CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR—SHIMMER AND BONE
“Fight!” he yelled, as he rushed toward the shaman. He shimmered and skirted away. “Fight, Shiro! Razul—help him!”
“I AM HELPING HIM, MAN!”
Snarling, Debaku pulled on his magical reserves. If he could not out speed this shaman sorcerer, then his only other recourse would be to charm him again. He had landed a blow before. Now he is wary of my magic!
Pursuing the shaman and not pausing in between missing his slashes, they must have appeared like a wild black-skinned swordsman chasing a blurring image across the courtyard while warriors living and dead died at the hands of Shiro and Razul below.
Bodies were everywhere, but none of them—even the piles—did not pose a threat to the Black Cobra of Mar’a Thul. His footwork was the best there was—with the exception of some sword classes of jinni.
He growled in frustration as his blade cut nothing but air. Something charged and crackled and Debaku, instead of rushing to the next spot where the shaman was at, jumped away, rolling as he came into his landing.
Something cracked where he had been standing and he ran, jumped again, that same crack! following him about as the shaman shot bolts of deadly energy at Debaku.
With each magical strike, the ground exploded with a flash of light.
Just one hit and Debaku would become a pile of butchered and charred flesh upon the ground unrecognizable as human.
Shiro cried out with every swing of his sword as he struck out with wide slashes, cutting down swathes of the undead warriors.
Surely they had destroyed enough of them to empty the courtyard, and yet there seemed to be more than ever. They were coming from some place other than here—reinforcing their numbers as living warriors continued flooding into the area.
But Shiro was in his stride now.
As he lashed out another swath of the undead warriors fell to the ground, writhing and snarling.
He had run out of space, but instead of continuing to slash at them, Shiro turned and ran, made it two paces from the wall where he had more room to maneuver and turned slamming his sword atop the head of a living warrior. He spasmed and fell dead only to be trampled on by a dozen undead mummies.
You could be reading stolen content. Head to the original site for the genuine story.
One of them rushed Shiro and its body exploded as he cut the thing down the center, his blade slamming into the ground with such force that the ground shook and shot dust into the air—his strike felling a score of the undead warriors as magical energy pulsed and shimmered around him.
The shock of the attack turned them into dust, but the living warriors were not affected so badly, and squirmed, shouting and snarling as they made to get back to their feet.
Shiro did not let them.
He jumped, his scimitar lighting with hot rage as he swung his blade through the neck of another warrior, then flicked the tapered end into the chest of another, the hot and glowing metal hissing through their flesh.
As they cried out in death, Shiro cut them down, almost simultaneously.
Razul laughed. “Haha! That’s the way!”
Then something cracked loud enough to for Shiro to suddenly jerk his head from the pain of the almost physical blow that echoed through the courtyard.
That cracking continued and Shiro glanced up, saw Debaku retreating from the shaman as the evil being made a concerted effort to end him.
Razul grunted with a jump, landed on his foot and knee and lashed out at the shaman’s legs, but he shimmered awa.
When he reappeared, the shaman ran, stumbled and almost lost his balance. Shiro recognized immediately that something was wrong with him. Had Razul struck him? He took the opportunity and lunged for the shaman.
“Watch out!” Raz bellowed.
Debaku turned and lashed out at the shaman. He shimmered, but traveled a very small distance, his movement jerky and—to Shiro’s eyes, almost panicked.
Shiro cut an overhanded arch at the shaman and instead of shimmering away, he dodged the attack and hit Shiro in the chest. The pain that enveloped him spread through his core as he flailed through the air and landed heavily in a pile of corpses that broke his fall.
Instantly he kicked his legs to right himself back up as Debaku and Razul flicked their blades toward the shaman with deadly intent. The Yamu sorcerer snarled, his green eyes flashing in the torchlight as he repeatedly dodged the attacks of Shiro’s friends.
Running, Shiro jumped with all his might, flipped through the air and landed back onto stable ground as Debaku’s blade flashed out at the shaman.
He jumped back as Shiro came down with his blade.
The sound that his sword made as it cut through the shaman’s shoulder and into his core was that of muscle and bone being rent apart amidst gushing blood and hot hissing metal.
Debaku did not let up his attack as Shiro delivered the killing blow. First he pulled back his hissing and smoking blade and then thrust it forward,sinking the sharp end of his scimitar into the Yamu’s mouth, the tip protruding out the back of his skull with a sickening crack of bone and hissing metal.
Razul cried out and slammed his blade over the top of the Yamu’s head, cutting through his skull and hitting Debaku’s blade, forcing his sword deeper into the Yamu’s neck and shoulders.
With three swords thoroughly sunk into his bones and flesh, the Yamu moved no more, save for his violent twitches, the last vestiges of his muscles attempting to reflexively react against such awful and terrible pain.
Shiro screamed and yanked his hissing blade free while Debaku and Razul did the same. Blood came back with every sword, leaving the Yamu shaman a mess of cut flesh and spilled blood.
The undead warriors did not stop.
They snarled as their living warrior counterparts took pause, then retreated back. Raz laughed. “This just got a lot easier, my friends.”
Shiro nodded. “Hai.”
“Then let us end this,” Debaku said, his tone brooking no dissent from the enemy.