Slowly she hovered closer to Eadwald and his group holding the tide of undead from swarming further southwards, giving a chance for the few survivors to escape into the encampment of the Draennith Praetoriir – yet to notice the lack of dragon’s roars as they struggled against Grimslaukh and his regiment of revenants and horrors.
Though the desire to torture the boy who bore resemblance to him remained, she was liberated enough in her current state to overcome her undead instincts to give in. She had no doubts about Grimslaukh and his capabilities to hold back Augermil whose ancient presence she felt even from center of Vonschneithar, but she was also aware that the pale stranger had no intention of killing the elderly praetor who was a living deos himself, equal to the Elhyrissiar whose invading presence still twinged her tainted soul.
Seeing the same searing hatred in his gaze still felt satisfying. Tasting this pacifying joy, she stretched her arm out and exerted her will across the winding streets. Every single undead changed their trajectory and marched against the companions surrounding Eadwald. His attention changed, rushing to the aid as he cleaved through the undead bound to her will. Lost in the moment, he failed to notice the surreptitious tendril slithering towards his leg and even from the far distance between them, she could hear his gasp as he faltered and nearly toppled from the forceful tucking of the shadowy tendril.
Noticing his struggle, Aelfsigior hurled his spear across the short distance before he turned back and conjured forth a strong wave of iuboron matter. In a matter of seconds, the frail undead crumbled into putrid piles of dust carried away by the wind. “Damn it, where are the dragons?” Ashnan yelled as his long axe shattered into pieces as a ghoulish undead snapped through its hilt. Led by his hasty instincts he jammed the broken wooden piece through the exposed skull of the creature, ending its accursed state by transmuting the wood into a mass of dawn energies eroding its warped form.
Knowing there must be something greater holding Augermil back, Aelfsigior remained silent as he retrieved his spear which he quickly altered into a quarterstaff of pure metal. Whilst he pumped it full of purifying dawn spells, he collected his thoughts and kept one eye on the Queen of the Damned solemnly floating in the sky, not far from them. “Should we regroup?” Priernuss brought up the question as he conjured forth a stream of flames – combining dawn and elemental matter – and guided it through the stumbling undead evading its searing, swirling reach.
“How long shall you wait up there?” Before he could answer, his attention went onto Eadwald who shouted high up, standing amongst hundreds of rotten corpses, drenched in their bile, pointing his blade towards the hovering wraith. Sensing the cold winds of dusk gathering in the streets, Aelfsigior rushed towards Eadwald and pushed him away as a dark circle incised into the soil beneath his feet, beneath the cadavers. A pillar of utter darkness rose towards the endless darkness, and when the beam ceased its existence, Aelfsigior was no more.
A guttural roar reminiscent of dragons emanated forth Eadwald’s agape mouth as his mind was swept by the tides of wrath. Abruptly he leapt high into the air, and with sporadic kicks approached the Queen of the Damned with his blade wreathed in polychromatic flames. Arcs of flames volleyed towards her as she retreated backwards led by a fear she hasn’t experienced since stepping into the woodland. Thin, dark etheric walls appeared and shattered in the very moment those eerily bewitching flames passed through them.
A scream escaped her lips of etheric flesh as she felt her very soul scorched even though none of the arcs hit their mark. Driven by a survival instinct, she twisted around and an all-devouring blackness in a muddled crescent shape propelled from her long, pallid arms of a cadaverous facade. As it tore and gnawed at reality, blurring the the space lit by the strange flames devouring the houses beneath, an explosion lit the whole night in a strange color unseen before in the mortal realms, blinding both of them.
The resulting force sent her crashing into the nearest house whilst Eadwald remained unfazed as he brimmed with the durability of titans. She slowly rose from the rubble of stone and wood; her fear drowns out by her wrath as her gaze met his. Though at first, she desired to utter the name the unbridled anger keeping her mind intact through this accursed existence resulted in a shriek which tore through the surroundings like myriad blades of ice, clawing at the minds and souls of the few village guards and even her own undead bound to her will. Their forms warped into grotesque shapes whilst blood poured like a river out from their eyes, mouth and ears, then at last, they all exploded into gory puddles of tendon, marrow and blood.
But not the one whom she desired to extinguish the most. The one who approached inexorably, impervious to the supernatural shriek which destroyed everyone and everything around him. Led by his resolve, led by the gift of the Almodo he lifted his blade and vanished before her sight, only to appear before her, blade plunged through her vessel wreathed still in the bewitching flames – or energies as she took a better look at them whilst confused at the lack of pain she awaited.
No longer she felt the flames of anger searing, irritating her soul and felt the loosening of her being as if a weight was lifted from her – a weight she had no sense of. “Eadwald?” She uttered as black tears flowed from her eyes, flames spreading from the blade onto and into her vessel, gently weighting her soul into the final dream. Eadwald looked perplexed, bereft of his own anger then he felt her memories flow into his mind, before his eyes he saw the once kingdom beyond the mountains thriving before a great shadow lengthened and black stars arose.
He felt the terror she felt looking out the windows, witnessing the host of dragons whose scales were blacker than onyx or ebony, bleeding a vicious darkness which painted the sky, brought an end upon the light of day and heralded the twilight of their fiefdom. Terror froze him as he glared at the vast, dim ivory belly stretching across the eternal sky and like her, tears flowed down his cheeks as the eroding flames of Dusk crumbled the lively, prosperous city. As they latched onto the frightened folk, he watched as they aged and withered into dust in the span of moments.
He felt her agonies of leaving behind their homes taken from them by the hordes of pariahs whose ancient oaths still thrived towards the tyrants of the night, watched as the dark folk of Dhaugruz crawled forth their dark pits in their dark, dreadful armor in the company of horrors worse or akin to the woodland’s. He watched as she wept for their people in his own lap, felt a bit of relief at his own smile then the anger he was driven by mere moments ago reared its head as he watched himself leave her and her family to the mercy of those horrid beasts and their gleeful master.
When he finally returned to the waking world, he felt conflicted. Ashamed but also relieved his ancestor escaped the clutches of the Fae who tortured Styrlaug for centuries, who forced her to exist within the rotting vessel of the shield-maiden whom always stood at her side – a second mother even he thought to himself. “Eadwald!” Azugh’s worried yell turned him around as he noticed the young orkh wheezing and rushing with Ashnan and Priernuss by his side.
“Come, Sigi is in trouble!”
**
After a parrying a brutal series of slashes and thrusts aimed at his joints, Augermil found himself feeling nostalgic, reminded of the olden days of the War of the Siblings. With each strike, each impact their blades clashing generated, he felt a wave passing through his soul and body, carrying it through time and further from the woes of present. Woes which grinned at him, revealing a vicious darkness in the feral revenant of his nephew whom he last saw centuries ago.
Back then he regretted not standing up to Terrianis who blamed the inadequacies of his child commanding for the failure, though both knew deep down he had little chance against the kin of the Nightscale, and he had no way to aid the battle between the two primordial dragons whose battle scarred the northern land. Augermil blamed himself more for the disastrous result of the battle and its consequences leading up to the present day. And now this remorse altered into another flavor of poison flowing in his mind, numbing his arms holding his blade as he and Gnaeuth circle around in the sloping terrain.
His small nostrils expanded as he breathed in the gangrenous and cold air of the night and prepared himself for the lone strike meant to free his nephew from the clutches of Dusk. Instead of parrying the next few strikes, he simply dodged, sidestepped each strike fueled by nekrotic matter and something vile, unknown to him. Or at least it felt familiar from the night the Heavenly Monarch was taken from the cradle erected for his rejuvenation. But he knew it had to wait.
As the creature came to strike at his left joint betwixt his arm and shoulder where his gifted panoply offered little protection, he once more sidestepped to evade the poisonous strike, and swung his blade, hastening his arm with a minor time spell. Contrary to his expectations, the blade halted midway through the frozen, rotten flesh and sallow fangs protruded from the grisly trims.
Held by the bizarre maw, he struggled with all his might to free his blade and had to release his grip when the cacophony of shifting flesh and bone alerted him to the incoming blade aimed to take his head. He hissed, feeling frustrated at the unforeseen trap whilst taking a few steps back with his fists held up, the vambraces blocking and halting the blade which approached in a greater haste than what his nephew was capable of imbuing them in life. Feeling unease from the mild transformation, he hastened time – vainly as he had to lean out from the blade’s way.
Twice more he tried in vain before he gave up and mustered the mana within his soul and body to strengthen him further and naturally gain speed against Gnaeuth’s revenant. The first layer strengthened his scaled body, infused it with the prima materia of dawn and flesh. The strike against his neck rebounded and Gnaeuth stumbled, leading to the last strike of his fist wreathed in dawn golden and amber spell appearing as sizzling flames whilst he used only the strength amassed from his own muscles honed through seven millennia. Aimed at the head, it landed and passed through, shattering the horrid visage and spreading the spell which consumed the warped, distorted form and released his blade from the queer bondage of the queer revenant.
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Turning around he noticed Mirdbruil and Cassiel approaching after slaying a dozen revenants impending their relentless march – one to prove her worth in her idol’s gaze, the other led by motherly instincts. After they caught up to Augermil heading upwards to the gate, they came to a sudden halt. The dread of death halted their steps and they stood froze until a few more revenants came for their lives. “I am afraid, but for the time being, that is as far as you all go!” Before them, the pale figure of Grimslaukh materialized, smiling genially as he stopped a swing away from Augermil.
“It is nice to meet the famed hero who fought against untold horrors, who triumphed against the elder dragon Promethean and witnessed the banishment of the Grim Sovereign. I truly wish we could have met in more amicable circumstances.” Mirdbruil and Cassiel moved first, free from the sudden terror of death which stunned them, yet they reached not far as Augermil halted them. Mirdbruil stared at him confused and anxious.
“Whom do we owe this pleasure of a meeting?” Augermil asked, forcing those words out as for the first time in centuries, two millennia when he first witnessed the horror of the Grim Sovereign first hand as he extinguished the lives of thousands by his sheer will and presence. Grimslaukh’s smile widened as if he smelled his fear.
“Grimslaukh, Emissary of the Nightscale himself!” He said while mockingly bowing before them. “Though I believe you might have guessed it already though not my intentions.”
Augermil soothed his senses and tightened his grip as if he prepared to strike at Grimslaukh, aiming to finish him off even quicker than his nephew’s revenant. “Humor me servant of the ghastly Nightscale. What are your true intentions if not to hurt the dear children and chosen of the Almodo?” First though he decided to soothe his opponent vastly beyond him, a challenge he deep down wished for.
“I assure you; we mean no harm upon the children. We simply desire to invite the youngest, the most promising one into our fold where he can truly thrive, where he shall walk a safer path, devoid of his impending doom.” Neither of the three believed the truth spoken by the dark mouth of the Nightscale.
“I never believed that I shall live the day when I hear of the fears of the Night itself.” Said Augermil mockingly as he prepared to strike, yet when he willed his limbs to move, his instincts refused to comply and alerted that certain doom awaited beyond the unseen threshold consisting in the five or so meters betwixt them.
“Every being has their fears.” Grimslaukh said calmly. “Even The Almodo.”
“Blasphemy!” Cassiel yelled in her deep, velvety voice.
“Is it? His children crawling in the darkest recesses of existence are proof of that aren’t they?” Grimslaukh tapped his chin covered in the umbral blisters playfully. “But I digress, I shan’t tarnish the creator and dreamer we owe so much.” Suddenly, the battle ceased for a mere moment as the night brightened in strange cavalcade of colors than stopped.
Grimslaukh turned and stared satisfied. “Well, I enjoyed our first meeting. And do not worry, I shall take good care of little Sigi.” He said and as he vanished all three felt the dread part with Grimslaukh, thawing away the chill binding them in place. Without wasting any seconds, all three charged through the gate, Augermil and Cassiel cutting through the deluge of dead on the streets.
**
The wild, snow-white barrier whirred feverishly around Sigiwaer, keeping the fresh dead of Orhadin at bay. They stood still awaiting the order of their ophidian master whose small, serpentine eyes glowed in the dark with a sickly purple haze, his hand tightly wrapped around his cold, metallic staff with the peculiar top. They darted left and right, following the trajectory of the chaotic inscriptions lashing out against his lifelike minions the moment they stepped a few meters in. He was a bit fascinated by the youth who managed to conjure forth such an impervious barrier, one that not even most of the legionaries he faced throughout his life could have.
One who for all he knew spent most of his short life in the walled precipices of a small northern village. Though he was well aware the gift of the Almodo played heavily into the strength of the spell belonging to the maghandr aspect of ice, which should have been ineffective towards the dead who preferred the cold over the cruel searing of flames. “Quite the terrifying will, isn’t it?” He remarked slightly turning towards Uchitemar who was surprised as he was not expecting his superior to tear away his focus from studying the spell.
“It is.” Was all he could utter as he forfeited any effort to peer into the spell which was beyond even his knowledge accumulated through a few centuries. “But shouldn’t we hurry up, the orkh shall definitely bring reinforcements.”
Orhadin silently agreed, feeling a bit dejected that such a peculiar occasion witnessed only by a few must come to an end. Led by his intent laced by a desire for triumph, he surveyed the legions of infinitesimal, etheric runes tamed and constructed by the near indomitable will of the youth, he spotted a weak point, a rune containing a less compared to its peers. With an abrupt injection of his own semi-divine will and essence, the domed storm calmed then faded into nothingness as the elemental particles returned to their passive state.
“Once more, I offer you a peaceful resolution to this night. Will you come or resist that could lead to further tragedies?” Sigi reeling from the pain, listened and for a moment, looking at the cadavers of Gna and Shad leaned towards surrender. But the more he looked, the more he remembered the sorrow and anger in Azugh’s voice, he shook his head and straightened his posture. “Such a shame. Then, show me the best you are capable of as proud sorcerer.” Seeing the resolve burning in his eyes, the determination to hold out Orhadin felt a tad bit more respectful and annoyed at the reluctance of the boy. He knew it would have been better to leave him to Grimslaukh, but he also understood the necessity of holding the dragon praetors of the Empire back.
Nonetheless he felt enthusiastic for the first time in years spent on the southern regions at the prospect of facing the Chosen of the Almodo – even despite him being young and quite unexperienced for all he knew. A weirdly steady rhythm of the dead warriors mingled with the distant cacophony, their once enameled plates bereft of their snowy luster produced a low, metallic hum whilst from their parted pallid lips, a deep and warped groan emanated as they parted towards the settlement searing in the black flames of the Night.
For a moment, Sigi’s muscles compelled him to turn in their way and unleash a torrent of spells to annihilate them, but he stopped as his instincts screamed danger and realized he would have played into Orhadin’s hand. “Clever.” The ophidian magusos noted with his serpentine lips curved into a smile. “Prove yourself worthy to be worthy of his gift!” He slammed his staff against the snow blanketed ground and at once Sigi sensed and saw the particles of wind halt in their relentless march imposed on them by primordial decree. And once more he felt the same dread that permeated throughout his body on the day, he lost one of his eyes.
A white haze penetrated and floated about in the darkness he felt encroached around him. Hardly any a second passed since the undead departed, but as his mind flipped through the pages shown by Aurelithae, it felt like an eternity passed. Confusion – nay uncertainty added to the foreboding sensation ailing his soul and body in tandem as to the intentions of the dark magus standing before him, lacking in any intent to cause harm yet leading a horde of undead that may slay one of his friends, one of his dear one. Cold sweat began to formulate on his forehead as he recounted the few spells Aurelithae taught her for self-defense, the way to tap into the primal element of fire to burn through not just mundane things but even the ethereal.
“Flames…” Orhadin murmured. “Not quite what I expected.” Though he still got surprised by the velocity the chaotically swirling sphere coming forth Sigi’s palm hurled towards him. With a slight turn downwards, the flames of a searing amber, brilliant golden and mesmerizing azure extinguished as thin Aura of Dusk silhouetting his armor-clad body ceased the anger fueling the brightening flames. “Clever.” He stumbled a little when the earth shook beneath his naked feet and ghastly roots wrapped around his wrists and ankles, ravenously sapping out the mana lingering in the ethereal sheen overlying between the space of his flesh and soul.
A sibilant hiss followed as mild pain akin to leeches digging their miniscule fangs into the first layers of flesh and skin, followed by the wild instinct driven osculating of the critters. His gaze still remained on Sigi whose dark eye darkly coruscated, as brilliantly as the dusky scales of the House of Dusk and its primordial liege who arose from the darkness which came before all. With a dire suddenness, he registered his divinely augmented form trembling as he felt a warp in reality, as every facet and fiber of it coalesced into a spell which blew the cold winds of dusk in his course. He had no doubt about that.
With an unassuming vibration laced with nekrotic runes empowered by his semi-divine essence, the roots released their grip and fell limp into the snow. Forth his forearm a darkness freckled with regal purple slithered along the sewn blackness and enameled plates fashioned in the large scales of dignified dragons, crawled up along the cold surface of his staff and swallowed by the trapezohedron imbued with the blessed distillation flowing in the etheric veins of Grimslaukh and the Nightscale. Inscription which he could not fully comprehend, simply possessed an instinctual understanding of their final result whirred persistent in the liminal space carven into the recesses of the strange décor which fascinated his imagination the moment he inherited the staff.
Sigiwaer neared the assembly of the spell, a mixture of maghia and the primordial authority incorporated into the seed of the Almodo. A chaotic cavalcade of raging and calmed particles blinded his vision further, as a primordial storm built over them. Without noticing, a maniac laughter emanated from him as overwhelming wave of euphoria and intoxication from the authority swept through him unyielding. Blood and darkness poured forth his eyes and the latter spread cracks across his frail form, his mind overflown with myriad thoughts of myriad ways to annihilate all those who robbed him of the peace.
The snow, the frozen earth around them shifted by the whims of the chaotic spells clashing, vying to fulfill the imposed orders of their masters. From a soft, near powdery state the snow altered into a white lake surrounding the now decrepit village, then into a solid earthen, stony state thrusting against their soles; the cold air turned scorching, hotter than the south’s and suffocating as the treacherous waters surrounding the continent and its myriad isles; the night sky turned into day, then into an endless lake of blood, a maddened legion of shapes, silhouettes including dragons, gargantuan titans and abnormal horrors lurking at the threshold, led by an unknowable desire, an utter chaos prized by Daemeiorvoth.
With the same suddenness a pillar of utter, yawning darkness rose from the trapezohedron and contended against the chaos, banishing the shapes and bringing an end to the spreading chaos. The relentless change of their surroundings came to a final end, and returned to their natural state yet in the air Orhadin and Uchitemar felt a unwillingness from the laws of their reality, one borne from the lingering madness still thriving within the elements, the particles of primordial matters still silently flocking around Sigiwaer as if they recognized him as their one and only ruler. Even the undead seemed to hesitate in carrying out his orders of grabbing the dreaming boy before their feet. Through his mind’s eye, he witnessed strange motes of energies dancing around the nekrotic particles forming his nekromantic spell, nevertheless it seemed to be a fruitless endeavor as they lacked the intent of Sigiwaer to fully shatter his hold over the undead.
“What a sight it was to behold!” Uchitemar uttered, stricken with a madness induced by a deeper understanding of the nature of their world, their existence. His whole augmented vessel trembled with terror and excitement, yet Orhadin found it strange he himself wasn’t going through these same emotions, shivering himself. “For now, it doesn’t matter. I thank thee my lord and protector!” He offered his whispery gratitude towards the Night and its true monarch whilst carving a portal into the fabric of reality.