An ominous flash of lightning illuminated the boy, whose chest heaved, his form glistening from his flight in the rain. A breath later, a deep rumble of thunder rattled the small opaque window and caused the dark-skinned visitor to tremble; thin cords strained his neck as he clenched his jaw and stubbornly fought to maintain a stoic expression, gaze firmly on Ben’s own. His eyes wandered from the young, bearded man to the space above his head, and the boy flinched, dropping the wrapped weapon with a thud on the wooden floor.
Ben turned to see the source of the fright and saw the skeletal figure hanging limply from the wooden cross beam near the ceiling. The gem in its jaws appeared to have ignited or detonated, as the front teeth were missing, and cracks snaked from the mouth up to the cheekbones of the skull. Ben thought that the once ivory visage was stained black as if someone had held a candle underneath, and soot marred its surface. The young man turned to face Ann.
“What’s going on?” he asked.
“The message only says-” she paused and read the scrap of parchment once more with a frown. “-that you should come to the market street immediately.” Ann met his eyes; her brows slanted in worry.
Ben held out an open palm to his Keeper, who handed him the message. “BENNY- GET YOUR FUCKING ARSE TO THE MAIN STREET,” he read aloud. “All right. That’s definitely Ainsle.” His brows furrowed, and he turned to the source of approaching footsteps from the bedroom.
“The Fisherman’s son? What’re you doing here?” Kieran asked as he joined Ben before leaning to look at the parchment in his hands. Ben handed the message to the tired Caster, and his black eyes widened instantly before narrowing with a furrowed brow, mimicking the bearded man’s. “Aunt?” he addressed the Keeper.
Ann nodded and opened her mouth to speak before the boy interrupted her with a stomp of his foot. The party’s attention was drawn to the little messenger; Ben regarded him closely. The boy was shivering, yet he couldn’t tell whether it was a product of being wet and cold or the fear of seeing the skeleton hanging from the ceiling. Upon closer inspection, Ben noticed that his eyes were bloodshot, framed by puffy eyelids, and bloodied knees caused blooms of crimson on his short, wet trousers.
The boy stomped again and pointed to the door, posture vibrating with exasperation. His gaze was still locked on to Ben’s own.
He can’t speak? Why did the old woman send him here?
“Ann,” Ben said as he tore his gaze away from the distressed boy. “I need to go. I don’t have a good feeling about this.”
“Then let us leave at once,” Ann said as she turned to the door.
“Miss Blackwood, wait, please,” Kieran called. She turned to him with a raised brow. “Please. Let me go with Ben. I won’t be able to forgive myself if something were to happen to her as well…” he trailed off, and Ben regarded the handsome man who was in the process of losing his Master to betrayal. The Caster spoke after he seemed to formulate his words. “I know I have no right to ask this of you… but would you please remain here with Master Durrene? I doubt he will last the night if not in your care,” he said with a bowed head.
The blond-haired woman looked at Ben with a questioning gaze, and the young man narrowed his gaze.
“Annie, I trust your judgment,” Ben said.
Shit. Whatever’s got Ainsle worked up must be serious… It’d probably be best if Ann came too, but… the old man won’t live to see the morning if she doesn’t tend to him.
Ben thought to himself but didn’t dare speak the words, as he knew the blonde woman would take it as an order. The Keeper tilted her head, gaze softening as she seemed to consider something.
“As you wish, my heart,” she told Ben before facing Kieran. “I will look after Archmage Durrene.” Her face became impassive, and she tucked an errant lock of blonde hair behind her ear. “If anything happens to my Champion, I will hold you personally responsible, Kieran Jaste.”
The short woman’s chilling tone caused Ben’s skin to prickle, and the red-haired Caster dipped his head again with eyes closed. “Thank you, Miss Blackwood. I’ll make sure no harm comes to him. I swear,” he replied in a soft voice.
Ann nodded a wordless reply, and the boy stomped his foot in frustration. He hefted the wrapped weapon from the floor and held it out towards Ben, who took it with raised brows. He began to unwrap the long object to find his suspicions confirmed. His halberd's exquisite, polished, black blade peered out from between the swathes of drenched cloth.
“We should make haste. Give me a moment,” Kieran said as he rushed over to the suspicious trap door and flung it open. The red-haired Caster didn’t so much climb down the stairs as jumped down into the hole in the floor.
Ben heard rummaging and the thuds of thrown objects while he continued to unwrap the weapon hurriedly. A thud drew the young man’s attention to the trap door, and he flinched as he saw a skull with swirling green, incandescent orbs for eyes peek out of the basement’s entrance. Kieran climbed up the wooden staircase and revealed the skull attached to an abnormally long, rigid staff of vertebrae.
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“This is Master Durrene’s staff. I’ll have to ask for forgiveness instead of permission this time,” the Apprentice Necromancer commented as he hurried over to Ben. “Let’s go.”
Ben nodded, and the pair of young men made for the door as the boy beckoned him impatiently to follow.
“My heart,” Ann called out to him. “Please, be careful,” she said, tone soft yet warning.
“Be right back,” he replied with a wink of false confidence as he left the abode of the Master Necromancer.
Ben and Kieran jogged at a spirited pace as heavy rain beat down and drenched their clothing. The Fisherman’s son led the pair through glistening, winding, cobbled streets for what felt like a half hour. A shrill cry pierced the hissing of rain, and the trio saw a host of dark-winged creatures high above the city. His heart thrummed in his chest as the obscured forms circled the sky, and the dull boom of thunder shook the air in his lungs.
“Hurry, I can hear fighting,” Kieran shouted through the noise of the rain against the stone streets and tiled rooves.
Ben nodded, and they resumed their jog to the market street. After a few twists and turns, the young man began to hear distant, muffled screams, shouting, and what sounded like a series of heavy thuds and clangs. The closer they drew to the sounds of conflict, a subtle pressure on his being grew in intensity. He recognized the presence as that belonging to his mentor, yet… there were others that tasted foreign to him. As the trio rounded a corner, Ben nearly tripped and turned to see the decapitated corpse of a Guardsman. A jolt of panic ran through his body, and he sprinted toward the main street.
Riotous flashes of light illuminated the pastel-colored buildings as they approached a corner building. The tired messenger stopped and pointed a finger to the side street that led to their destination before turning on his heel and running back the way they had come. The pair followed the boy’s pointed direction and ran, side-stepping the hauntingly increasing number of corpses belonging to Guardsmen and regular citizens before arriving at their destination. The scene of chaos before them caused the hairs on the back of his neck to stand on end.
Guardsmen, citizens, and the War Clerics from the temple were engaged in a pitched battle against terrifying creatures of wildly varying sizes and shapes amongst piles of corpses belonging to both sides. An indiscernible number of undead poured into the street from the city gate and sprinted toward Honeydew’s defenders. Several large grotesque humanoid creatures, roughly ten feet tall, wielded crude clubs with haunting effectiveness, cleaving through ranks of people as if they were wheat being harvested. Bolts of kaleidoscopic light shot up toward the flying monsters, which Ben thought to resemble deformed women with wings of bats and sickly talons of hawks.
His attention was drawn to the source of the arcane projectiles to see the twins, Gian and June, pointing raised staves to the sky. Their casting was synchronized, and their tempo was even and unceasing. A pack of rabid undead spotted the pair and began to sprint toward them. Ben ran to intercept the horrors and leapt over the corpse of a dead hulking creature to land with a graceful, horizontal sweep. The deathly sharp crescent blade of the black halberd cleaved cleanly through two torsos and bit deeply into the arm of a third.
A bright green light shot past his periphery to detonate amongst the remaining pack, sending limbs, intestines, and other sickly pale body parts flying in a rain of blood and bile. The stench almost caused Ben to gag, and the oppressive rain did little to eliminate the awful smell of excrement and death. He dared not look back toward the Apprentice Necromancer in fear of the chaos before him.
Ben continued his sprint toward the twins, intercepting a swooping nightmare from the sky with two quick thrusts of his halberd. The creature tumbled to the ground in a gurgling screech; its momentum caused it to roll toward the lance of War Clerics, one of whom dispatched the horror with a swift blow to the temple from her war hammer. He neared the Casters and cried out to them.
“Where’s Ainsle?!” he shouted. He couldn’t locate the Berserker by her presence as the oppressive foreign auras around him muddied his perceptions.
June snapped a glance at Ben before continuing her aerial bombardment. Her hood was down, and her pure white hair was matted to her brow. Her face was contorted with bared teeth as she hissed indiscernible incantations. She paused after nudging her brother, who stood beside her. He lifted a palm to supplement the momentary loss of his sister’s casting, and Ben saw bolts of light erupt from his palm and staff, working in tandem to maintain the rhythm of the assault.
“She’s at the orphanage! We need to get to her! There are Revenants-” she shouted over the din of the battle before her eyes widened, and the young man turned to see one of the massive hulking abominations barrelling toward them.
Ben instinctively spun on his heel and advanced to meet the terrible creature. His heartbeat slowed, and he frowned at his lack of fear toward the monster. His brow relaxed as time began to slow. A grin bloomed on his face, and he felt the current of conflict swell around him. Heedless of the carnage and massive loss of life in his periphery, he only saw an opponent. One deserving of his attention at that moment, yet so many more to exert his will upon. To dominate and crush beneath his heel.
This is where I’m meant to be.
He laughed and bellowed and bared his teeth to the hulking mass of violence approaching him. A twist and a thrust severed tendons and punctured a lung as a heavy club displaced air where his head had been mere moments before. He spun and twirled the beautiful implement of death to cleave through pus-riddled flesh. Entrails spilled from an opened abdomen, and a sickening splatter followed by a thud was the crescendo of the performance.
He hunted as he flowed with the current. Low sweeps and diagonal slashes dismembered countless nameless horrors. The dancer advanced with light steps, thrusts punctuated the tempo, and he reveled in the art he created. Ears deaf to screams, shrieks, and growls. His being hummed with the pleasure of his Avatar, and he felt its power seep into his veins. Time slowed further, and the orchestra of his movements became a sweet ballad, painting a beautiful scene with dextrous strokes of his polearm.
The current swept him far from the stage of origin, and he found himself amidst a field of corpses. He felt a resonating pulse of Rage, and he smiled as his dance partner called out to him. Ben followed the intoxicating presence to find his mentor in a pitched battle against a worthy foe. He grinned with envy.
The tempo became disjointed, and he was violently ripped from his trance. Ben froze as he watched a tall knight in tarnished armor, a tattered grey cloak billowing in an unseen wind, plunge a chipped, rusty sword into the chest of the horned Berserker.