The blazing tide struck the vanguard of the remaining garrison when Rorshawd was twenty meters away from them. Without Lograve’s cold field of ice shards, spread from where he was positioned in the center of their formation, the cast off heat would have killed half of those at the front.
Still, the initial casualties would have been significant if Kob had not raised their own shield. Flames split off stone and vented harmlessly to the sides of the giant. Those vines closest to the exhaust blackened and died. The rest of the mass, and the people behind Kob, remained unharmed. Kob did not shift their stone shield back around themself as the rock was molten red where the brunt of the fire had touched it. The roots within those rocks were slowly dying as well, Kob being careful to gradually replace them to keep control of their shell while minimizing their injuries.
Those who could see the dragon from within the keep unleashed their readied attacks. Only a few could, as the dragon had approached from an off angle and some, including Daniel, had momentarily lost themselves in fear before the avianoid Bard had cleansed the effect. The Artificer had yet to learn that effect itself determined the level of ability needed to remove it, which transcended the level of either the afflicter or the afflictee. Simple fear was common and removed by the lowest level powers. The upgraded terror effect grown dragons could elicit was harder to address, though that was not a present concern.
Arrows, and two long range spells from the center mage group, shot toward the dragon in response to its assault. Lograve’s ice did not join this volley, concentrated as he was on nullifying fire in the area around him. Rorshawd spun in the air to avoid the attack and the meager number of projectiles was not enough to force a meaningful hit.
It did, however, allow Kob’s plan to work. In their normal fashion, they had proposed the idea with but one word: throw. Gadriel agreed immediately, without even clarifying what they had meant. Lograve had been skeptical, and Daniel couldn’t help but think of a ranger and a dwarf as he caught on to the idea.
A burst of mana, not quite as powerful as what radiated from the dragon when it breathed fire, emanated from Kob as they wheeled around for a sweeping attack. Kob had the range to hit the dragon and could have ended the battle there and then. The issue was their speed, critically dampened by level disparity which made them the turtle to the dragon’s hare. Kob wasn’t trying to hit the dragon, not with itself. The attack impacted nothing, but the cluster of vines forming the weapon continued to carry the momentum, releasing what it held at the end of its extended arc. Gadriel, armor impossibly gleaming in the light of the dragonfire’s remnants, flew on an intercept course with the dragon as it passed over the courtyard.
Rorshawd could maneuver fluidly in the air, but could not do two things at once. Mistaking Kob’s wind up for a simple attack, he had committed to dodging the volley of ranged attacks which actually had a chance of hitting him. The gestalt adjusted mid-swing for this and launched Gadriel while the dragon was mid-evasion. This left it open for Gadriel’s sword, which swung out ahead of its wielder to carve through leathery wings. They were a weakness of the dragons, lightly armored and critical for their ability to fly. The aberrant Regeneration possessed by this one compensated, but not fully as the sword cut thrice into it before the weight of the Hero threw the dragon off course.
There were many reasons why what Gadriel did next succeeded. His extreme determination and hunting style, for one. Against most enemies Gadriel fought with only his features, and didn’t heighten them unless needed. Earlier this day he had been forced to do so with Flying Sword, Acrobatics, Balance, and Brawling against the horde to both destroy it and prevent it from reaching Thomas. Still, he had reserved his abilities. His self-reinforced handicap allowed him to train not only his powers, but himself. The result of this was that Gadriel had the best technical skill of anyone in the Thormundz, even beating out Murdon and Kob who’d been at this longer. He knew himself, and he knew how to fight.
That wouldn’t have saved him against an enemy three levels greater than himself. He needed Kob and the others to provide him with this opening. Having been thrown onto the dragon, Gadriel was now impossible to hit with its flame breath or claws. All this Gadriel knew, enforcing his boldness and driving any hesitation from his actions atop the dragon.
The final reason, however, was known to no one present. There were very few alive amongst the mortals who could guess how Gadriel was able to defy the odds, cling to the dragon, and do what needed to be done. They were neither here, nor watching. Those assembled in the courtyard just watched Gadriel fly, none considering what the seventh attribute had contributed to his success.
Moments before Gadriel hit the dragon, his sword returned to his free hand and he drove it into its hide. Kob had thrown well, Gadriel was positioned halfway up the neck. Too far up for the head to turn to face him, and too far for the tail to reach him. The Hero used the sword to steady himself rather than attack. That was what his abilities were for.
“Falling Star!” The Hero cried out the incantation, targeting the ground. Normally, this would bring him crashing down in a destructive wave with respectable damage to anything directly impacted, offset by a burdensome mana cost and inability to use anything else while falling. Here, the dragon’s strength kept both aloft despite the force imparted by the ability.
Undeterred, Gadriel used it again. The dragon had been circling for another breath attack. Its flight jerked suddenly when the Hero leaned into his sword to transfer the force of Falling Star into it. That was a problem. Rorshawd could easily keep in the air despite the loadstone that was the Hero. He’d barely felt the sword pierce the scales of his neck, but now Gadriel was using the dragon’s strength against him.
“Falling Star!” The longsword sunk half of its depth into the dragon’s flesh and Rorshawd snarled in pain. There was not enough room for the dragon to burn the Hero, but they could lock eyes. Gadriel stared down a monster that would rend him asunder the first chance it could get and smiled. It was the same smile he’d given Murdon, back in Hagain. It wasn’t arrogant, brash, or even mirthful. Gadriel imparted in that weary grin that he would shoulder the world until the moment his back broke. Now, the dragon could share in that burden.
Projectiles were still filling the air as more from the back group retrieved weapons and positioned themselves appropriately. Only a few pierced the skin, with one bolt striking well into the bony support of the left wing. Rorshawd had to recalculate, had to start killing. The sword cut deep and would continue to do so if he didn’t land. Regeneration afforded him the ability to take the otherwise fatal wound the blade would inflict should it sink to its hilt, but the force of that ability was impacting his maneuverability. Should the Hero use it at the wrong time, it could misdirect his flame breath or foil a dodge.
Rorshawd needed to kill, starting with the Hero. He needed to think. The blind feral rage of a dragon was intoxicating. He had reveled in the sensation when slaying the others but now was the time for Rorshawd to use his mind as much as his anger. The dragon flew over the assembled mortals for a second pass, not breathing fire to conserve mana, although he did extend claws that tore three of those in the center group to ribbons. He growled when he realized the primary target had thrown ice around himself to prevent a fourth kill, though the field of cold retracted noticeably in exchange. Turning back quickly would allow his flame breath to-
“Falling Star!” The voice behind his head called out another incantation. Rorshawd could sense the mana fleeing the Hero with each use. No power allowed that, just the scale of his level compared to Gadriel’s. The sudden surge of gravity was accompanied by several abilities from below. No ice, thankfully, but grasping vines, pure telekinetic pull, and one human whose arm transmutated suddenly to grab him from a few meters away.
The attempt wasn’t successful. Rorshawd was simply too strong. Maybe if he bore the weight of all the damage inflicted on him that night he wouldn’t have the strength to resist, but Regeneration had returned him almost to full health. The pitiful attacks on his wings from those within the tower would need to hit far harder to make an impact.
Rorshawd paused time for a moment to think. It was such a casual action, calming almost, except for the sting of the sword that still burned despite the cessation of movement. He had roughly less than half of his mana remaining. 39%, the number came to him thanks to Quick Mind. The average breath consumed just under 7% of his mana, and he raged at himself for being careless before. Rorshawd had a quarter of his mana left to freely use, the rest needed to be reserved for the death of Kob.
Gadriel could be dealt with for far less. The dragon considered his surroundings, estimated mana consumption, felt his mana drop to 38%, and stopped wasting time. He activated Telekinetic Reach, targeting the Hero in his totality. For all but the dragon it appeared as if, just after breaking from the attempt to pin it to the ground, Rorshawd shook his back and Gadriel went flying.
The Hero sailed over the central row of buildings before impacting a wall, cracking it from the force of the throw. Rorshawd looked closely at the man for a few seconds and roared in triumph, before beginning to turn for another strike at the garrison. Four down, the rest to follow.
…
Daniel wasn’t breathing much, and what did come to him were gasps forced by necessity. He was barely functioning. That was while within the safety of the keep’s tower. If he’d been out there? Three people had just been torn apart. Lograve had seen it coming and tried to shield them, but only got the shield over himself before Rorshawd buzzed past. Thomas was with him. All of his friends were still alive, at least.
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Then Gadriel was torn from the dragon’s back before the Hero could speak his incantation a fifth time. The progress the sword was making through Rorshawd’s neck had given him some hope, until that was ripped away with the man. An audible crack of stone cut over the noise of battle as he landed heavily out of sight. Is he? No. Gadriel’s aura was still present. He wasn’t moving, but he was alive.
“Guy?”
“He’s just unconscious,” Daniel answered Thomas’ concern after taking a breath. Both froze as the dragon roared. It was coming back. They were safe in the tower, up until the point that there wasn’t anyone left to defend them.
“We have to bring him down. Archers, the left wing! Focus Fire!” That was Alost, level two Martialist. Had he been on the walls the dragon might have been stopped before it reached them. It was like he’d suddenly turned on auto-aim, or given everyone in the group Snap Shot. It wasn’t perfect, but it kept everyone locked onto the same limb instead of scattering their shots against the red hide.
It was coming again, focusing on the middle group and avoiding the one at the center. Both were protected, though Kob’s ability to divert dragon fire or claws was far above Lograve’s. The intent had been to spread out and avoid as many losses to the breath attack as they could. The flaw, now, seemed obvious. But they’d only had minutes to plan!
“Ready! Aim!” Alost was calling out the volley, the back group fully regaining order after the effects of the first, terrible roar.
Wait, the dragon’s left wing, or the one on my left? The crossbow wavered as he debated. Crap, it’s subjective. There wasn’t time to ask. Either wing, just pick one!
“Fire! The left, dammit, the left!” Alost cursed as the volley split its attacks evenly among both wings. The concentrated attack drew the dragon’s attention, at least. Two others in the group had crossbows, while the rest used regular bows of various sizes. Even unenchanted, the weapons managed to puncture the light skin of the wings.
Maybe with enough damage- no, Regeneration, Daniel reminded himself. Only the wounds caused by the crossbow bolts dealt lasting damage on their own. Arrows within powers or greater attributes behind them were pushed out of the dragon’s scales in seconds by the monstrous healing rate. He pressed himself against the wall and closed his eyes when he heard the sound of rushing air. Rorshawd was taking in the breath that would become flame and he didn’t want to see what would come of it.
“Crest!” Daniel felt the heat as he heard the curses.
Opening his eyes, he looked not to the courtyard but to the south. She’s, they’re still alive. That comforted him. Tlara had paused some distance away from the city, dismounting to join Hunter on the ground. Maybe the wyvern was tired? But then why is- Daniel saw it, then. Hope, impossible though it was, there was hope on the horizon.
The scorched courtyard stood in contrast to this. No, scorched didn’t even cover it. There was a pool of melted slag where most of a mage group had been. Lograve’s section had already been scythed, so Rorshawd had targeted others. All were from the garrison, including the other Bard. There was nothing left of them.
What can I do? There was a chance, one chance. The plan to ground the dragon had failed. Gadriel was alive but out of the fight. They’d lost a dozen of their original strength and Rorshawd was wise enough to stay clear of Kob. Still, there was a chance, if they could just keep the dragon distracted. He had Daniel’s powers, but could he see far enough to where Hunter was?
“Guy, reload!” Thomas nudged him with the end of his new bow. “We have to hit the wings! It’s coming back.”
“Eyes.” Daniel turned towards Alost, the one who carried what passed for authority here. “We have to hit the eyes!” He saw the aura swinging around. Another flame breath, or claws this time? Those out in the courtyard were either alone or sheltering under Kob at this point. Another bloodbath by one pass was no longer an option, though that just meant it would take longer to kill them all. There was one chance, and only if they kept the element of surprise.
But how could Daniel explain that? If there was anything still human in him, Rorshawd could understand what he said. Alost was going to ignore him, he could tell. What do I say? What wouldn’t tip him off? “The wings keep healing! If we hit the eyes-”
“Its hearing is as strong as its sight. Left wing, everyone this time! F-“
“It has my powers!” Daniel cut Alost off before the man wasted mana. “Trust me, we need to blind it!”
That got the archer to stop. In that time, someone else died from dragon claws. They had been carried for a time before being torn apart. Thomas was looking at him with disbelieving eyes as if he’d told the Cleric he had terminal cancer. That, and the mixture of expressions ranging from disbelief to hostility from the rest, would have normally shut Daniel up and made him go along with whatever they wanted to do.
That was before flying swarms had tried to eat him, before Tlara had riled whatever small anger was within him into self-righteous indignation, and before Daniel had watched people die right in front of him. To hell with walking the line of other’s expectations and getting caught up in himself from the effort. He was right. They were going to get everyone killed by doing the same wrong thing over and over again. What was the opinion of others worth when weighed against that truth?
Daniel faced the mortals arrayed against him and got mad. It was a way in which he hadn’t broken before, the mine having exhausted all of his fear. Angry tears filled his eyes. That hadn’t happened since he was young, in impotent rage over an unfair world. This world was just as unfair, but Daniel was no longer powerless.
“Daniel…” Thomas said, breaking his habit to underscore whatever he was about to say.
I must look so stupid, Daniel thought. Screw it, I don’t need them. He was resolved on what to do, but emotion would spoil anything he would say. Instead, he brought up his crossbow to the alarm of several inside, pointed at the door, and activated Moment of Clarity. A moment’s thought was spared for Hunter, hoping the ringcat wasn’t caught up in this so far away, before Daniel lined up the most difficult shot he’d attempted yet.
Rorshawd had turned his attention to the foremost group that still retained all of its members. Kob seemed the primary target as the dragon was reaching out to grab the large stone chunks they were using as shields. Dragon biology dictated each eye was located as much on the side of the head as it was on the face. Daniel could only estimate, and do so well, the diameter of the eye that would face him as Rorshawd swooped by. Half, maybe one meter wide. Half a courtyard away too, moving target… His subconscious uselessly commanded his unmoving jaw to grit his teeth.
Daniel wasted three ‘seconds’ staring into Rorshawd’s eye. It couldn’t move, just like his, but still, he wanted to sense if Rorshawd knew what was going on. He had Moment of Clarity same as Daniel, and Hunter was brought into frozen time whenever the ability was used. Even though nothing happened to raise his suspicion, Daniel hurried his thoughts. If Rorshawd was given enough time, he might see what Daniel was doing.
If he’s going for the stone, he’s going to stop to tear it off, he guessed. But not too long or he’ll be open to Kob. Seconds, I have seconds, but the head shouldn’t move separately from how the body moves, right? Unless he sees the shot coming. That neck is long enough to bend. Damn it. Crossbow bolts fired fast, Daniel knew that, but there was no telling how fast the dragon could dodge. And if he uses Moment of Clarity too…
Enough. Daniel would think himself to death if he continued to waste his mana like this. There was no surety, only a feeling of where the dragon’s eye would be for the next few seconds and where it would stay the longest. A hope, as small as the one Daniel so desperately protected, but it was there.
Time resumed its course. People were moving around Daniel, but none would reach him before he fired. Muscles twitched as his body acted on the mind’s calculations, leading the crossbow to where it needed to be. Light flashed over the bolt as he activated Scatter Shot. Then, as the Artificer used Snap Shot and pulled the trigger, several things happened very quickly.
Rorshawd, moving as Daniel predicted, grabbed onto the largest stone and began pulling. The dragon’s head, however, shifted with the wings as they forcefully beat down to generate lift. The entirety of the form still moved up, although the eye was below where Daniel had expected. That was within the ability of Snap Shot’s correction, and the bolt left the crossbow on a true arc.
Then, Rorshawd froze time. The dragon was in disbelief, both in the gall of where he was being targeted and in that it would hit home. A fraction of time was left to change the outcome, for which only a slight adjustment was needed. So what if the bolt hit his face? Rorshawd was a dragon, a rapidly-healing dragon. Blood may get in his eye occasionally, but that was better than being shot in it. Snap Shot could not adjust for unexpected enemy movement, nor do anything once the bolt was in flight. There was no way it could predict the future beyond knowing the momentum of the target. Rorshawd planned to rotate his head ever so slightly, and then focus his next attack on ending Daniel once and for all.
His designated course of action took place the moment time resumed. Halfway to its target, the bolt was now off course. No one on the battlefield could change that now. But, for one observing from very far away, something could be done.
The crossbow bolt skated off of one of the ice crystals Lograve was reforming in the air to protect from flame breath. It was less a ricochet and more of a nudge, just enough to put it back on track. Neither Daniel nor Rorshawd could have planned for that. It might have simply been random chance. Had Daniel been able to read the notification on his phone before it disappeared, he might have thought differently.
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Alert: An allied Ability: Impart Fortune has affected your most recent attack, increasing its Critical Chance and Critical Damage. Source: Creature: Silora Thelonas
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Rorshawd’s eye widened and then bled black as the soft tissue was pierced. The scattered afterimages, normally spread out too far to affect one target, tore into the surrounding area. Even in the instant after the bolt penetrated through the center of the iris to the flesh behind, Regeneration began repairing the damage. The problem was that organs, especially complex organs like the eyes, would not heal as quickly. At lower levels it wouldn’t do even that without a very long recovery time. The dragon howled in pain, a noise still deafening but different from the previous roars. It flew off, clutching part of Kob’s stone armor, before beginning to turn.
“Go shoot the other fucking one,” Daniel’s trembling voice told the others before he went to reload. At least they won’t have to worry about which side to aim for.