Cyril transformed and sprinted. Really sprinted. Not the half-run, half-jog he did during training so the kids could keep up. He was on his toes, arms swinging, death-behind-him sprinting. An onlooker that blinked at the wrong time would only see a wall of dust settling back to the earth.
The transformation was weak. His denizen held little potential. With it, Cyril’s fingers turned gray and sharp at the ends. His irises broke into hexagonal shapes. Cyril still hadn’t gotten used to the new way of seeing. It was too much information at once. Coupled with his speed, it could feel like the world rose and fell before his eyes. Sounds became much sharper too. Spellcraft that amplified a sorcerer's senses were very useful for certain types of work. He tried to listen out for something that could point him in the direction of a threat to Lyrique. The sound of the bell tower drowned out auditory details. So, Cyril moved. He ran south, to the raised bluffs that formed the furthest corner of Lyrique from the bell tower. As the water pushed inland, the land rose to meet it. The high bluffs were useless to support more ports, but many in the city still lived there, farming and raising livestock outside of the town’s urban center.
Some had even built homes into the sides of the sheer cliffs. When he arrived, Cyril found a gaggle of people, a human fence, around some escaped pigs.
“Excuse me!” Cyril announced his presence. The farmers stayed focused on their pork-to-be.
A slippery pig broke through the perimeter. Cyril caught it and hefted it with little effort. That got their attention.
“Please!” One said. “All of our locks have come undone. Don’t let them get away.”
Cyril didn’t groan. He moved fast between the animals, returning them to their muddy pen and locking the gate. It hadn’t been destroyed. In fact, the little farming district looked very well put together, if chaotic.
“Thank you,” A middle-aged woman said. Her limbs were huge and her smile wide. Cyril didn’t recognize her, but she seemed to shy away from his transformed appearance. The warden dismissed his change before replying to her. The woman was more willing to introduce herself to someone who looked human. “I’m Catron.”
“Cyril. I’m a warden from Gwyllion Abbey,” he said. “Is this the worst of it here?”
“We’re just scared,” the woman whispered. “What’s happened in the city?”
“I’m trying to find out.” Cyril got ready to move on, but scanned the collection of barns and pens. The little houses built into the bluffs waved at him. Nobody had closed the doors and the sea wind rocked the panels on their hinges. It wasn’t the bell’s tolling that was causing the panic.
“Did all of the doors open at once?” Cyril asked.
“Strangest thing,” Catron said. “Before the bell started ringing. A wind blew by!” Catron moved her hand for dramatic effect. “Everything opened.”
“Some wind,” Cyril remarked.
“I was down in my cellar when it happened,” the woman said. She was half-turned, ready to corral more animals. “I keep a locked chest down there too. Some valuables… what-not. It opened while I was stood across the room.” Her nose wrinkled. She whispered again, more quietly, “It was gwyll.”
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Piper raced Wakahn through the transitory streets of Lyrique. The unofficial district lines between downtown and the quieter businesses further from the water painted a picture of Lyrique's transformation over the last decade. The bell tower overlooked the heart of the wide streets. It was close enough to the ocean to act as the central torch house between its six smaller siblings. Blue and white stripes were painted into a pattern that spiraled towards its top.
Noise of chaos rose as the two approached their destination. People were screaming. A fire crackled. Grown men barked orders around. The pair of initiates ran against an evacuating crowd. Piper and Wakahn transformed, leaping above the small shops to avoid being trampled. They had leaped up on opposite sides of the street and continued their race up there, jumping across the small gaps between buildings.
The smithy under Wakahn’s feet trembled. He looked over the side and the door was blown off of its hinges. A child had sailed atop the shattered piece of wood and lay motionless in the wreckage. Piper dropped down to his side. She found a tool in the boy’s hand. He still gripped it tight.
A horse escaped the smith. No, Wakahn reconsidered, a monster. The beast was large, larger than any horse Wakahn had ever seen in person. Its hair was sheer white. Tusks grew out of his mouth, large enough to skewer several people in one thrust. A hideously long tongue probed the air, dripping little pellets of spit.
The monster was trained on Piper and keen to charge. Wakahn dropped from atop the building, his elbow blade angled to drive through the horse’s midsection. Within the horse monster's bushy tail sprang several secret heads. Razor toothed fish were tethered to the horse monster by white tendrils disguised by its long tail hairs. The little heads defended the horse’s midsection from Wakahn's drop.
Wakahn swung his elbow blade blindly. The dorsal fin failed to connect in any meaningful way and the fish made a meal of the boy’s arm. They ripped pieces of flesh from him. Wakahn skittered away from the monster.
“Do something!” Wakahn whined.
Piper had started channeling mana before Wakahn had dove onto the monster. It refocused on her when she released the ball of fire from her three hands. The horse charged and swerved away from the spell. Piper detonated the fire during its travel and the flame turned a sharp angle. But, the monster’s fish heads swam to intercept the fire. Piper incinerated one of the fish and it fell limp. The others gnashed their teeth. The taste of blood only spurred their appetites.
Wakahn’s injuries were many. The pain interrupted his focus and the transformation on the injured arm dissipated. It left only a bloody mess. Piper grimaced at the sight of it. The horse monster dug its hooves through the dirt. It was going to charge again.
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“That’s all you can think to do?” Soraya’s heel bounced against the floor of the abbey. She continually convinced herself not to run after her teammates. The debate raged in her head on a loop. Every time, the internal conversation came to the same conclusion. Cyril ordered her to defend the abbey. Even if it was his way of putting her on timeout, she would abide by the man’s words.
He had saved her life, after all.
Xin was not making the waiting easy. He had accepted it too easily. Xin just started a fire to brew tea. Enough tea for half of Lyrique to drink. But, it was something to do. Soraya didn’t understand him. A warden that sought no action. Nobody had even shown up to the abbey looking for help. The guild was too far removed from the action. Soraya bit her lip. Even Wakahn and Piper had gotten to go into town.
It was just that she hosted no denizen. That warden, Tiara, had one too. A spirit that made her all but invincible. This was the last straw. Soraya wouldn’t let Cyril rest until they had captured a gwyll for her. She didn’t care if it made her sick like it had him. Soraya had never felt as powerless as when she stood shoulder to shoulder with real wardens. She was just some little girl that paid money to breathe the same air as them.
Something broke in the kitchen. Soraya bounced from her seat to investigate. The fire had jumped from under the pot to a filthy rag. Xin was twitching on the floor amidst shattered ceramic pieces.
“Xin?” Soraya asked. She examined the teenager for a wound on his body. She found no burn or cut or bruise. “Xin?!” She flipped the boy over, but still could not locate the source of his seizing. Xin’s eyes were pained and shut tight. Fire slowly spread. Soraya wasn’t bored anymore.
“Xin?!”