The chanting of those strange southern people still resonated throughout my mind as I felt the cold embrace of nothingness beneath my feet. I once more stood in the emptiness of dreams I was familiar with before my nightly assemblies with little Sigiwaer. Before meeting him, I spent a considerable time just laying in my bed, floating in the endless dark vistas of Oneiron reflecting mostly on my studies regarding the nature of spells, maghia itself and of course on the studies that shall make my as great an Elhyrissiar as father.
Yet even after I witnessed that strange maghia ascend that woman, the strange words the people chanted in monotone dissonance, I stood here wishing only to meet with little Sigi to relay the good news that tingled my being. Now that I witnessed one’s soul utterly altered by the Black Monarch – a chosen of the Almodo no doubt – I was craving to further discuss the possibilities of such maghia, even if that destructive spell that gave him that soulless, wicked stare still coursed the cold fingers of dread across my spine.
It seems my unwarranted patience paid off as I felt the moan of Oneiron paired with the weightlessness of my presence hurled through these hollow sceneries. Phantasmal shapes surfaced from the blackness before my eyes, taking on the crude shapes of the city I just dreamt off, including the oblique pyramid which most certainly acted as the palace for the dark monarch.
The rest of the edifices surrounding us were much different in their style and material, though they were of stone, but less lavish and refined in their nature, smaller in their scope compared to the enormous palace. I recognize them from the recent lessons on the colonies father chosen for me after I relayed what I foolishly held back for so long.
Dim, damp stones stacked neatly and held firmly by the dwarves cement discovered, invented just a few centuries ago if I’m correct. A fluid resource for our colonial architects and Earth-Callers whom tame the motes of maghieth particles of water and earth and alter the former, gifting it with a potent bonding trait which amplifies as it dries up be the cause conjured heat or natural.
These structures, these homes were clearly of the far northern style of the fallen kingdom of Virdr whose refugees now lived on the boundary of the southern peaks of the accursed Dhaugruz Mountain and the Vesgeriath Woodland stalked by cursed undead, nightmares and horrors. It was his making I’m sure of it.
It stretched high up into the empty filament withs its blunted tip scraped against illusory clouds showering the strange vista with snow gently cold as it fell and melted upon the few scales embellishing my bare shoulders. Without realizing, my lips curved at their corners into a smile and I know he was in that castle, though I was wandering had he dreamt the same dream, yet hid from me or the Almodo simply wished to show us the same vision separately.
The answer to this question had to wait, I sauntered elegantly towards the long set of stairs and began my slow ascent towards the rectangular aperture held open by the onyx hands which tore them asunder.
**
Hunra stood upright in her new, profane form engulfed by a dim radiance which formed a halo behind her grotesque visage skinned of its former ebony epidermis, revealing the marbly white sinew with a silken sheen embedded into a golden and purple exoskeleton of cushioned and hardened flesh, which drawn all the attention onto her, halting the resistance of the legionariir in the square who fell one by one as a result of their new, involuntary devotion.
Whilst Isocrates was afraid for the past few weeks of meeting with Hunra, now he was filled with anger and disgust as he stared into her glass eyes of swirling amber with an abyssal slit in its center, shimmering with overconfidence. “It is a bit early, but we can’t do much about boy. Time to prove your worth Augermil wrote about.”
Upon hearing those words from the elderly tribuniar, Isocrates gruffly nodded. “Let’s see if you can sync up with our will.” The tall aevhen veneficiar maintaining the conjured ward around the small group of them said. Though he still lacked in his maghia studies, Isocrates pressed his palm onto his shoulder clad in angular, overlapping plates perfectly following the broad curves and closed his eyes as he focused. In the next moment, as Hunra and two more daemurnus began to hurl their blasphemous spells towards them the cracks which appeared just a few moments before now began to fade, and the aevhe felt an ease as now Isocrates took a brunt of the spells’ hits.
On top of that, when two more spells impacted the ward originating from the newborn daemurnus, streaks of lightning burst forth at them and amidst their guttural screams, their grotesquely enticing vessels collapsed onto the rubble and corpse littered ground. “Good work boy. Though refrain from further spells until I command so. Understood?”
“Understood!” He answered while his lids closed and waited patiently amidst the set of commands given out to the other three Legionariir, then they slowly began to march towards Hunra whom they believed to be the source of their plight. For the moment, Isocrates was tasked simply to supply mana for the aevhen veneficiar while the others used their swords and spears to thrust at the brazen cultists throwing themselves at the ward.
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Their bodies fractured like a pieced back together pot glowing with the same wicked purple and golden glow, while their eyes reflected the torment of the spell, they forced upon themselves. Those who fell to the strikes shattered into ethereal pieces whilst those who managed to land on the ward blasted, sending a wave of nauseous gust of energy within the confines of the ward.
“Just hold up. Keep the pace low. Even if we don’t cut the wrench down, we just have to buy enough time for the Draenith Praetoriir.” The Tribunii relayed in almost raspy whispers as he struggled to hold back the vomit, which two of the more martial oriented subordinates could not, leading for further explosions and the thickening of the sickly air.
They slowly circled around the statue at the center, even as they fought against the dwindling cultists and their own bodies. Hunra’s eerie, triumphant laughter poked Isocrates’ nerves as he was dead set on not dying here, on that night. “Sir, I’m well-adept in storm spells. May I clean the air out and reduce the enemies’ numbers a bit more?” He asked the moment they stopped as the three auxiliariir could no longer hold back and emptied their stomachs while still gripping their shields and weapons.
The elderly tribuniar with a haggard look stared at Isocrates and then turned at the veneficiar. “I can open a hole for a short moment, but I’ll need your aid boy to close it.” Isocrates confirmed while one hand pressed against his abdomen. “Do so, and kill or maim as many as you can.”
“On the right.” The aevhen veneficiar shouted as he created the hole, and in a moments’ notice as he promised, a gust of wind carried out the infectious air from their ward, while crackles of lightning raged in the twisting tunnel of conjured wind. Upon exiting, the spell branched into many smaller ones and like serpent lunged at the cultists charging at them, impaling each.
Hunra chuckled as she walked past the branching spell taking a serpentine form whilst Isocrates felt the Rage of Acheryoth, felt the pain of his insides zapped by lightning, air choked him from the inside as he swayed between the others after he aided in the closure of the ward. “Hang in there son!” The Tribuniar yelled as he heard the thud of Isocrates’s knees hitting the tainted ground.
“How brave and foolish of the slaves of the pretender. Fighting vainly, even though by the time the valiant dragon praetors’ arrive, you shall all be dead.” Hunra gloated and towered over the group, her marvelous skin at the edges of her mouth parted ways to reveal the wicked taint which altered her. “Silence you beast.” The tallest of the group thrusted his spear at her shapely bosom, though it never reached its intended destination as her hands beset with nails hewn from flamboyant gems grabbed and pulled the man out.
“Dawn shall not arrive for either any of you.” Her jaw extended wide and a golden cobra slithered out and vomited an acerbic fluid of golden onto the legionariar. Within seconds his scream reverberated through the square, drowning out all other noise of the battle whilst the fluid corroded the living metal armor then continued down to his clothes and skin until nothing but a skinless puppet of golden sinew hung in her arms which she stared at with an ecstatic delight. Then as if the corpse was nothing more than a faded toy, she hurled it into the primary, crumbling edifice of the district.
Isocrates slowly rose onto his feet, his whole body shaking from the increasing pain and delirious thrill plowing his thoughts. Through the armored forms before him, he noticed amidst the shades of amber, mauve and crimson the majestic winged beasts approaching and his lip curved as his gaze turned at Hunra exultantly. “Dawn is here and so is your doom.” He forced through those words just as he forced himself onto his feet and hurled one last spell at Hunra, aimed at her eyes.
Her daemurniac shriek pervaded the streets, mingling with the mighty roar of the Heavenly Houses’ proud dragons and the deep bellow of Augermil who leapt down from the saddle of his old comrade. His hands wrapped around the hilt of the swords, its blade engulfed in the primordial flames of Promethean.
Then came the roar of the earth as he landed shaking the ground beneath his hulking form while the blade ran straight down the left shoulder of Hunra, and cleaved down into the pavement. With a swift pull, the burning blade was in the air once more, heading for the head of the wicked being whom dodged it just in the last second. The tip crept across her alabaster neck, leaving a long searing mark which forced the serpentine tongue out scorching on the flames which lit up the first day of the first world.
Hunra stumbled backwards, reeling from the pain of the flames boiling not just her flesh and bone, but even the soul tainted with the essence of an ancient evil from beyond the time of human-kin, aevhen and dwarves. Molten gold flowed from the open vestige of hers melting the corpses she staggered past while evading the next few strikes aimed at her head and chest.
In her panic, she swung her dented body, spraying the golden blood of hers at Augermil who simply let the acidic fluid land on his gilded armor exuding an air of menace, gravitas and grace akin to the Heavenly Houses’ with its sculpted motifs, serrated, scaled rims.
Before her eyes, the vast Augermil faded amidst the blur of smoke and flame suffused air, then a smile curved onto her wickedly enticing visage of alabaster sinew in tandem with the pain of Augermil’s blade piercing through her bosom, through her golden heart. “You have already lost!” She blurted out before the flames of Promethean engulfed her from the insides, melting her dented eyes and as the onlookers turned at her form swallowed by the elder flames, they saw her cleansed soul blown away by the wind. The last remaining particles of ash swirled down to rest amongst the fallen of the day as the battle came to an end.
As the sounds of battles diminished, Augermil turned around and noticed Isocrates laying amongst the three overlooking him not aware that he was on the brink of death. He hastily made his way through and eased the Rage of Acheryoth and snarled as he took the brunt of the eldritch anger.
Feeling relieved at the survival of the youth, he lifted his clawed hand from Isocrates’ chest and as he stared proudly, forcing a triumphant look on his dashing visage, for a short moment he noticed the dark figure amongst them, only for a brief moment before He vanished just as the warm light spread across the ravaged district.