– Era of the Wastes, Cycle 219, Season of the Rising Sun, Day 42 –
Terry had heard the scouting reports. They were running out of time. They had a shit excuse for a plan and that was it. Their immovable grid had served them well against the hordes, but as the incident with the Hound had proven, even an unbreakable cage could not prevent all dangers from leaking in.
Terry considered it luck that the Hound had chosen the wrong target to go after. They had identified a few traitors, but naturally had to suspect many more. From that perspective, the information shared by Ruby, the dwarven Thanatos scout leader, should have been a relief. After all, the way she described the counts’ role was something entirely upfront.
Upfront.
A public display of domination.
Another attempt to break down the city’s will to fight. To have the city bend its knee and accept the subjugation by the Lich Kingdoms.
Terry closed his eyes. He did not know what to think of Ruby’s evaluation that he was going to be the enemies’ primary target, even in front of Thiago the Whisperer that contested their rule over the dead and in front of Akemi the leader of the local cult that was the dead’s natural bane.
Terry took a deep breath. The air rattled in his lungs, which apparently had something to do with his accumulated injuries. The burning itch right where his mana channels were located. The sensitive skin of the faint fern-like scars on his body. The pressure behind his eyes.
He did not know if he could do this.
He only knew that he had to try. If he didn’t face the count head on, then the count would lay siege to the city, which meant countless folks dying for nothing. The count had chosen Terry as his target and Terry would have to face the count eventually. The only choice was to do it before or after others had died.
They had discussed the option of letting an elite force face the count together from the beginning, but unless they had a way of pinning the count down, there was nothing stopping the count from spilling the city’s blood out of spite.
How do you pin down someone whose abilities you don’t know? They had arrived at an answer, which was why Terry was walking out alone to face the count.
They had discussed evacuation and abandoning the city, but…
Terry opened his eyes to take in the mass of new posters on the city’s entrance gate that were displaying the names, and sometimes pictures, of the recently deceased. A wall of lament that was ever growing.
Most of the displayed pictures were unfamiliar to Terry, but not all. His eyes involuntarily drifted to the poster displaying the familiar face of Georg – the healer that had followed Terry to investigate a reported anomaly and the man that had died at the hands of the Hound and his traitors.
Terry took a deep breath and let his eyes wander over the remaining posters. Contrary to expectations – despite the siege, or perhaps even because of it – the city’s population was growing again. By the minute, new people arrived to join the fight.
The growing population masked the victims already dead, but this wall of lament displayed the many victims for all to see.
Terry knew that some people would never leave this city. It was their home. Or, worse, it was their purpose. Looking at the unfamiliar names on the posters, he wasn’t sure if he had any right to ask anyone to flee anymore. Some of those names were only there because they had flocked to the city after hearing about them making a stand.
Because they had grown hopeful after victory.
Looking at the printed reflections of the dead, Terry felt like a fraud. An imposter peddling a hope he simply couldn’t deliver on. And if he couldn’t deliver, then what had been the point? Wasn’t false hope just the same as lying? All those lives for nothing?
Terry inhaled deeply to shake off the constricting feeling in his chest and he allowed his intrusive thoughts to pass. He did not know how to do better, but he did know the path he wanted to take. He knew the person he wanted to become. He knew what choice that person would make.
Focus on the things I can do before figuring out how to do more.
Terry clenched his fists and left the graveyard. He knew the plan sucked. It somehow combined the worst parts of his worst plans so far. The worst parts of his past years even.
Even so, it was a plan.
A sucky plan.
“But something I can do,” stressed Terry to himself.
***
Terry was stretching on the grass plains in front of the city. Their scouts had been thorough, but even the worst scout could have told him what was coming. The count wasn’t trying to hide. That would go against his whole purpose.
The reports had stated human male, tall and muscular, powerful vampire, wearing no discernible magic equipment except for two scimitar handles. Just the handles.
Terry felt out the approaching signature with grim resolve. Again, a vampire. Much more mana than even the Hound before. Unusually pronounced blood-aspect, even for a vampire. Terry could only sigh. Even if their plan worked perfectly, this would be a pain. Literally.
Somehow, Terry had turned into the city’s symbol of defiance. Of course, that would cause him no end of trouble.
Terry wondered if the vampire always used his current minimal equipment as a display of overwhelming power.
‘Winning isn’t enough. You have to win with style to crush the opponent’s spirit. Why punch if you can slap him to death? Why use two arms if you can win easily with one?’
Terry had no hopeful delusions that the count’s display was simply like martialist bluffs. He knew that it took confidence to face a battle under-equipped.
After his experience in the Thanatos Proving Grounds, Terry hoped to never be forced into a battle without his proper equipment again. To imagine a fighter that wasn’t fazed by such a prospect in the slightest was already gnawing on his confidence.
Evidently, the count did not have to worry about similar limitations as Terry.
However, a corner of Terry’s mind pointed out another possibility. There was a suspicious lack of solid armor pieces. Even the scimitar handles indicated a distinct aversion to relying on solid material.
If that equipment had not been selected specifically for dealing with the Immovable Object spell, then it would be quite a coincidence.
If anything, they appeared to be overcompensating.
Did they hear about the battle against the mushroom-infested elves? I wish I could display that level of power on my own…
Terry forced down the flood of self-belittling thoughts invading his mind. He had to work with what he had instead of focusing on what he hadn’t. He couldn’t mirror the count’s confidence.
Even though Terry had intentionally handicapped his own equipment choice as well, he could not display that openly. That would defeat his whole part in the plan.
Someone had to pin the count. Who but him? The Whisperer? The martialist elders?
The city definitely had other powerful defenders, but power came in many varieties. The Whisperer wasn’t one for close combat. His threat level derived from his death whispers and just like most mages, he preferred ranged spells. The martialists tended to revel in close combat, but they would be hard-pressed to nullify the magic of a mage, just like most mana cultivators would not be able to keep up beyond a few disruption discharges.
How do you pin down someone whose abilities you don’t know?
You simply have to give them what they want. If they can see their desire in sight, why would they leave?
Terry straightened himself to greet the unwelcome visitor.
Damn, the bastard is even taller than Chadwick.
“Amusing,” sneered the count, who was towering over Terry like a dragon in front of a snake. “Have you come to surrender? It seems we’ve underestimated your intelligence or overestimated your strength. I expected more.”
Terry considered the potential benefits of drawing out the conversation, but in the end, the disadvantages didn’t outweigh the advantages. The others couldn’t start until the vampire’s senses were nullified.
Terry charged forward and threw the first punch. The slight burst to accentuate his movement made his mana channels burn painfully but he clenched his teeth to ignore the pain.
Clenched teeth are a good idea when fighting anyway.
The count dodged and swiped at Terry with extended claws. They exchanged a few moves and then the count stepped backwards with a lightness on his feet that only levitation could bring. “Well well well. Aren’t you going to draw your blades?”
“Against a blood-gifted vampire?” Terry snorted. “Sure, I enjoy wasting my time.” He squared his shoulders with more confidence than he felt. “Why don’t you draw your own blades first?”
“I see…” The count narrowed his eyes. “But you seem to be mistaken. I’m not here for a fair duel. I’m here to prove a point. To teach a lesson to those that defy our advance.”
“I can be a slow learner,” said Terry flatly. Took me years to learn my first spell.
The count drew his blade-less blades and channeled mana into the empty scimitar handles to summon a curved mana blade that emphasized the poison aspect. He dashed towards Terry while baring his fangs.
Terry swiftly smashed a sequence of divine hammers into the vampire’s grip while meeting the charge head on. He didn’t like it, but he had to get close. The sudden impact of divine mana had loosened the count’s grip for just an instant. Not enough for the vampire to actually lose the weapons.
Not without the next step.
At this distance, there were few magic items that Terry was unable to overpower with his Immovable Object spell. Even though the magic sword handles were well shielded, they did not stand a chance against his compressed disruption grinder. The moment the shielding was broken was the instant the handle transfixed.
The next divine hammer forced the vampire to let the transfixed blades go and before Terry’s eyes met those of his opponent, the inscriptions inside the poison-blade summoning scimitar handles were already crumbling under the assault of unceasing unstoppable shifts.
Terry could not detect any worry in the count’s red eyes, which was why he felt the need to push him further by taunting the count with his own words. “I expected more. What was the point of even bringing them?” He let the destroyed magic weapons fall to the ground and walked further to the side. If he could not inspire worry or fear, then he needed resentment and hatred if possible.
Something more personal to add to the count’s role.
Every little bit to make the count focus on Terry would help their plan.
“Are you trying to distract me from the spellwork being shaped?” The count sneered. “How boring. I’m disappointed that the rumored ‘Guardian’ is too much of a weakling to face me on his own. You can spare yourself the embarrassment. No need to distract me. I have no need to fear a few Raise Wall and Shape Earth spells.”
Pity but expected.
“I do need help, but this is just to prepare the proper setting,” said Terry nonchalantly. Inwardly, he sighed at having to choose his words so carefully once again. Another experience he had hoped to avoid in the future. He spread his arms while the earth rose all around the two combatants. “Or are you scared of the dark?”
“Dark?” The count watched the process with amusement. “Harden Earth?” He burst out laughing. “Are your friends preparing a grave for you?”
When the earth closed above the two, a pair of red faintly glowing irises were fixed on Terry while the hidden face contorted in a sneer. “The mighty Guardian of the Freedom Cooperative is settling for sharing a grave? Sorry, not sorry, but you’ll have to die alone. What’s the point? To hide your shameful defeat?”
Terry wordlessly transfixed the rock around them. For as long as he maintained the spells, nothing would break down those walls.
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The count narrowed his eyes. “Your friends have locked down the shadows here.” Rage entered his tone. “Pitiful worms, do you expect I would have to escape from here? The audacity of challenging a vampire to a fight in the dark.” His eyes turned as black as the surrounding darkness but before he could unleash any more spells, he felt the suffocating sensation of mana suppression.
Terry had set up an intense disruption domain. The limited area and stationary nature of their prepared battlefield played to his advantages. The prickly sensation in his mind told him that unstoppable shifts were assaulting the walls, but with how thick they had prepared them, there was no worry of grinding through by accident.
Both the count and Terry were charging at each other. One relying on his vampiric night vision. The other relying on the mana touch of his oscillating mana. Right before their first exchange, Terry unleashed an intense radiating light from his inscribed glove.
The blinding intensity burned the vampire’s dark-accustomed eyes and Terry’s powerful fists landed where it hurt.
While the vampire was still reeling, Terry continued pressing his advantage with his own eyes closed. He used both hands and his full body weight to force the count’s head down and greet Terry’s knee.
He stopped the radiating light to conserve mana, but never for long. He needed the advantage of his own blind fighting style while sabotaging that of his enemy. He also needed to direct the attention of the count’s senses.
What followed was a long and brutal exchange of blows. Terry knew that in order to kill a vampire, he had to damage the vampire’s circulatory system quicker than it could recover, but with a vampire at the level of the count, that was a high ask.
One reason that Terry was hesitant to use his blades was that they were more a risk to himself than to the blood-gifted count. A stab to the heart would not be enough to kill the vampire. Even cutting off a limb would not be a permanent injury. For Terry, by contrast, such a blow could be as permanent as death.
Unfortunately, that disadvantage limited both his weapon use as well as his spell use. An immovable needle would not be enough to get rid of the count. There was no other way for Terry to face the count than the vulgar brutality of hand-to-hand combat.
He exploited every opportunity to let the count’s blows collide with his armor’s septimum turned immovable, but the more they sped up, the less opportunities presented themselves.
As diminished as he felt, Terry still gave it his all. He burst through aching mana channels. He accepted blows to dish out four. He repeatedly stomped the vampire into immovable walls. He cracked bones to break limbs. He tore at the count with a vicious ferociousness.
Unfortunately, Terry’s own recovery was limited by the spell activation of the fundamental healing spells in his chest armor while the count shrugged off wound and injury with little but his innate nature.
Terry brutally broke his opponent down piece by piece, only to feel the count recover just as quickly. The vampire’s mana was drained, but the same applied to Terry, who had to maintain his spells, his domain, his bursts, and repeatedly heal himself on top.
Blow by blow.
Paying blood with blood.
Like feral beasts.
Already the earthen grave was painted crimson and their steps landed on wet sticky rock that reeked of iron. The gruesome sight remained unseen through the looming darkness of rock that no light could penetrate.
No light except the blinding flashes emitted from Terry’s glove.
The longer they fought, the less human they appeared. The count that was overcome with bloodlust. The Guardian that was overcome with desperate defiance. Terry knew he had to hold on longer. They only had one shot. Any mistake and the count would go on a rampage of death before they could claw back another chance.
First, their battle continuously increased in intensity. The blows and kicks were thrown faster and faster. The vampire eventually stopped any covert casting attempts and gave in to his bestial nature. Terry eventually stopped his attempts to exploit the Immovable Object spell in close combat.
They knew it wouldn’t work.
They knew it wouldn’t matter.
They knew this battle wouldn’t be settled in an elegant manner.
After an endless parade of bloody blows, the battle slowly slowed down. Both were panting and increasingly pressed for mana.
Terry was breathing rattling breaths. Despite the burning pain he felt in his mana channels, he was proud. Even though he had started with a disadvantage, he had matched the count blow for blow – putting his advantage in mana foundation against the vampire’s blood power.
What he had lacked in blood-aspected and vampiric regeneration, he had compensated for with skilled healing imprint use and mana regeneration.
What he had lacked in bestial body strength, he had compensated for with powerful, perfectly timed burst techniques and his mana pool.
Unfortunately, pressing his mana foundation advantage and skills only took Terry so far. His improved physique allowed him to stretch the limits of his body beyond what he had previously thought possible and face a powerful opponent older than himself, but not without its price.
He had started the battle still injured and under the pressure of battling beyond his limits, the injuries worsened by the second.
Terry dared to push it further.
Further.
Until he did not dare to do more and jumped back while panting heavily.
No more.
Terry still had his eyes closed. He felt the count panting just as heavily. He felt the count’s mana and took a deep breath.
This has to be enough.
“What a pitiful plan,” sneered the count, who had noticed Terry’s pause. “Are you done deluding yourself? You against me? I don’t need spellwork to crush an ant like you.”
Terry smiled mirthlessly.
Who said you’re just facing me?
***
“I still can’t believe he handed that to you,” muttered Guillermo while climbing up. “Of all people.”
“Oy, what are you playing at?” barked Rafael who was climbing in the top position. “The great me is the most reliable of all trustworthy people there are!”
“Sure, you are,” grumbled Edmund, who was climbing third in line. He couldn’t believe he had agreed to this plan.
“Fuck me, it’s cold up here,” complained Rafael.
“You have fur, you pitiful wimp,” jeered one of the hunters from below.
“Oy!” Rafael stopped climbing and glared down. “Which weasel tired of living said that?!”
“Shut up and climb,” growled Intira, who had flown up next to Rafael.
“You dare?!” growled Rafael.
“Oy, we’re busy here!” Guillermo slapped the felan’s calf. “Remember who we’re doing this for.”
“Damned imbeciles,” grumbled Rafael and faced upwards to continue climbing. “Forget whom he handed the thing to. I can’t believe he can use it on his own.”
“Sucks a lot of mana,” agreed Guillermo.
“No kidding,” interjected Ruby, who was flying next to Intira. “Takes ten people with converter spells to let everyone supply their mana.”
“Probably doesn’t always use this much,” interjected Jasmine, who was helping others along their airborne grid where they gathered everyone. She might not be the strongest mana user, but she would add whatever she could. She could stomach the thin air better than others and she would sacrifice every drop off her mana if it helped their Flower Protector.
“Is that so?” Ruby puckered her lips.
“Why couldn’t we just stay down?” complained a city guard.
“The higher up, the more power,” explained a hunter.
“Then why couldn’t they fly up without us?”
“The more mana, the more power.”
“Shut up and supply your mana,” barked Hector from the side.
“We have to fulfill Senior’s expectations,” muttered a martialist elder solemnly and her disciples nodded while pushing their mana into the sacred artifact.
“Are you sure you’re up for this?” asked Intira with a skeptical gaze towards Rafael.
Contrary to his usual posturing, Rafael did not reply immediately. “Yes. The Heavenly Wolf won’t let me down.” His friend had given him wings and that was why he would be able to help his friend now.
Rafael realized that he was holding a priceless treasure in his paws, but the thought of stealing it didn’t even cross his mind. His friend had put his trust in him. He would not betray that trust.
Not again.
“Let’s do this.” Rafael activated the next mana layer in the gigantic orange pole while his own mana resonated with the ambient mana of the realm. He would prove that the Heavenly Wolf could outrun even the heavens.
***
When the heavens roared with unprecedented fury, the whole city trembled.
Only a cube of rock remained immovable among the quaking earth. In sharp contrast to the calm cube, Terry burst forward with renewed intensity to bombard the vampire with close combat attacks.
Terry had felt the vampire flinch and that was all he needed to know that their prepared attack was hidden no longer. Their dark battlefield had blocked the count’s vision. The disruption field had obstructed the count’s mana sense and sight. The immovable rock had blocked both sound and shock waves.
However, the heaven’s fury of such a magnitude was not easily hidden. The count had noticed something and now the crucial moment had come.
They had discussed how to best go about the attack. If they wanted to kill a powerful vampire, they had to overpower his regeneration. Fire might wear the vampire down with time, but for their initial attack, they needed something fast and vicious.
Fast and vicious.
Like furious lightning.
Lightning was among the most difficult attacks to disrupt or evade and that was even more true for the heaven’s fury combination. Unless you had an immovable object, lightning of such intensity was tough to block.
The real deciding factor in favor of the heavens fury was the option of having everyone combine their mana in the king spear through converter spells. One single attack that carried all of their hopes and vengeance.
Terry waited until the last possible moment to undo the spell on their rock ceiling. He had to allow some time for the earth mages to turn rock to earth and reshape it for an opening. He was about to protect himself with immovable ice like they had planned when he spotted the count’s eager gaze now that there was light from above.
The count was waiting for a gap in the disruption domain.
Terry resolved himself and dropped any attempts to use his ice imprints that would not work through the perpetual disruption. He saw the count’s gaze change and then the vampire leaped up to escape the rock hole.
Actions.
Terry burst forward and grabbed the vampire’s feet before he could escape. He felt himself being pulled upwards by the vampire’s levitation and he transfixed the septimum scales in his armor.
There would be no escape for the count.
Nor for him.
Terry circulated the lightning resistance technique while knowing it was ridiculously insufficient for what was going to come.
This was not what they had planned.
Of course, their plan had sucked.
Terry could see the large resonance of a white winged wolf storming through the sky. He could see the felan martialist that was leading the lightning with a blue-green spearhead in his claws.
He could see the hesitation in his friend’s eyes and nodded.
Better to commit fully to a sub-optimal option than to be indecisive under time pressure. Terry had already prepared himself for such an outcome the moment he had walked through the city gates.
As a last ditch effort, he left a slight gap in his disruption domain and summoned layers of divine mana close to himself.
A blinding light that burned the eyes.
A blast that blew through eardrums and shook the air.
Scorching pain accompanied by the stench of burned blood and flesh.
Darkness descended onto his mind.
Nothingness.
Silence.
***
Rafael circled around with bloodshot eyes. He was not done. His friend had fallen and he must not stop. He forced his mana with all the rage that reverberated through his mind. His acupoints and dantian unleashed the fury of his mana to redirect the Heavenly Wolf to bear its blood-thirsty fangs.
The shape that slowly emerged from the large puddle of blood was torn apart by the vicious white wolf resonance before the count could open his eyes again.
Rafael roared and turned around with glowing eyes and claws. A haze of mana escaped his every breath. He saw the charred figure remaining on the ground. The figure that was his first real friend in life. With nothing but rage remaining in his heart, he charged forward once more. He would tear at the enemy until his mana and body would give out.
In all his rage, Rafael had already let go of the king spear and he dove into a sea of ignited brightfire.
The Circle of the Bright Lady led by Akemi was adding what they could while focusing their attention on healing the fallen Guardian.
They could not afford to infuse the fire with the holy aspect while the charred figure was in range because it would disturb regular healing spellwork and even the blind could see that the Guardian required every healer available. Brightfire that harmed the undead while leaving the living unharmed was the best compromise for large area of effect abilities in this situation.
Martialists that revered the Arcanian Returnee darted over the battlefield to tear at the count and to protect the Venerable Elder that was testing them.
Mana cultivators eager to avenge the fallen Guardian were storming the battlefield to unleash all their mana in the form of disruption discharges and refuse the count any chance to recover with spellwork.
Mages that had been forced to hold back while the Guardian was acting as the symbol of their defense finally unleashed the pent up hatred and desire for payback. They had seen the Guardian’s sacrifice. It would not be wasted. Not while they were still drawing mana.
Before the king spear had reached the ground, a hand turned visible and grabbed at it. A young man in white-golden robes was grinning with malicious satisfaction. “The Third Staff of the Monkey King is finally mine!”
Shen’s face contorted with vengeful bloodlust and he ordered his invisible allies. “Make sure the Arcanian is dead! Kill that heretical scum!” Before the situation calmed down, he would get his revenge for the Arcanian’s disrespect.
Shen had known that the Lich Kingdoms’ new expansion was an opportunity. While they battled his old enemy, he was left the winner. Patience was the best currency to pay grudges. He smirked while muttering. “The mantis is stalking a cicada, unaware of the oriole behind itself…”
A blade suddenly stabbed from the shadows and separated Shen’s head from his body. While the head was falling down with eyes wide open from shock, the hand wielding the glaive from the shadows became visible. When the woman in dark green robes turned fully visible, she scoffed: “Truer words have never been spoken. Took them right out of my mouth.”
Chalita took grim pleasure in seeing the treacherous worm dead on the ground. She had clawed her way back from the dead to get her revenge. When the others had informed her of the Arcanian’s battle, she knew that Shen would try to exploit the situation. What better opportunity for her to exploit Shen’s greed to achieve her own revenge?
“You dare!” Martialists in white-golden robes stared with horror at the beheaded Shen. “You killed the young master! This means war!”
“Way ahead of you.” Chalita presented the blade of her glaive and sneered. All around, the members of her Shadowed Forest Sect emerged from the shadows. They had allowed her to personally get revenge, but she had not come alone.
“The war started when your young master dared to take our daughter’s life,” growled a man while the woman next to him already darted forth to cleave the members of the Nine-Faced Fox Sect apart. Her daughter might have settled her grudge, but her own was still to be repaid with blood. All the blood of that sect would not be enough to quench her thirst.
Chalita grinned slightly. Shen had only brought his bodyguards while she had brought nearly her whole sect. Revenge between major sects was not something that could be half-assed.
Her grin vanished the moment her eyes found the charred figure surrounded by frantic healers. She had prioritized her revenge over protecting the benefactor that had allowed her this chance. She could not help but feel a tinge of guilt.
But guilt never helped anyone. Chalita set her eyes on the struggling count. She had chosen not to protect her benefactor but she was resolved to avenge him with all she had and her sect would follow her example. She did not care about the fate of this city, but the Kingdom’s count had to die for his offense. Adding their power to the others, that vampire did not stand a chance in his current state.
While Chalita was charging forward, she spotted a masked martialist in robes the color of ash. The martialist was unleashing a mana resonance of a golden crow with incomparable purity. Purity that only two people could summon as far as she knew. The Crow’s Reincarnation and the rumored Crow’s Ghost.
There had been rumors about a ghost that haunted the Blazing Sun Sect and rooted out those that had betrayed the Crow’s Reincarnation in either past or present. The ghost’s identity came as no surprise to Chalita. After all, she knew that the rumors of Annabelle’s death had been greatly exaggerated. That battle style was definitely Annabelle’s, even if it displayed an untypical ferociousness.
Seeing the Ghost’s wrathful battle was all Chalita needed to know that she had not been the only one to prioritize her personal vendetta over supporting their benefactor. She had not been the only one lurking in the dark with specific targets in mind.
***