They were falling, cold wind whipping at their faces, world spinning all about. It took Trenton a moment to reorient himself, but once he did, he realized what exactly had happened. They’d been teleported, straight up by the looks of it, but Raligoth far overshot. Trenton could just make out the edges of the circle far below.
“This is NOT where I meant to send us!” Raligoth shouted.
“Little late now!” Maria screamed.
“It’s a lot harder than I realized to cast magic without arms, or a body, or legs, or if you haven't done it in 2000 years!”
“I can imagine perfectly how difficult that would be,” Avardis stated.
“Not helping, bud,” Garrote shouted, arms splayed wide to cast.
All at once they began to slow, caught in the web of Garrote’s graviturgy. On top of that, Avardis looked to be directing the winds, spinning around to create an updraft which pushed pleasantly beneath them. With both of these powers combined, they were able to come to a comfortable falling pace more akin to a float right above the top of the arches. But unlike when they were here some hour ago, new guests had arrived–Wimbleton and the blood crazed man.
They stood near the center of the structure, talking to each other about something, neither with their blade drawn. Had they…talked it out? That seemed highly unlikely, but Wimbleton was something of a charmer. Maybe he wormed his way out of fighting to the death. Neither of them looked particularly hurt, Wimbleton with a coupole stray scratches and the other man's missing sections of skin and muscle quickly healing.
The blood-crazed man was a rather handsome one, incredibly well built–muscles bursting from the seams of his ripped tunic–scraggly, thick black hair perched atop his head, a wild, lustrous black beard, two eyes of deepest crimson–like pools of blood.
“...no, I’m long past that,” the blood-crazed man spoke, his voice gruff, deep. “But you’ve given me enough, already. I’ll leave you be,” he moved to walk away, but then he noticed Trenton hovering above them. “You the kid I tried to kill? Sorry,” he said, looking not particularly sorry about his actions in the slightest.
With that, he simply walked away, apparently with the entirety of his piece already said. Garrote and Avardis set them down gently, Leo staggering over to Wimbleton with wide eyes, “The-”
Wimbleton held up a hand, cutting Leo off, “I know, I was watching you down there. I’m glad you found a way out,” he said, nodding towards the head. “I was quite close to intervening myself, and I wasn’t pleased with the idea of splitting my attention.”
“That’s impossible. Even one of your blood can’t see into the forge. It’s specifically warded against it,” Raligoth said, between heaves. How a bodiless head was out of breath, Trenton couldn’t say.
“You said that it couldn’t be broken into, either, but that doesn’t seem to be the case either,” Garrote harrumphed.
“The magic has probably weakened over time,” Kiva said.
“But that doesn’t…make any sense,” Raligoth muttered, brow furrowed.
“None of this matters. We can’t stay here. They won’t be stuck down there for very long,” Trenton butted in.
“The 10th veil doesn’t concern me, nor the men he’s with. The 4th veil, however, is a different story,” Wimbleton said, cocking his head to one side as if he were considering.
“Do you think we can fight our way out of this?” Karfice asked, actually focused for once.
“Hard to say. The 4th veil isn’t moving with much urgency, and she’s taking care to mask her presence…in other words, it’d be a gamble and not one I’m certain to take with you all in your current state. We should be able to lose them quite easily in-” Wimbleton said.
A wave, heat, pressure–strength–washed over them from every angle, locking them in place. Where a moment ago they had been alone, they were now surrounded from every angle, 9 men of immeasurable strength taking their places atop the statues surrounding them. No one stood by the first familiar statue, but to the left and right, by the other two familiar statues, an elf clad in all gray garbs and a stern looking older elf with his arms crossed stood respectively.
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But they were not what frightened Trenton. No, what truly worried him was Wimbleton, who stood completely tensed, wide eyes growing brighter by the moment, left hand clutching the top of the metal cast on his right arm. Wimbleton’s presence was mostly contained, but what little did seep out nearly made Trenton want to vomit, a wretched force worming its way into Trenton’s head. Whatever was happening, he had no place in it. This was not a battlefield meant for him.
“The Benevolent’s hands…and his generals. What the hell are they doing here?” Kiva muttered under her breath, barely even audible.
“Hey Wimbleton, been a while,” the man in the gray garbs said, the bile in his voice practically spilling onto the floor, his smile mad. He leapt down, landing soft on his feet.
“I’ll rip you apart, limb by limb. No one will even remember your name,” Wimbleton said, his voice taking an odd pitch Trenton hadn’t heard before, almost like the onset of insanity.
Trenton twisted his foot, the slightest movement to try and grab anyone close to him, but just as he did, the older elf raised his hand, pointing directly at Trenton, “Move and I gut you,” he said, voice calm with an edge to it. Trenton froze, mind racing with panic.
“On my cue,” Raligoth whispered, a sound so slight even Trenton could barely pick it up.
“Oh c’mon, no need to be so hostile. I’ve actually got a gift for you!” the gray man said, throwing his arms into the air. “See, all this fighting really is no good for the soul-”
“All this fighting? Remind me again whose fault that is.” Wimbleton spat.
“I know, I know,” the gray man shook his head, “and it’s just been tearing me apart. What can I say, we’ve had a change of heart. And to commemorate this day, as a token of peace, I’ve got a gift for you!” Gray said, pulling out a richly bound briefcase from his deep pocket.
Without waiting for a response, Gray threw open the latches, plucking two round objects out and tossing them at Wimbleton. For a moment, Trenton thought it an attack, and fought desperately against the urge to move, but as the sunlight glinted off the beige surface of the objects, he realized exactly what they were–severed heads–a girl and a boy about their age, neither of which Trenton even slightly recognized.
Wimbleton numbly reached out, catching the two heads against his chest. Slowly, he pulled them out, twisting them such that the faces, both marred with great agony, were visible. He hunched over them, his eyes moving ever so slightly every other moment across their surfaces.
The gray man laughed, watching Wimbleton with delight, “Those’re your friends? Aren’t they? Or were, I guess. See, we’ve had them all this time! What’re the odds! They were just sitting in a pile in the dungeon and I thought you might want a little piece of them, something to remember them by. It’s not like we wanted ‘em.”
Lurching little bits at a time, Wimbleton’s eyes rose to face the gray man, his body straightening. His eyes were impossibly luminous, now, even the slightest glimpse resulting in a thunderous migraine.
“What? Don’t like it? I can throw them back in the dungeon if you’d like. Y’know what, maybe they’re better off there, actually,” the gray man said.
Suddenly, the contraption on Wimbleton’s right arm began to spin and whir, the cylindrical outjuts by his shoulder sticking out further than usual. But before it could finish whatever mechanism it had intended, Wimbleton, methodically, fingers remarkably still, undid the latches connecting to his body, the whole contraption falling to the ground as the cylinders plunged into where his shoulder would’ve been a moment ago.
But instead of a right arm, what Trenton had assumed to fill the hollow device, instead there was nothing. Wimbleton had no right arm, only a perfectly cut stump a couple inches beneath the shoulder. Then, at the base of the stump, a black substance, within which red strands swirled, burst out, taking the perfect form of an arm, fist clenched. And now, instead of just the silence of the waiting soldiers, a familiar screech filled the air, the hushed cries of thousands of overlapping voices all weeping their agony to the world.
The substance coated Wimbleton’s body, a thin veil over his entire form slowly building, a dense well of strength painful even to the phantom touch and certainly beyond sickening to look at.
The gray man looked over at them, smile growing even wider, “Been a pleasure, but I won’t be seeing you again. Ta ta!”
“NOW!” Raligoth cried as the screams built to a booming roar, the sickly black substance bursting out from Wimbleton’s body in every direction impossibly fast.
Trenton listed back, pushing everyone towards him while spreading his arms to make contact with everyone except for Wimbleton. But this time, they weren’t quick enough. The orb of darkness crawled over Trenton’s leg, eating its way clean through his body like acid, sending waves of torment unlike any pain he’d ever felt before tearing through his body.
It felt as if he were being burned alive, picked apart molecule by molecule, and frozen to ice all at once, each form of torment stacking endlessly upon each other, swelling until nothing was left but the darkness and the agony. Even from just the slight contact, Trenton’s mind reeled, completely shutting down as Raligoth’s magic took hold, and he vanished from sight.
-Zenith Cast: Obliterate-