Up through the floor of the center of the ballroom, Duncire’s massive body broke through, emerging to the surprise of both Heacrim, and the terribly hurt Miede. The room still stood together, despite the intrusion of the massive frame of Duncire and the removal of a significant portion of its foundation.
The claws of Duncire sweeped across the room. They were strong, refined by the blood now pumping through his veins. Yet even with their speed and strength, there was a lack of refinement behind the attack. Enough so that the experienced Heacrim who had been alive for centuries even while taken by surprise could react, with a leap back through the room and towards the entrance, away from the now fully emerged Duncire.
Such a sight should have brought him great dread, a monster of unknown origin was in front of his eyes, another obstacle in his path towards his goal.
The smile, the twisted, distorted smile brought on by ecstasy betrayed that expectation. Reflected in his golden eyes, was only the truth. The flesh he had placed in Miede he had been searching for, the source of the malignancy was still alive and well, it had simply changed owners. It was evident that this was the case, for before him his object of desire was at hand. Peering through the outward shell, he saw it. Wrapping around the original heart of the beast that was Duncire in front of him, the heretical flesh strangled the heart, wrapped around it, and it spread throughout the entire body like roots.
Duncire’s eyes were fixed upon his mother, her awful condition brought him to near tears. The source of such sadism was obvious to him, it was the man smiling before him. He turned to the man, and made a vow of vengeance to himself. He did not speak. His body now fully in the room, he placed his feet on the ground that was unbroken. His towering form still fit in the room, albeit barely.
“You had a child, I see!” Heacrim yells in elation. “And it was able to grow to this extent even with the rot, how fantastic! You’ve helped me greatly, Miede!” Heacrim throws out his hands forward, a black energy gathering at the center of his palm. “Now, come back to me!”
He stares at Duncire for a moment, and then two, and there wasn’t a third, as the centipede tail of Duncire slams into his side and launches him across the room.
Heacrim had an intimate relationship with the heretical flesh, he believed it apart of him. He believed that his mastery over his technique that stemmed from the flesh gave him an absolute right over it. And he would have been correct, were it not for the blood now pumping through Duncire’s veins. It was much more vibrant and powerful than before, it caged in the flesh, subdued it. Any control it once had over the body was now suppressed, by the blood of his father that pumped through him.
A black blur climbed its way into the room. It scanned the room, seeing the Shade on the ground, and then it quickly moved to Miede laying on the table. It was Bart, and his eyes were honed in on the gashes across her body.
Miede weakly stared at Bart, and Duncire. She felt the essence of her husband’s blood pumping through both their bodies. This understanding came with emotion, the understanding that her husband was dead and gone. It pained her, it wracked her deeply. Only, she also felt an opposing emotion as well. Pride, at the sight of her now developed son. The pain that covered him was gone, the wounds over his body had closed. And although he was now acting out of fury and deep distress, he was moving forward on his own. As the blood poured out of her wounds and her final breath grew closer, she began to realize that she no longer worried for him, his life was now his to decide.
Her eyes locked Bart’s now, and she saw the hate still in his eyes. She knew that what she had done to his people would never be forgiven, and she thought it was fitting that there was one of the Bloodsuckers with her for her last moments; it was only right that she would be cursed by them as she died. They had been by her side for a long, long time and they showed her nothing but kindness. In return, she had stomped on that trust and betrayed it, without a second thought for the sake of her family.
Bart’s eyes quickly moved from her, not even giving her the grace of words. He seemingly vanishes from in front of her, shooting across the room to the Shade. Its body was badly damaged, and it showed no obvious signs of life. Bart felt a twinge of pain, at the idea that it had fought for him and his people despite its inability to communicate, and in its last moments it died alone. But, he could still see a glimmer of light in its eyes, and held onto the idea that it could still be alive, only, there was no way for him to help it. No blood ran through its veins that Bart could substitute.
Out of the rubble of the wall, Heacrim walked back into the room, staring at Duncire, the previous ecstasy in his eyes replaced by absolute contempt. There were obvious wounds on his body, his posture was crooked, and he walked with a limp. The tail of Duncire seemingly did a great deal of damage.
“You… Beast. What have you done!?” He yells out the words, spittle shooting out of his mouth and a snarl attached to the end of his words. “Do you think you’re special? Having subdued the fragment? You’re nothing, nothing, nothing!” The lack of reaction from the flesh had dealt a mental blow to him, a great one.
Duncire did not dignify him with a response, only taking a stance that signified he was preparing to attack again.
“You attack like a beast, think like a beast, and you will die like a beast.” The black energy emantes out of Heacrim’s body, wrapping itself around his arms. The arms quickly began to distort, the muscle changed in composition and shape, his right hand seemed to twist and form around the knife in his hand, wrapping around it, disregarding his fingers and seemingly becoming the blade's hilt itself. His left condensed, the muscle became sharper, leaner, and his fingers became sharp like claws.
Black energy swirled around his other extremities, but no such transformations occurred there. The black energy simply stayed, attached to the limbs like a burning flame.
Bart’s eyes narrowed as he watched this, he began to fill with a great dread.
Without warning, Heacrim shot forwards. He brandished his knife openly and aimed to sink it deep in the heart of Duncire, and open a wound to which he could more easily access the flesh that laid within.
While Duncire was clumsy and used to direct combat, he had still been refined and his senses were at an all time high. Like batting a fly, he swept his arm in front of him, slamming into the side of Heacrim with great force.
Heacrim flew across the room, but he repositioned himself in the air and found his footing on the wall, launching off it and back towards Duncire. This time the tail of Duncire came to his aid, lifting itself as a shield. Heacrim’s knife pierced through the carapace, but the thing was too big for any real damage to be done by the attack, and with a slam of the tail downards, Heacrim had no choice but to take the blade out and quickly dodge out of the way.
With a diagonal downward motion, Heacrim’s left arm was swung down, the black energy forming as it went through its motion, the maw of a dragon seemed to form for a moment, launching and biting downwards onto one of Duncire’s arms. The teeth plunged in, but dissipated the moment Duncire’s blood touched them, to Heacrim’s great displeasure. He jumped back and stared intently, slowly gauging his next move.
Bart quickly moved the Shade over to the side of Miede, his eyes locked on the bout the whole time. As were Miede’s. A terrible thought came to his mind, even with the transformation he had undergone, he was still unable to interfere in this battle. His additional strength and musculature was impressive, but unrefined and unskilled as he was, it would only take a single blow from Heacrim to end his life.
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And a much more disastrous thought as well, this one shared both by Miede and Bart, was present. Duncire would lose this battle. While he was strong and the blows he dealt to Heacrim dealt damage, every time Heacrim would bounce back with more force, seemingly disregarding the damage done to his body. And all it would take is a surgical carve to the heart, for Heacrim to finish the fight.
Bart looked down at Miede and whispered hurriedly and hushedly. “You… You need to use your spell on him at the opportune time. Then I and Duncire can deliver a fatal blow. Hold on a little longer, and do this for us.”
Miede weakly shook her head and whispered back. “I can’t… even if I were at my peak and able to use my magic, Heacrim has clad himself in the same energy that I use to execute it. It would have no effect.”
Bart’s eyes twitched. “Then you are fine leaving your son to die and not even trying?” Clearly upset, he said these words in a rush.
“I can’t try, it is impossible. My body has only a dredge of life force left, and simply attempting to cast the spell would kill me. I’m sorry.” Miede’s apology was heartfelt, sincere, and conveyed her despair. Once again, she believed in impending doom, at the thought of having to see her son slowly be killed by the man who had so long ago brought ruin to her life.
“Then there’s nothing we can do.” Bart said dejectedly, and turned back to the battle. Heacrim had begun to find a rhythm. He moved around Duncire, dodging his blows and delivering small incisions on his arms and tail with each movement. He was attempting to bleed his target, though the wounds seemed to heal themselves quickly, but not as fast as Heacrim could deliver
more.
“Then I shall…” Bart began to move forwards, intending to enter the battle himself despite the immediate risk to his life, but was stopped. A familiar voice danced from the table, out of the white fur cloak.
“Hold on, we haven’t thought of all the options, just yet.” Prose’s voice, of course. It was weak and shaky, but it still carried the dignity that he prided himself in.
“Have you not forgotten this woman’s ability to gather life? There’s one that could stand to gain quite a benefit from that, I think!” Prose’s intention was obvious, he wished for Miede to heal the Shade.
“But, that would be…” Bart thought of the damage done to the forest by the spell, and the plight of his people. But then he thought of the mercenaries, the reality that would be set in place were Heacrim to win, and he grit his teeth. “The Shade would be able to keep up with Heacrim, and with Duncire supporting it, I say it’s worth a shot, even if the cost is great.” Bart looked to Miede expectantly, who only shook her head.
“I’ve told you, I’m too weak. And even if I were fine, the source of my magic required the symbols that you so dutifully destroyed. I need an amplifier, something that lets me connect with the life force of the Bewitiching woods in its entity, the trees, the animals, even the soil.”
Bart went silent, at their hopes being dashed once more.
“Bah!” Prose said, revealing himself from the cloak. Blood was dried under his nostrils, his right eye was bloodshot, his hair was messy, and the expression on his face was one of ridicule. “You need no such amplifier, you have the best in the world here.” The wing’s behind Prose flapped in a sign of pride.
Miede sighs. “I’ve already said-” And her words never left her mouth, as the fangs of Bart sunk into her neck.
Just as with Epim, he flooded the blood from himself into Miede. Though, the extent to which he did so was quite different. Before, Bart acted as a reservoir, filled after he feasted on Aiga’s body and emptied when he healed Epim. Now, with the blood of Alcuire running through his veins, he was an ocean. Vast without compare, the blood given from him to her was truly of no significance.
Miede healed, the slash wounds closed, her body regained its color, and her ability to utilize her magic came back to her in its entirety.
Bart’s fangs quickly left her neck, and he let out a low growl, turning his head quickly away from her and back to the ongoing battle between Duncire and Heacrim. Quickly, it seemed Heacrim was gaining a slow but steady advantage against the giant. “Go ahead, now. There’s nothing stopping you.” It was obvious to Miede that it was something he didn’t want to do, he was repulsed by the very act of helping her. But to save her son, to save his people, he discarded his pride and acted without delay. This was something that she had never been able to do.
Tears began to form at the edges of her eyes, but she quickly stopped them, replaced by a look of determination, one that was the very same as she ensured the life of her husband would continue, over those long, long years.
Her right hand moved to the Shade’s body, and as she touched it she felt a rhythmic flow of light through its body, one that was steadily losing its momentum and threatening to still. She looked over to Prose, who feebly walked to her side, and placed a hand on her now raised back. “Simply focus on the spell as you would, but don’t worry about direction or where to take it from, I’ll handle it all.” There was no room to doubt the confidence he had in his ability.
“I wish for you both to know, the forest has been badly damaged, the lifeforce has grown thin. Do not expect this creature to make a miraculous recovery. All we can do is hope, even weakened, it will be enough.”
Bart clicked his tongue at the news, and Prose laughed. “Oh, how foolish you are. You, with little expectation, allow me to show you the true size of the world.”
Miede said nothing more, she focused all of her mental acuity on the task at hand. From within her, a black energy began to emanate. It spread out from her skin, it took the form of roots, as it traveled from her into Prose. Truthfully, she did not believe his words that he could perform the same task as the runes she had meticulously set up across the castle to expand her reach.
She was right, what Prose did was far more incredible. The black energy that spread from her back into him was redirected, focused in his wings. And then, she felt the reach of the roots expand into the ground as she did hundreds of times before. But, the sensation was a thousand times greater. She felt each root individually moving through the ground, she felt the speed at which they grew, and she felt them shoot out far, much farther than the borders of the Bewitching woods.
The black aura grew around her, enough that Heacrim’s attention was brought onto them for a moment, his eyes opening wide. This momentary lapse of attention was responded to by both of Duncire’s claws slamming into his sides in a clapping motion, and then the tail of Duncire slamming into his chest, pressing him against the wall.
The roots spread, further, further. They did not feast on the Bewitching woods, but focused on the areas outside. The border of the Bewitching woods with its lush green trees was sapped, instantly. And this was not like the steady and gradual decay of the Bewitching woods, it was definite and final. The trees instantly withered and broke away, the grass died. Any plant life was sucked dry and destroyed. And this process continued, farther, though more intermittently and not as singularly destructive, it took the life of what it found.
Those in the encampment could only stare in utter shock, as the world around them seemed to rot in front of their very eyes.
The military encampment’s mouth opened agape. “Demon’s… Demon’s have arrived!”
The roots were free, unfettered by the restraint of distance. They broke off, searching for their own individual bounty now. One root found a great golden tree, and it dispersed as the nectar of it was far too great. Another found a decaying corpse of a giant beast under the ground, and it only took a fragment of the entirety of the thing before it grew too full and burst. Another found an old decrepit corpse, surrounded by flowers, trees, and a manner of wildlife. It steered clear of it.
One root found an ancient temple, surrounded by a great tempest. The root greedily feested on a portion of the magic that fueled the tempest. Another root was found by a man who wore plain clothes, and he gently gave energy as a gift, enough so that the roots hunger was satiated. In a garden that was abundant with life, a root found a flower that it took from, it was filled with more life force than even century old tree’s, and the feast the root partook in only caused a single petal to wilt.
“To trespass in my garden and eat your fill, I can only admire the arrogance.” The owner of the garden spoke amusedly as he watched the process.
Anyone with a magical sense could feel the vast expansion for the moment it occurred, and they were left befuddled by the instant and fast retraction of the roots. Only the most distinguished and practiced masters had an idea of what had happened, but none could trace its origin. The complexity of the roots, and the distance they covered, was far too great a mystery for one to uncover in a moment.
Miede felt every sensation, every area the roots had gone to. She felt now more vibrantly than ever before the casual theft of life she had partaken in, she felt the dignity of the life that had lasted even longer be casually discarded, and she felt the pain it would bring to those who relied on the bounty that it brought. Only now, witnessing a greater and more focused force than she had ever thought possible, did she understand with her full being the atrocities she had committed before.
All of this lifeforce accumulated through Prose, and was delivered unto the Shade’s body back through Miede. Black Miasma spread from her body, bursting out of it and covering the room. Bart grew worried that the aftereffect of the spell would bring onto him the same fate as his feral kin, but the blood that ran through his veins now was far too great for any such transformation to occur.
Heacrim had only just managed to free himself from the force of Duncire’s tail, as he saw the finale of the technique. His golden eyes searched through the veil of the dark energy, searching, trying to find the result of the energy. Something unnatural occurred, and he prepared himself for it.
“HaHaHa.” A rhythmic, and haughty laugh came from Prose, the fairy who lived and acted in abundance. “You see, how limited your own perception was? If you commit a sin with half a heart, you won’t ever understand the terror of it! Receive from me this gift of sight, and understand that you are no longer the only one who has committed such depravity. And behold, the result of definitive action, as opposed to cowardly resignation.”
From within the miasma, footfalls made themselves clear. They hit the ground heavily, shaking the room in its entirety.
Reflected in Heacrim’s eyes as he gazed through the veil, were two white glowing eyes, focused in rage.