Lothorr lurched sideways as if struck by an invisible, almighty force, releasing his grip on Warren, who dropped to the ground next to Captain Marshall. The Warlock gave her a quick nod of appreciation for saving his life, noticing the residual crackle of static discharge on her shield. It had been under her guidance that Cypher had inlaid the steel kite shield with a particularly potent barrier rune. Through using it in battle, and trusting in Cypher’s craftsmanship, Marshall had honed her skills, evolving from merely defending against attacks to using the shield offensively to destabilize sprites.
Taking advantage of the opening created by Captain Marshall, the Hollow Knight leapt into the fray. Her burning rapier sliced through the air with deadly precision. But Lothorr, quick to recover and surprisingly agile for his massive form, danced out of reach of the seeking blade.
For a moment, Warren simply stood in awe, watching as two powerful sprites dueled before him. Waves of dark fire erupted from the Hollow Knight’s blade, but Lothorr batted them aside with his enormous hands. He retaliated with punches that could fell the mightiest of oaks, yet the Hollow Knight flickered out of the way like a dark flame caught in a breeze. Their movements were so swift and fluid that they became almost impossible to follow, a blur of overlapping attacks and counters playing out in mere seconds—a primal clash between the champions of ancient gods unfolding before his very eyes.
Despite the chaos, Warren couldn't help but wonder if he looked just as majestic to others when locked in combat.
"Cast a damn spell or something, Warlock," Marshall hissed, her voice laced with impatience. "I’m not standing here protecting you so you can just spectate."
"I can’t," Warren replied, his frustration evident. "They’re moving too fast. Anything I cast now risks hitting her."
"Who, the Hollow Knight? Wake up, man—she’s just a damn sprite. Use your strongest spell and wipe them both from the map. There’s no better time than right now while they’re distracted."
Marshall’s logic was sound. Warren had enough mana left to unleash an almost apocalyptic conflagration, one that would incinerate everything in its path. Both he and Marshall would be shielded from the inferno, but the Hollow Knight? She would be obliterated. It was the most rational option, the only strategy that made sense. And yet, he couldn’t shake the pang of loss that twisted in his gut at the thought.
"No," Warren said firmly. "She rescued me in Canterbury. I owe her my life, and I won’t sacrifice her so easily."
"How stupid are you?" Marshall spat, her tone dripping with venom. Warren was taken aback by the intensity of her anger. "She saved you because it suited her. There’s some game being played here, and you’re just a pawn. Rewrite the rules, Warren. That’s what Sid is doing—only then can we save humanity."
Warren stared at the battle raging before him, torn between duty and an inexplicable loyalty to the Hollow Knight. He knew Marshall was right, but something deep inside him resisted the idea of betraying the one who had once saved his life.
"So, I should just be a player in Sid's game?" Warren asked, his voice laced with skepticism.
Captain Marshall blinked at him, astonished. "A player on the side of humanity," she implored, her tone earnest.
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"The losing side," Warren reminded her bitterly. "Sid reemerges after hiding for ten years, and I'm supposed to follow him like he's some kind of messiah? That man keeps so many secrets to himself, valuable pieces of information that—"
"He reveals his works to us when he’s sure that we’re ready for them," Marshall countered, her voice firm in defense of the Runelord.
"Listen to yourself, woman. Sid thinks he knows best. So did Cable, and look at the chaos that guy's unleashed here. How long before Sid’s arrogance gets the better of him and he does something truly stupid?"
Marshall fell silent, her expression hardening.
"See, me," Warren continued, "I'm a simple man. I'll fight for those I know have my back. Right now, I owe the Hollow Knight a damn lot more than I owe Sid—whether that’s for better or worse."
With that, the Warlock of Canterbury ignited the tip of his spear and charged into the fray.
----------------------------------------
The Hollow Knight narrowly dodged a mighty fist as it thundered past her. The Homunculus was closing in with each wild swing, his raw power oppressive, pushing against her in waves of energy with every movement. She was outmatched, the inevitable defeat looming over her like a shadow.
For most, the dread of certain defeat would be enough to trigger flight. But she was an Abyssal agent of the Dread Queen Nyxathalaya, and she relished the taste of her own despair. Surviving from one dreadful moment to the next had become her sustenance, each second bringing the possibility of new opportunities.
As she stepped back to reposition, she failed to account for Lothorr's powerful tail. It whipped around, slamming into her legs and sending her tumbling through the air. Before she could recover, his massive fist drove her into the ground. Once. Twice. Again and again, he pounded her with savage blows that would have obliterated lesser beings. She screamed in pain, her voice an unearthly cry that seemed to warp the very fabric of reality around her. The edges of her vision faded into a static haze of nothingness.
Then, suddenly, the Warlock was standing before her. His soul blazed with a dark light that radiated a forsaken cold, a manifestation of the path he had chosen—and she was his choice. Yet beneath that blazing despair, she could still sense the faintest embers of hope. Humans were beings of profound contradictions, and she supposed this was only natural.
Warren fought with relentless tenacity, his burning spear striking at the Homunculus with precision. Each nick, each cut, was a calculated provocation, a means to goad Lothorr into making a mistake. The Hollow Knight, finding her footing, hauled herself up to join her unlikely partner. Together, they worked in tandem, slashing and slicing, their coordinated assault gradually eroding whatever strategic thought remained in Lothorr's mind.
The monstrous creature responded as expected—bellowing in fury, cursing in rage. His attacks became more frenzied, more desperate, like a wounded beast swatting at a swarm of biting insects. The panic in his movements was palpable, and it was only a matter of time before Lothorr lost himself completely to his desperation.
Then, it happened. Lothorr overcommitted on a savage swing aimed at the Hollow Knight. The Warlock was perfectly positioned, his spear angled just right to slip beneath the manacore’s defenses. With a minimal amount of leverage, the dark sphere of crystal popped free from its fleshy socket, sailing through the air. Simultaneously, Lothorr's sweeping back-fist arced towards the Warlock.
"Flamma pallium" Warren called out, summoning a flaming cloak to to shield himself from the incoming blow. The Hollow Knight, watching from the edge of the melee, knew the Warlock was vulnerable. The massive fist struck Warren squarely in the shoulder with a sickening crunch of bone. A piercing scream echoed through the chamber—was it hers or his? The Hollow Knight saw the fire-wreathed figure of the Warlock blasted from his feet, flying through the air towards the windows.
The windows’ fleshy membrane buckled and tore as Warren approached, the intense heat of his descent leaving scorched marks in its wake.
In a heartbeat, Warren was exposed to the open air, his body suspended for a fleeting moment before gravity took hold. He plummeted downward, vanishing from sight as he fell hundreds of meters to the ground below.