Chapter 50
Warriors
In the midst of the unfolding chaos, as Lyria swiftly cast a barrier spell to shield herself from the imminent threat, the woman's sudden, lethal kick revealed her true, non-human nature. The binding spell that Zara had subtly woven into the air earlier came into effect, restraining the woman's arms and momentarily halting her assault. Her frustrated curse, "Fuck you!" was a stark deviation from her previous feigned vulnerability, marking the escalation of the confrontation.
Adom's focus shifted skyward as a brilliant flare erupted above them, its light rivaling that of the sun. Originating from the upper reaches of a nearby tree, it was undoubtedly Enolar's doing. The flare's magic, a sophisticated interplay of essentia manipulation and rune technology, served a singular purpose: the negation of concealment magics. Adom was familiar with such devices, having encountered them in the tumultuous days of his past life. During wartime, magic cancellation flares were a strategic countermeasure against assassins and spies, illuminating the hidden and revealing the unseen.
The principle behind the flare's function was grounded in the core tenets of essentia theory and rune manipulation. Runes, acting as conduits and manipulators of essentia in the used device, could be configured to disrupt the natural flow of magical energies in their vicinity. This particular canceler likely contained a complex array of runes designed to emit a broad-spectrum pulse of essentia, calibrated to interfere with the wavelengths at which most concealment spells operated. The result was an immediate and forceful dispersion of illusion and stealth magics, rendering them ineffective.
The flare's brilliance unveiled the hidden adversaries, their numbers and positions now laid bare before the group. Adom's quick count identified more than twenty assailants, their intentions clear as they emerged from the shadows. The strategic deployment of the flare proved Enolar's foresight and tactical acumen, a preemptive strike to level the playing field.
Bruni's laughter, a hearty, resonant sound, cut through the tension. "Haha, good job, elf! Now come to me, ya fucking dogs!" His challenge, thrown with the ease of a seasoned warrior, was a rallying cry to his comrades and a taunt to their hidden adversaries.
The gankers, their element of surprise lost to the brilliance of Enolar's flare, were visibly rattled. Their muttered curses filled the air, a discordant symphony to their frustration. The woman, still struggling against the bindings and Borgen's unwavering hold, issued a venomous command. "Kill them! Rip their fucking guts out!" Her rage was palpable, a tangible force that seemed to fuel her relentless assault.
Borgen, unfazed by her fury, retorted with a mix of humor and reprimand. "Now, now, lady, those are quite harsh words for the people who tried to save you, eh?" His casual demeanor, in stark contrast to her rage, only served to inflame her further. "Shut the fuck up, I'm gonna take your giant head" she spat, her threats intermingled with futile kicks.
"Well, my head's pretty small compared to an actual giant, but hey, we'll see about that," Borgen shot back, his voice steady, a calm amidst the storm of her wrath.
Meanwhile, Bruni, Jace, and Zara prepared to meet the charge of the gankers head-on. Bruni, ever the instigator, proposed a wager with a gleam in his eye. "Hey, let's make a bet, 5000 cauris for the one who kills the most of these bastards."
Jace's chuckle, a sound laced with both amusement and challenge, filled the air. "Bruni, you know you won't win this." His words, a playful jab at the dwarf's bravado, were met with a confident retort.
"And who else would, if not me?" Bruni shot back, his axes at the ready, a smirk playing on his lips.
Zara, silent until now, joined the banter with cool confidence. "Me, of course. I only take cash, by the way." Her declaration, devoid of any bravado, was a simple statement of fact, her focus razor-sharp as she prepared to unleash her magical prowess on the encroaching foes.
As the battle erupted, Lyria swiftly enveloped Adom in a protective barrier, mistaking his observational stance for vulnerability. Adom, appreciating her concern with a nod and a murmured "thank you," remained a spectator, conserving his strength for the looming challenges of the Ka'ui orcs and the dungeon's depths. His focus was now on the spectacle before him, a violent ballet reminiscent of the epic confrontations of his past.
The Triarch formation, a testament to the group's tactical acumen, became the epicenter of the clash. Bruni, Jace, and Zara, bound by an unspoken synergy, moved as one—a lethal entity with multiple striking points.
Bruni, with his axes, was a whirlwind of destruction. Each swing was a masterful blend of power and precision, his blades singing through the air to cleave flesh and shatter bone. The metallic scent of blood filled the air as he laughed, tallying his kills with a boisterous "That's one for me!" His laughter, a dark melody amidst the cacophony of battle, underscored the grim joy he found in the fray.
Jace, in stark contrast to Bruni's brute force, was an embodiment of finesse and speed. His swordplay was a fluid dance, each strike delivered with surgical precision. The gankers, underestimating his lithe form, found themselves outmatched as his blade whispered death, slicing through vital points with an ease that belied the strength behind each thrust. The swiftness of his movements, a blur to the untrained eye, left Adom contemplating the depth of Jace's skill.
Zara, the sorceress of their trio, wove spells with deadly grace. Her incantations, a symphony of destruction, unleashed havoc upon their foes. Arcane bolts and searing beams of light arced through the air, each finding its mark with unerring accuracy. The ground around her crackled with magical energy, her spells leaving nothing but ash and silence in their wake.
From the shadows, Enolar's presence was felt more than seen. The occasional glint of light, the faint sound of a trigger, and another ganker would fall, a precise shot ending their charge. His position ever-changing, he was the unseen specter of death, picking off targets with the cold efficiency of a seasoned sniper.
The fight was a maelstrom of violence, a chaotic symphony where each participant played their part with lethal proficiency. The Triarch formation, a dynamic fortress of offense and defense, repelled and struck with a rhythm born of countless battles. Blood soaked the ground, painting the serene lakeside in hues of crimson and despair.
Bruni's voice, a constant in the tumult, counted each kill with a mix of glee and challenge, "Four down, ha! Who's next?" His count, a macabre scorecard, punctuated the battle's relentless pace.
Soon enough, Bruni's laughter boomed across the battlefield as he tallied his sixth kill, his axes moving with a deadly grace that belied their brutal purpose. Each strike was a lethal ballet, his weapons slicing through the air to find their mark in flesh and bone, leaving a trail of destruction in their wake.
Jace, not to be outdone, demonstrated a finesse that contrasted sharply with Bruni's ferocity. His latest opponent, a ganker caught in a desperate plea for mercy, found no reprieve. Jace's sword, swift and merciless, delivered a clean beheading, the ganker's body collapsing in a heap, his blood seeping into the earth. "That's four for me..." Jace declared, a grim satisfaction in his voice.
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Bruni's challenge rang out, "Hahaha, how many did you get, Zara?" even as he wrenched his axe from the skull of a fallen enemy. Zara's response was calm, measured, "Eight," she stated, her spells having reaped a deadly toll on their assailants, each incantation a death sentence executed with chilling precision.
The sudden flight of a ganker, a desperate attempt to escape the carnage, was abruptly ended by Enolar's expert marksmanship. Two shots rang out, one finding its home in the ganker's spine, the other in his lefteye, a frightening demonstration of Enolar's lethal accuracy. Materializing from his vantage point, Enolar announced, "I got ten."
Bruni's exasperation was palpable, "For fuck's sake, you have long-range combat style, how is that fair?!" The age-old debate among warriors, the balance of melee and ranged combat, surfaced even amidst the bloodshed.
Jace's chuckle, a light note in the heavy air, accompanied his words, "There we go again."
Enolar's retort was swift, "Lose gracefully, dwarf."
Zara, ever the competitor, simply stated, "I'll win next time," her gaze already scanning the battlefield for the next threat.
With her allies vanquished and avenues of escape closed, the woman found herself ensnared by Borgen's group, their encircling formation reminiscent of predators cornering their prey. Borgen's voice broke through the tension. "Just stop and surrender," he urged, revealing his knowledge of the deadly contingency Adom came to realize she harbored—a suicide spell rune etched within her being, a secret unveiled by Lyria's discerning eyes. His proposal was clear: surrender, have the rune removed, and face the authorities, a path that promised an end to the immediate bloodshed.
The woman's response was visceral, her desperation manifesting as tears, her voice laced with despair and defiance. "What for? So they could behead me there? What would that change?" Her plea was a stark reflection of her predicament, caught in a web of her own making, facing the inevitability of death, whether by her hand or another's.
Borgen's attempt to offer solace was abruptly severed by her outburst, "Your people killed my brothers! You think I'll fucking let that go?" Her words were a raw expression of rage and grief, a testament to the deep scars left by loss and vengeance.
Bruni's retort was unsparing, a harsh acknowledgment of the brutal reality they all faced. "You and your brothers deserve whatever the fuck is about to happen to you." His words, devoid of empathy, underscored the merciless nature of their world, where actions and consequences were often measured in blood.
It was then, with a calmness that belied the gravity of her words, that the woman revealed the dark secret she harbored.
"You all seem so fucking composed, considering," she began, her voice steady yet laced with an undercurrent of resignation. "But I wonder, would your steel resolve hold if you knew this?" Slowly, almost reluctantly, she pulled aside the fabric of her tunic, revealing a rune etched deep into her flesh, right over where her heart lay. "This rune," she continued, her gaze steady, "is not just any one. It's a pact of the most final sort. Should my heart cease its rhythm, this rune will unleash an explosion, vast enough to engulf us all."
A heavy silence followed her revelation, the group's earlier composure giving way to a palpable tension. Yet, no gasps of shock or murmurs of fear disturbed the quiet; only the crackling of the nearby burning corpses filled the air.
With a chuckle that sounded more bitter than amused, the woman scanned the faces around her. "No reaction? No attempts to dissuade or to bargain?" Her eyes narrowed as the realization dawned upon her. "Ah, I see... When did you catch onto my little trap?"
It was Bruni who broke the silence. His voice, usually gruff and terse, carried a hint of grim satisfaction as he addressed her. "Caught on, did ya? We knew the moment Lyria had a gander at you, you wench. Did you really think we'd be so daft as to not see through your ruse? And why d'you think we brought you to this godforsaken place, eh?"
The woman's eyes flickered with a mixture of emotions—mostly anger and perhaps a hint of fear—as she absorbed Bruni's words. The game was up, and the trap she had so carefully laid was sprung, not on her unsuspecting prey, but on herself by the very quarry she had sought to ensnare.
Seeing no intention from borgen and his crew to let her go, the woman, in a fleeting moment of defiant proclamation, cried out, "For my brothers!" Her voice was a harbinger of the chaos to come, a desperate, final act fueled by vengeance and sorrow. The air hung heavy with anticipation, a palpable tension that suffocated all other sounds until a singular, ominous noise pierced the silence.
The woman's body suddenly convulsed, her face contorting in an excruciating grimace. Veins bulged alarmingly against her skin, mapping a grotesque network of pain and imminent demise. Her eyes, once filled with defiance, now mirrored the depth of her agony, wide with the realization of her impending end.
Adom, his senses attuned to the nuances of magical afflictions, recognized the harrowing signs—the erratic, spasmodic twitching of her limbs, the rapid pallor that overtook her once flushed cheeks, and the stark terror that painted her features. It was an orchestrated destruction of the self, a heart not merely ceasing to beat but being torn asunder by the very essence that once gave it life.
Bruni's voice, laden with horror and disbelief, cut through the thickening dread. "What have you done to yourself, you fucking demon?!" His words, a mix of anger and incredulity, echoed the collective shock of the group.
Lyria, her lips parting to voice her own disbelief, was silenced by Adom's urgent warning. "She burst her own heart!" His realization, a chilling clarity amidst the confusion, laid bare the woman's catastrophic intent. The grim finality of her act, a self-inflicted end designed to trigger the rune's deadly aftermath, was a witness to the lengths to which vengeance and desperation could drive a soul.
As the woman's body grotesquely expanded, signaling the imminent detonation of the suicide rune, the group's tension reached a fever pitch. Bruni, his battle-hardened face etched with frustration and anger, was shouting obscenities at the woman, whose maniacal laughter echoed across the clearing, her mouth foaming with blood.
In her final moments, the woman's eyes gleamed with madness. The rune on her chest glowed bright, its ominous light pulsating like a malevolent heart. Her body, now distorted beyond human recognition, was a ticking bomb set to unleash devastation.
Borgen's command cut through the chaos, "Assia, now!" His voice was the trigger, unleashing a well-orchestrated plan they had concocted upon realizing the true nature of the woman's threat, way back on the roads.
Assia, her hands weaving through the air with fluid grace, summoned a gargantuan mass of water from the nearby lake. The water, responding to her call, surged skyward in a majestic column before crashing down upon the woman with the force of a collapsing mountain. The sight was both awe-inspiring and terrifying, Assia's mastery over her element was amazing, noted Adom.
Zara, not a step behind, joined her efforts, her hands glowing with concentrated Essentia. She cast a spell that reinforced the water's cohesion, turning the deluge into a pressurized sphere encasing the woman. The magic at play was a delicate dance of forces, Essentia bending the laws of physics to create a prison of water under immense pressure, impenetrable and unyielding.
Inside this watery grave, the woman's screams were muffled, her body now barely visible through the swirling vortex of pressurized liquid. The pressure within the sphere was monumental, a crushing force that contested the expanding energy of the rune's magic. Assia's control over the water was absolute, her concentration unbreakable as she compressed the sphere further, reducing any space for the explosion to escape.
The science behind the pressurization was a marvel of magical engineering. Assia and Zara manipulated the Essentia to increase the water's density, arranging its molecules closer together, a feat that would require immense knowledge of both magic and the physical properties of water. This not only contained the explosion but also aimed to suffocate the rune's energy, snuffing out the woman's life in a silent, unseen struggle beneath the waves.
The woman's final moments were a grotesque spectacle of resilience pushed beyond its limits. Her eyes, bulging from their sockets, were filled with a mix of rage, pain, and realization of her impending doom. Her skin stretched and tore under the dual assault of the internal force of the rune and the external pressure of the water sphere, blood and viscera clouding the once-clear water.
The explosion, when it came, was a muffled thump, stifled by the layers of pressurized water. The sphere shuddered violently but held its form, Assia's magic acting as a dam against the destructive wave of energy. The aftermath left the clearing eerily silent, the pressurized sphere slowly dissipating, leaving behind nothing but the tainted water and the echoes of a battle that tread the fine line between victory and catastrophe.