Day 11 of Midwinter, Sunrise

Caisleán Saighead, Gorias

Annwn

The halls and stairwells were eerily quiet and devoid of opposition. It was like a pathway to the mystery man on the walls had been cleared for me. And though I didn’t know the way, I followed my instincts, continuing to go up. I sprinted through rooms, some that I recognized and some that I didn’t. But I was moving fast enough that I didn’t have time to orient myself.

My mind spun. Was there a way to save them all? If not, who would I choose to save when I arrived at the wall? Would this Fomorian even keep his word and let someone free? Would he let me go, too? That hadn’t been a part of the deal he offered… but it was too late to worry about that now.

The voice didn’t sound like Ruadan’s or Cai’s. It certainly wasn’t Tethra’s. I truly hoped it wasn’t Roo I would find at the top of the wall. If I had to die, it would just be salt in the wound to have it be by the hand of someone I’d once considered a friend, even if briefly. I didn’t think I could actually strike him down, regardless.

I saw another flash of images in my mind. Nemain struggled to her feet. She pulled her whip chain. As she began to twirl it around her in a small arc, I could see that the end had broken off. The image changed, and I saw Fíadan. I saw the tips of her blades stab suddenly out of the back of one Fomorian and into the neck of another. She was surrounded by an ocean of large, muscled bodies, and had almost no room to maneuver. I realized there were simply too many Fomorians. She wouldn’t make it.

“You better hurry, Bren,” the voice cooed in faux sympathy. “Your friends are running out of time.”

At last, I broke through a door and found myself on the eastern parapet of Caisleán Saighead. The sky was lighter than I had expected, and from my vantage point, I saw no sign of Nemain or Fíadan. I went into a frenzy when I spotted Morias tied to wooden posts near the central wall of the gatehouse. A Fomorian I didn’t recognize stood between us, his back to me.

I charged, pulling out my Dagger of Transmogrification. As I sprinted toward the unaware captor, I transformed it into a long sword. If I timed my shot just right, I could kill the Fomorian and free Morias, and then make my way to Fí.

I ran faster than I had ever run. I raised the sword straight out, planning for a massive thrust...but that is when the world changed positions on me. Though I had been charging at full speed directly at where the Fomorian had been standing, I found myself running headfirst into the stones of the upper gatehouse. I heard my neck crack and felt the hilt of my sword push painfully hard into my ribs as a snapping sound filled my ears. I saw stars and felt my mouth pool with blood.

I stumbled back, dizzy. My vision blurred. Heavy blows rained down on me. I dropped my sword, struggling to breathe. Thankfully, my mesh mail began to absorb most of the damage. My head, still unprotected, bounced off of the cobbles. The barrage stopped as suddenly as it had started. I coughed and wheezed and attempted to get up, but my sense of balance had been pummeled all out of whack.

“Now do you recognize me?” the voice asked. I was afraid it was a trick and that the minute I turned my head, the pain would start again, but I chanced it. Through the slit of vision I had left and the fog of my brain, I could see the horns and red eyes of the scariest person I had ever seen up close. Balor stood exactly where I had been before my charge, a huge magical fist standing at the ready next to him. Was that what had been beating on me? “You took my kill at the Heart-shaped Pool." He smirked. "You now must pay a penance.”

“Bren,” I heard a familiar voice say. I looked up and saw the bloodied face of Morias. One of his eyes was completely swollen shut. “He has my rings…”

If you stumble upon this narrative on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen from Royal Road. Please report it.

Then the fist slammed into him and knocked him to the ground. On force of will alone, I managed to pull myself up and rushed at Balor. I reached for him, realizing almost too late that my hands only came up to his waist. I drew back and punched him in the chest. The deep sound of a gong rang in my head, knocking me flat. I could feel more of my ribs snap under the resonating sound.

I groaned in agony, sucking in pathetic gulps of air. I was stunned and disarmed. Balor stood over me, his eyes glowing a deep crimson the way they had on the battlefield with Tadg. Flames began pouring toward me at point-blank range, but my Control Energy boon activated and I curled the heat energy of the blasts to either side of my broken body. Somewhere in the back of my mind, I remembered how Brigid had tried to calm Fíadan down by creating a wall of flame between the Ellyllon and the Queen's Guard. I had accidentally created an uncontrolled wave of fire that Brigid had to bring back under control.

It clicked now... fire was energy, possibly ONLY energy. I did my best to keep the heat away from my body. I could smell my clothes burning off of me and my flesh beginning to char. Then the flame stopped.

Balor loomed over me. I couldn’t move. Frankly, I was surprised I was even conscious. I heard Fíadan cry out from somewhere below. Then, I heard the most glorious sound in the world. It was the sound of a drawbridge slamming to the ground. She had done it—the gate was open.

That gave me hope and just a sprinkling of renewed vigor. I reached out with my Control Energy boon and attempted to form an energy blade. Balor chuckled at me and lifted his arms as if giving me a free shot. I took it…only to see the glowing blue sword pass right through the man.

Balor lowered his hands and gave me a look of pity. The energy sword had taken the last bit of strength I had. My head fell back against the stones and the world began to spin.

I felt myself being picked up. Balor’s hands had me around the neck, such that I could no longer breathe. His hands were twice the size of my head, and on each hand were four magic rings. I wondered which ones he had chosen from Morias’ clasp. Whatever they were, he had clearly chosen well.

“You think I won’t kill everyone in this town? All you have done is make that easier.”

I tried to respond, but even I didn’t know what I was saying. Where words were supposed to come out, only bloody snot bubbles exited. I tried again. “Morias…” I managed to get out.

He laughed. “You think I was actually going to let one of you go? You are a dreamer...like your brother.”

I reached for his fingers trying to break his grasp, but his grip was supernaturally strong. I couldn’t even wrinkle the skin on the hand holding me. My bloodshot eyes looked around for any possible weapon. I could see my sword on the ground and realized I was unarmed, without any boons or powers that could hurt this man. I was nervous to even try. The last time I had struck him, I was knocked senseless. As the world began to dim, I realized I was dying.

“That’s it, Bren. Drift off. Violence is the only thing that they will understand.”

A different voice, that of The Dagda, came to me, and I felt a brief glimmer of hope that quickly dimmed as I realized it was not reinforcements arriving, but rather a Power Rank notification.

Name: Bren Búachaill…

That was all I allowed it to say. I pushed the voice into a quiet corner of my mind. Why should I care about leveling up? I was seconds from death by internal bleeding or brain damage…or both.

But I was surprised to feel suddenly different. I heard and felt my ribs knitting together. My vision began to expand, and Balor’s seemingly all-powerful grasp suddenly felt more malleable in my hands.

Don’t get me wrong, I was still hovering near death. But maybe that last level-up had given me a fighting chance. I tried again to peel Balor's fingers from my neck and was beginning to succeed until he brought in his other hand to assist. And just like that, I knew it was over. While I was stronger than I had been, it was nowhere near strong enough. The world began to dim again.

Balor easily carried me to the edge of the castle wall. He held me out over the massive drop, his hands still squeezing my neck. Below, I could see citizens rushing into the castle. Somewhere Nemain and Fíadan were hopefully still fighting. Morias… Poor Morias. What would happen to him after the fall?

“The fall?” I gurgled, feeling like there was something I should be remembering...something important. Balor nodded.

“Goodbye, Bren,” he said to me as I moved in a last-ditch effort to save myself and my friends. His eyes squinted in sudden pain, even as he continued to hold me over the empty space. I watched as black veins began to run up his neck and into his eyes. Badb’s athame was jammed up under his ribs so far I could scarcely feel the handle still clutched in my hand.

We both fell then, off the highest wall. Far below, we broke and died.