The Relistar | Ch. 7_THE RELISTAR × REJOINING [EPIC DARK FANTASY]

The rumbling throes of a lightning strike rocked the shabby tavern a few miles away. A rainslick creature crawled in; another black robe to match the shady darkness that had swept Kylinstrom through the storm that night.

"Not again…" Kilren reached for his axe handle, tucked away behind the counter.

But it was no creature at all.

He sat at the counter and knocked twice. Kilren reluctantly filled and placed a full tankard down before him.

"Thank you." He slid a couple bronze coins to the ogre.

"Not planning on heading out again, are ya?"

"Not until that storm clears. Lightning during a snowstorm; what a disaster…"

"As if tonight wasn't bad enough."

The man cocked his head with interest. Beneath his hood, Kilren could see his soft, pale features. He looked like a magi, a would-be figure of great import from some decades past. But he was young to be one of them. And far too late.

"Ah, it's nothing worth mentioning now…"

The man sniffed, taking a swig from his tankard.

The door launched open again, and another figure stumbled through.

Kilren went to his axe again on impulse, then froze. It was a man, this time. Or at least an elf, wearing the same black leather that most scavengers were prone to wearing.

Except this scavenger had lost his mouth.

The robed man leapt up when he heard the whimpering, rushed to the man's aid. "By Caloria, what ails you?"

Kilren gasped, and the other patrons would have too, were any still there at that late hour.

The elf whimpered and growled, voiceless without teeth or a tongue. He gestured something once, and again, but they didn't understand.

The robed man turned to Kilren, finally urging him out from behind his counter. "Alright, alright, let's see what we can do…"

With Kilren distracted, the robed man stepped back, stuck his hand behind the counter, and wrapped his fingers around the hilt of the ogre's axe. He gave it a hefty swing.

Kilren gave a roar when the dented blade tore into his shoulder. The mouthless elf whimpered as blood squirted across his face.

The man tugged the axe free. With a careful windup, he swung for the thing's neck.

And he hit his mark.

Kilren fell atop the mouthless man like a log, once again spraying a shocking amount of dark blood.

The elf screamed silently, desperately crawled out from under the thing.

"Oh, come on…" He lifted the axe again, swept the blunt end into the elf's 'mouth.'

An awful pain rippled through his face as bone shattered and fresh skin ripped, dripping more blood across the already stained floor.

He shrieked first, then attempted to collect himself, twitching and convulsing with fear and pain. "Th-th-the-t-th-th…"

"Clearly all the excitement has made you develop a stutter, Ilvas." He clutched him by the cheeks, letting the blood drool down his hands. "What happened?"

"Th-the the Relistar!" he gasped, and a sharp torrent of magic stampeded through him. A red glow shone from his eyes. The killing blow of a broken promise.

The robed man stuck his fingers into the air between them, hoping to grasp some of the invisible magic emanating from him.

But it was gone, and Ilvas became relaxed. Dead.

"Shit. The Relistar?" He dropped the axe in the pools of blood at his feet. "Things are finally getting interesting…"

The man chuckled as he rounded the counter, pulled up his sleeves to reveal intricate tattoos up both of his pale arms. He made a complex gesture, and a purple gateway opened in the hearth. A foreign, inhuman language comprised of clicks and hisses escaped his breath. "Al Jir, Anack-Amin,"

A tightness suddenly engulfed his throat. He stumbled back, a dark hand wrestling him up against the counter.

"What insolence, calling on me as though you're worthy to command me?"

The man reached up and grasped his purple amulet. The hand recoiled with a growl.

"Damn your stolen artefacts." a voice growled onto the sounds of stomping boots outside.

"Bastard. Had you not touched the Omnestatum—"

"Shh!" he hissed upon the wind.

The man's face was serious. "The Relistar is back."

"Oh," the wooden walls cackled as though they were breaking. "Oh, it certainly is."

He thought for a moment. "Then why are you here? I did not summon you, demon, I summoned a fragment of your magicks—" His eyes widened. "Oh, I see. So you are but a fragment."

"It is shortsighted to misunderstand my reasoning for scarring myself so. The Omnestatun was fantastic, only as a binding for my ultimate device."

"You're decrepit and weak…"

"And it's perfect," His figure finally manifested, his bandaged arms extended by his sides. "My horror, manifested perfectly in this husk of a body. But this weakness is skin deep… do well not to forget that, or you might meet your own end before the universe does."

"I know that you can't kill me."

"Oh?"

He shut his eyes to concentrate. "Ry kae—"

"SILENCE!"

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Blue lights flared through the windows of the inn. The man gasped, accidentally released the spell and closed his communion with Algirak.

"So long, Jirtu. I'll be seeing you very soon…"

He took a moment to breathe once the room was dark again. "Algirak,"

The gateway was already closed, as far as he could tell, but he thought he might warn him anyway:

His finger poked his dark necklace, "This is not the last piece of Grivonym."

The door to the room burst open. Cedric leapt out of the bed as though he was expecting it, drew his blade in a single fluid motion.

Three gold-helmed Hunters entered, weapons drawn. Too dark to see, he closed his eyes to let Serkukan guide him.

He swept his sword, sliced clean through the soft spot on a pair of metal bracers that slid against each other as if to wield a greatsword. And, judging by the loud clattering of the gauntlets and weapon hitting the ground, his guess was exactly right.

Cedric gave a swift horizontal slash, smashing a cruel dent into the side of a knight's armor, knocking him to the ground.

"The doorway," he answered, flipping his sword so he was grasping it by the blade, and smashing the pommel into the knight's domed helmet. A gaping hole blasted through it, spilling the contents of his head upon the floor.

Cedric opened his eyes, briefly glanced around the dimly moonlit room, and left with one quick grasp for his Relistar.

“I had an idea about that. I’ll tell you later.”

The shouts of pain from the room had attracted three more guards into the hallway, charging at him as he rushed for the perpendicular window.

He leapt out through a shattering of glass.

The rain gently pattered across the dark blue tiles of the roof that he clumsily slid onto. All he had was his sword, his Relistar, and his dark shirt—he pulled the hood up for some facimile of concealment. "I'm not going to let them corner us."

"We could," he agreed.

"I am." He pulled his hood lower as the blue lights of pursuing Hunter lanterns began to grow brighter from behind and from below. He hastily crossed toward the edge of the roof and dropped himself down onto a stone balcony below. He dropped once again, carefully landing in a brown puddle surrounded by rotten, stinking food in one of the city's many rancid alleyways.

A sharp pain ached in the back of Cedric's mind.

"Nngh!" he growled, "Aren't you trying to save lives by killing Algirak?"

"How fucking noble." Cedric muttered, glancing out into the somber streets of the empty city. "And somehow you end up wasting my time for your pointless goal…"