevren stood nearby, his dagger held in a clenched fist. He panted visibly, his white hair turned silver from sweat. He turned away from the struggling corpse, even as it hacked and fought against its bonds. The thin wire held up with miraculous strength, yet I knew it wouldn’t keep forever.

Sevren’s entire body blurred forward. The metal wire he trailed snapped taught with the force of a hundred men.

I didn’t even see it cut. One moment the commander was bound like some sort of horrid prisoner, and the next it was in innumerable pieces.

Alandra bathed the body in fire a minute later, unwilling to chance it recovering.

The spirits of everyone present seemed to lift at that moment. One of the massive, hulking creatures was defeated without a single casualty. We were holding out against untold numbers with our teamwork and resolve. I even allowed myself a glimmer of hope. Maybe, just maybe, we could make it out of this.

Then Sevren’s eyes widened in alarm, staring at something behind me. Thundering footsteps crashed against steel, sending familiar tremors through the platform. I turned haphazardly with Dima’s help, trying to muster an attack toward the next commander charging at us from behind.

I threw a supercharged martial gale at the creature, a noticeable portion of my remaining mana going into the attack. Yet it seemed to sense the attack coming, shifting to the side ever-so-slightly.

Instead of punching a hole into the creature’s heart, it took out a sizable portion of its ribcage in a concussive burst. Yet still, it kept charging, bearing down on Jameson at our rear. He planted his feet, ready to tank the hit like Jana had.

Then the commander did something nobody expected. It crouched, bending its knees and leaning forward.

“Merciful Vritra,” I whispered, my eyes blown wide as I immediately understood what was about to happen. Those tensed muscles weren’t readying for a charge. They were for a leap.

These things learned from experience.

I watched, helpless, as a ton of mangled limbs and bone sculpted into a failed attempt at a body jumped into the air, arcing high.

And then it began to fall.

“Scatter!” I yelled, trying to be heard over the sounds of battle. “Before it crashes into us!”

Some of the mages heard me, wisely abandoning our formation. Dima hauled me to the side, my wounded leg fighting all the while.

But not enough heeded my warning. The colossal flesh amalgam hit what used to be the center of our formation like a comet, splintering metal and ice in a resounding boom. A wide crater opened as the entire ice floe dipped, water rushing over the surface before it bobbed back up, tossing us every which way.

I looked toward the crater with a growing sense of despair. I felt the amplified strength Mralka’s spell afforded me fade, the spellcaster no longer sustaining the effect. Mralka and Jameson’s ruined corpses lay in a mess of viscera and pulped flesh beneath its feet, the two not fast enough to escape.

“You bastard!” I heard a man cry over the battlefield, rushing at the creature with a wild, broken look on his face. Hraedel, not even strengthened by mana, threw spell after spell against the creature. Each attack carved out a chunk of rotten flesh, yet none were aimed. “You pit demon! I’ll burn you away!”

The thing made a casual backhand, and I feared I’d see another red smear coat the battlefield. Yet Sevren Denoir blurred past, yanking Hraedel haphazardly out of the line of fire. The flesh colossus didn’t seem to care that it had missed its prey.

Its burning eyes focused on me, making my good leg shake with fear.

“Leader,” it croaked, the sound like grinding bone. “Kill.”

It lunged forward. I prepared to try and punch it, but I didn’t have time. Someone threw me to the side, sending me crashing out of the way.

I made eye contact with Dima, her pale blue eyes containing a flash of emotion. I’m sorry, they seemed to say.

I tumbled against the sharp metal crater, rolling a few feet. But the urgency of my situation compelled me to look, even against my deepest fears.

I was able to watch as Dima was struck in the chest by the barreling monster, flying to the side like a broken doll.