Chapter 278.5 - Prelude of Storm V
A pair of cloaked figures dashed through the night. Hand in hand, they swam as fast as they could, darting from building to building and shadow to shadow as they desperately fought to escape their enemies’ sights.
It was a losing battle. The so-called police force had caught them in an encirclement, the noose tightening with every passing moment. Each step taken was one that only led closer to their eventual capture and subsequent demise. Still, the pair pressed on. They couldn’t quite best the hunters, but they didn’t need to. Their ship would arrive in another two weeks, and they had all the necessary funds and supplies secured. To escape and lie low was to emerge victorious.
On paper, it was easy. They had done it a dozen times already, but the Cadrians were slowly learning their tricks. And with them, the city’s secrets as well.
Case in point, the men that stepped out in front of them. The alleyway that they had entered was invisible from both above and below, and yet, their pursuers had perfectly traced their location.
Using their combined strengths, the three policemen threw a large weighted net. Fae steel was the main material used in its construction. It was a durable metal, tougher than cast iron and more flexible than a spider’s silk. Its magic-resistant properties made it perfect for catching wary unicorns. But Nymphetel was not a unicorn. Her crimson blade flashed through the air, shredding steel and soldier alike as she forced her way past the three-man defense. Trails of fresh blood leaked into the water. Dark, syrupy clots, exposed by the light of the moon.
Her partner cast a spell in the meantime, creating a current that lifted them up into the open seas. Their centaurian pursuers were unable to keep up. Their soaked wings and heavy bodies bogged them down and held them back. But where their bodies were lacking, their weapons certainly were not. A veritable storm of projectiles cut through the sea as if to make up the difference. Each disproportionate blade was fully equipped with the size, shape, and function of a harpoon. To be hit by such a bolt would be unfortunate to say the least. Amputation was the only way to escape a contest of strength, and not every body part was so easily removed.
Charlotte was already running on fumes. They had just returned from exploring a dungeon when they were suddenly ambushed, but seeing the deadly projectiles, she rattled her bones and squeezed out another spell. The magical pulse she fired through the water transformed into a submarine whirlpool. It swallowed the arrows whole, tangling their ropes as they were introduced to the spiralling waves.
Another current whisked them away in the meantime. It sped them not towards the surface, but deeper into the city and sea. It was only beneath the waves that they stood a chance. Fighting on land meant dealing with fliers, and neither of them had the necessary tools to avoid their diving strikes.
It was not just their wings that the marine environment sought to deny. Centaurs were far from hydrodynamic; though they could easily cross rivers if they stayed afloat, their powerful legs were hindered by their ridiculous shapes when they were fully submerged. It was a glaring problem second only to the lack of air. Their lower halves required an excess of it to function, far more than what a standard magical respirator could readily provide.
That was why their pursuers had carried stone slates on their backs, heavy-duty artifacts that would provide them with all the oxygen their two pairs of lungs so desperately demanded.
“Do you think we lost them?” Nymn spoke aloud as she settled in an alley, her back to the wall and her breathing apparatus fogged up with hot air. The one she carried was the standard model, a thin grey cloth that covered the bottom half of her face. If not for the magical embroidery weaved into its edges, it would have looked no different from an ordinary mask.
“I think so,” said Charlotte. Her voice came not from her fleshless throat, but the stone phylactery that served as her core. “We should give them a bit of a runaround.” She tightened her bony fingers around Nymn’s hand. “They’ll figure out the safehouse’s location if we don’t.”
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“Good idea,” said the elf, as she scanned their surroundings. Normally, they would have mixed themselves into the crowd and wandered home, but even with many sea creatures still active at night, the oceans were too empty for them to blend in. After all, it simply wasn’t all that difficult to pick out an elf and a lich from a school of fish and shrimp.
Grimacing, Nymn stretched her legs and began to swim, but warned by her warrior instinct, she backed off just in time to avoid a massive bolt. Even bigger than any of the others fired her way, the whale-hunting harpoon completely destroyed the wall on impact. The fish inside the stained-glass building screamed in terror, but the assailant paid them no mind. Returning the projectile to her shieldlance with a flick of the wrist, its wielder entered the alley with a pompous grin. There was pride in her steps. Though she looked no older than the average heifer, the pony-sized predator was a true seasoned veteran.
Nymn knew her name. She was Fausta, Fausta Silvanus, one of Pollux’s most deadly elites and a veteran of a dozen wars. Much like Nymphetel, she had been taken under the duke’s wing and trained. The key difference? The pony had successfully completed the ten-year regimen, while her elven counterpart had survived no more than two.
Gulping, she tried to push Charlotte away, to encourage her to run, but the lich did no such thing. She tightened her grip on her staff instead. And after waiting for enough of her mana to return, called upon the oceans for aid.
Alas, no mere current could deter the pedigreed warrior. Walking it off with a shrug, Fausta drew her weapon and raised her hands. “Surrender, and you will be treated with mercy. Resist, and we’ll beat you black and blue.” Her voice was somewhat muffled by the oxygen mask resting atop her face, but her words rang loud and clear.
Scowling, the blackroot elf drew a blade from her waist and closed the distance. She dashed right up to the pony and delivered a full-forced swing, but it was easily evaded. The veteran swerved past the attack and countered with a spinning kick.
Nymn pushed herself off the ground and backed away, but she was unable to escape. Fausta's hooves dug straight into her gut, shattering two of her ribs. Enduring the pain, she threw up her blade and caught the horse’s shieldlance right before it dug into her side. The two weapons made contact, only for the swordman’s to snap. Blade and elf alike were broken apart and sent crashing through a wall of glass.
Gritting her teeth, she forced the wounds to recover. Her broken bones bit at her flesh as they were pushed into place, and her muscles cried as their fibres were forcibly connected. It was a process that only pained her to endure. But it was also what allowed her to emerge from the rubble unscathed. Her breaths were short and shallow and her heart was pumping erratically, too gripped with fear to maintain its regular beat. Frankly, she was shocked that she had even survived their first exchange, accepting the outcome only as she recalled that Pollux had no use for her in death.
A shiver running up her spine, she drew a second sword from her waist and took up a stance. She charged as soon as the centaur entered her range, blasting through the water with enough force to superheat the pocket behind her. Though her cloak didn’t help her speed, the wetsuit beneath it certainly did. It was not just another set of clothing, but a specially crafted garment pillaged from a dungeon nearby. And by channelling her magic through its threads, she had boosted her velocity threefold.
Still, it wasn’t enough, Fausta caught her midcharge with a light slap of the lance, batting her through another building with a lazy swipe of the blade.
Charlotte finished another spell right as her partner ate a second hit. With a hefty swing of the staff, she crafted a dozen watery hands and flung them at the centaur’s face. But though they were completely invisible, not a single one of the projectiles was able to land on target. Fausta dodged them with minimal movements, blocking only those too inconvenient for her to evade.
She bore down on the skeleton right after, dashing toward her with her shieldlance dragging along the ocean floor. She was going for the kill; her blade was aimed at the lich’s jewel, ready to eliminate her once and for all. And she was moving at a speed that made it impossible for Charlotte to react.
Bursting from the rubble, Nymn inserted herself between them, taking the hit with her stomach as she swung her own blade to deliver a haphazard counter.
But perhaps as was expected, the elf’s desperate attempt only ended in failure. Fausta caught the shortsword in her free hand, her gauntlet shielding the prehensile appendage from the weapon’s sharpened edge.
Nymn released her weapon with a click of the tongue and quickly bolted in the other direction. It was a swift retreat, but not swift enough. Fausta kicked her to the floor and grabbed her wrists, effortlessly suppressing her with her free hand. She looked just about ready to take her in, but a watery blade detonated her oxygen tank before she could complete the arrest.
Charlotte grabbed ahold of her lover’s hand in the chaos, and summoning up one last bit of energy, swept them off into the abyssal night.