Harald blocked the attack from William, using his left arm to take the hit head on. The sword slashed through the gambeson, leaving a nasty gash on Harald’s flesh. Yet the veteran pushed through the pain like it was nothing. He struck at the herald with his broken weapon, trying to do some damage. Even a cut would do, as long as it hurt William. However, life was rarely ever so convenient. The jagged blade scraped and slashed gambeson and steel, but it didn’t do a damn thing beyond scratching it.
“Sloppy!”
William slapped the weapon away from Harald before stabbing at him once more. The champion’s blade barely missed Harald’s neck, only opting to scrape against the man’s shoddy steel plate. Harald took this opportunity and gripped onto the sword like his life depended on it. William would try to pull, but the veteran’s grip prevented him. Harald used this chance to stab at the champion once more, his jagged sword aiming at the other man’s neck. William noticed in time, however, and he countered with a formed rune.
“Flame Burst!”
Harald stopped his stab, his eyes widening in realization. He released the sword, kicking himself away from William just as the rune was formed. Flames burst from the champion before him, surrounding him in a fiery inferno. Despite Harald’s reaction, he was far from unburnt. The flames singed and cooked his fleeing body, leaving blackened steel and raw skin on his left side. The veteran rolled on the wet ground, instinctively yelling in pain. He felt hot, hotter than ever before. No amount of rain or cold air would soothe the sensations of burnt nerves.
“You fool,” William muttered out. The herald stepped towards the veteran slowly, his own body emanating with heat like no other. Harald knew William was currently suffering from the drawbacks of such a spell. Flame Burst was a casting that could very well cook your insides. The fact William had to use it meant that he was getting desperate.
“You’re the fool here,” Harald managed out. “You’re being led on. Lied to.” He looked up at the younger man. “Don’t you see it? The Lumen Kingdom is using you! Look at what they’re making you do!”
“I’m doing Azlene’s will! I am protecting this world from the marauders and the abominations your draugr has caused! What’s a city to the rest of this world!?”
“Sacrificing lives is far from what a champion should do,” Harald argued.
“What do you know about being a champion?” William asked venomously.
“More than you,” the veteran spat back.
William could only stare at Harald, his jaw clenching tightly. Without another word, the herald raised his heated sword, his eyes full of murderous intent. The old man could only watch. He knew Kate wouldn’t be able to come and save him. The young woman was fighting against the other soldiers, who had attacked the guardsmen after she interfered.
Harald knew they were all going to die without his help. Without his guidance.
‘Dammit! If only I wasn’t such an idiot! I let my emotions get to me!’
He had never let that happen to him. Ever since Harald was a youngin, he had been good at suppressing such emotions. Decades he had been fighting without such weight holding him back. Yet now his past had come and grabbed him by the throat. It had forced him to disregard his instincts and own advice.
Now here he was, about to watch his pupils become slaughtered, all because he was struck with guilt and emotion. Harald gritted his teeth, his hands clenched into fists.
‘Azlene… Please grant me the power to save what I’ve doomed. Give me the strength to save my pupils and this city. I shall be your servant once more and do whatever bidding you ask of me.’
No response.
‘Azlene!’ Harald shouted mentally.
‘Give me strength! I shall be your loyal dog if that is what it takes!’
His prayer went unanswered, leaving the veteran helpless as William swung his weapon down. Harald closed his eyes, his thoughts going out to the goddess one last time.
‘I beg of you. I know you are watching. I know you despise all this destruction. This death. Help me stop all this.’
Finally, the goddess answered. Thunder boomed in the sky, lightning following as it struck the ground near the two fighters. It caught William off guard, stopping his swing. The herald’s gaze moved to Harald. His expression had turned from anger to complete shock.
Harald could feel heat surrounding him, encasing him in a warmth he had not felt in years. Knowledge of his spells came back in a flurry, along with the words of Azlene herself. Her soft-spoken voice rushed past his ears, whispering to Harald everything. His debt and his job. The veteran stood up, his left hand raising. He could feel the runes on his chest burn with power once more, his wounds slowly healing from it all.
Harald had his old power once more. While it was not as strong as it used to be, it was more than enough for the veteran. Azlene had given him his chance. Harald had to use it well.
“No… NO!” William took a step back, his hands shaking with disbelief. “This is impossible! You’re not supposed to be redeemed! You’re supposed to die at my hand!”
Harald spat onto the ground, before he took a couple steps to William. “You’re right about one thing. I’m not redeemed. Not yet.” The veteran looked at his broken sword, its dead runes now flowing with magical life. “I gave my life to Azlene. Offered everything to protect this city and my students,” Harald explained. “Until that debt is repaid, I shall be her loyal servant. One that will no longer serve leaders. Neither Jarl nor King can tell me what to do.”
“What are you on about? The goddess chose me to save this world! Not you!” William sounded hysterical, his breathing growing quick and heavy.
“She did. Back when we first fought,” Harald explained. He thought back to the whispers the goddess had spoken into his ears. “Now however, she believes that you’re not fit to carry the heraldry.” The veteran raised his jagged sword to William. “On her behalf, I am to dispatch you and cleanse this city of the marauder and Lumen threat. That is her will and I shall serve it.”
“You lie! If she wanted to dispatch me, she would’ve taken the heraldry herself!”
“You know she cannot do that,” Harald pointed out. “It can only be done by a worthy successor or chosen apostle. I am the latter and she will get her way, William.”
William stared at the veteran in disbelief. “No… No no no!” He pointed his sword to Harald. “Lies! All lies! You’re using tricks! That’s it! All tricks!” William sounded like he was on the verge of a breakdown, his eyes wide with fear and his hands shaking like crazy.
Harald readied himself with his broken sword. “William. I shall give you one last chance to surrender. To call your men off. We can end this peacefully.”
William stopped for a moment at the sound of the veteran’s calm voice. He shook his head, his weapon raising once more. “I am going to kill you, Stroud. Whether it’s the last thing I do!”
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Deimos stomped on the last of the thieves, his boot squeezing the life out the little bastard’s throat. “Worthless bugs,” he muttered. These thieves were clearly inexperienced in combat, as evidenced from the bodies that surrounded the Red Death. They had only landed a mere few nicks on his armor, far from what the orcs had done. Deimos stepped through the next room of the guild house, his gaze peeking the corners. No one was left in here it seemed.
Deimos had entered the guild house, hoping to find a much more suitable fighter. Instead, he found cowering thieves and hiding city folk. Of course, no one was spared, but that had done nothing to scratch the man’s itch for a challenge.
“You would think this city would have much more suitable fighters and defenders,” Deimos muttered as he entered another room. This one was much bigger, with a balcony to overlook it. Banners were hung everywhere, showcasing a hand picking up a valdora piece.
“What is this?” Deimos asked himself as he walked around. It looked to be a meeting room, one that probably housed any and all gatherings of those filthy thieves. As Deimos examined the intricacies of the guild house, footsteps rang out from the hallway he came from. The Red Death turned to the sound. Were more thieves coming to avenge their fallen brothers? No, that would be too much to expect from these bottom-feeders. This was something else, judging from the heavy steps that rang out.
‘Steel plate boots. Knights I presume?’
Deimos found himself grinning as more identical steps sounded out.
Soon enough, these footsteps culminated in steel clad figures filing out of the doorways. Swords and spears were drawn and pointed at the Red Death, their respective users surrounding the man in black armor. Deimos eyed them all, recognizing the red wax stamp they bore on their chests. All but one person had this, that being a young witch that was already forming runes with her fingers.
“I suppose this isn’t a surrender?” He asked the group of knights.
“Deimos of the North!” One knight called out. He stepped forward, his sword at the ready. “You have committed atrocities to Delphine and her people for far too long! For decades you have done nothing but revolt and fight us! Murdered and pillaged our towns and islands for nothing more than greedy gain! I shall put you to the sword myself!”
Deimos sighed. He had heard this spiel far too many times. “Yes yes. I know. However, I have a question.” He raised his ax to the witch. “You are not like the rest. Interestingly enough, you’re a dark magic user. Why do you face me so with Lumen bastards at your side?”
The witch could only stare at him, her emotions turning from disgust to rage. “Five years ago, you raided a small town north of Yorn’s territory. Rykestead. You killed someone there.”
Deimos raised his eyebrow. “That town? I do remember taking it over. I don’t remember killing anyone but… Oh.” The chieftain chuckled. “The lone guardsman at the docks. Called me a disgrace to the Valenfrost. Who was he to you? Lover? Father?”
“Brother,” the witch answered through gritted teeth. “I swore since that day I would take your head. This is my one chance.”
Deimos laughed at the young woman’s words. “Such vigor in your voice! I do hope you put up a fight. I know your brother didn’t.”
“You fucking scum! Night Spray!” The witch’s words were accompanied by a flurry of purple fireflies, all of them flying towards Deimos.
“You idiot!” One of the Lumen knights called out to the witch, his feet stepping back to avoid the spell. Deimos took the chance to rush the affected knight, his hands swinging the ax in his grip.
“Power Strike!” His casting pushed his ax towards the knight’s head in hopes of a quick kill. Instead, the knight saw it coming. He dodged, avoiding a strike to the head. Still, Deimos wouldn’t end it there. He used all his strength to redirect the ax, trying to keep it on course. The ax-head instead smashed into the knight’s shoulder, cutting through enchanted steel and gambeson. It wasn’t ideal, but it was enough. Deimos quickly forced the knight to the side right after the hit, using his body as a shield against the Night Spray spell.
The knight screamed in pain, his body squirming and shuddering in Deimos’ hold. When the smell of cooked flesh and burning steel reached his nostrils, he knew he was safe.
“Lucard!” one knight called. Another of the armored fool rushed in, his spear aimed for Deimos. The chieftain saw it coming, his hands shoving Lucard’s body in the way. The spear pierced raw flesh, giving Deimos an opening. Avoiding Lucard’s screams, he rushed ahead with his ax, swinging at the spearman’s head.
Cold steel made contact with the fleshy exposed neck, and the spearman’s shouts were soon gargled. Even without castings, Deimos’ swing was deadly. The Red Death kicked the body away, letting it bleed out as he rushed at the next knight.
“Needle Shot!” The woman’s shout was accompanied by a casting, her left hand forming a rune. Deimos quickly jumped aside, avoiding the arcane spell. However, it also left him open. Another knight came in right after, exploiting his folly.
“Precision Strike!”
The knight’s sword struck Deimos on his side, piercing through the small gap in his armor. The chieftain winced in pain, his teeth grinding as he grabbed at the bastard’s sword. He held it in place, his left hand forming a rune.
“Arcane Bolt!” Deimos’ spell flew at the knight at top speed, colliding against the steel chest piece. Unfortunately, the spell did nothing but leave a sizable dent. It appeared that the fucker’s armor was enchanted. Before Deimos could form another rune, the female knight from before rushed in, accompanied by another ally of hers.
Deimos defended himself, using his armored gauntlet to block the sword attacks and spear pokes. Still, sharp bites of pain still came through, cutting and slicing through flesh and gambeson. Deimos would soon have enough, his hands grabbed both spear and sword. The knights before him struggled, but the chieftain held onto the weapons tightly. As a result, the third knight came in from the right, his hand brandishing the marauder’s ax. Deimos expected this, his grin growing as he released his grip on both the spear and sword.
“Temporal Parry.”
Steel flashed, and magic was spent. In just a second, Deimos had his ax back, his body burning with an intense heat he had not felt in ages. The knight who had tried to strike him was now nothing more than a corpse, his head mangled and his armor horribly scarred. Deimos looked to the last two knights, who stumbled back in shock. Deimos rushed ahead, throwing his ax at the woman with the sword. The knight hurried to block it, her weapon raising. This left her ally alone for a second. A second that would prove fatal.
The knight would try to use a spear to fend off Deimos, but the chieftain simply grabbed the spear’s shaft and pulled hard. The knight stumbled forward, his eyes visible through the small slit in his helmet. He was terrified. The chieftain’s hands moved to grab the knight’s armored helm, his voice turning ethereal for a moment.
“Adrenal Surge,” Deimos chanted, his body gaining a burst of strength in response. In that split second, the Red Death used all his power to crush the knight’s head inwards.
Without wasting time, Deimos grabbed the dead man’s spear and threw it with all his strength at the last knight. She had just avoided contact with the ax; her gaze moving to Deimos at the right moment. The Lumen Knight could only manage a small shout of fear before the spearhead pierced through her helmet, its shaft running half its length through her skull. The knight’s body stumbled a bit as a result, her hands reaching out to the thin air. Soon enough, she would fall back, her twitching cadaver going limp.
Deimos stood up straight, his breathing hard and his body burning. For the first time in a while, he had bled.
“Interesting,” he panted out. “Now… for the wit–”
Deimos blinked. The room he had been in was gone. Instead, he was standing in inch high water. It ran for miles, the only horizon being the oblivion that blanketed the sky. Mist slowly rolled in, surrounding his ankles. Deimos raised his eyebrow, his gaze moving to the bodies that had stayed.
His heart dropped at the sight of the corpses. They were no longer knights. Instead, they had changed to the form of other people. A man in a light red cloak and light gambeson. He bore the symbol of a tree on his chest, a symbol Deimos had not seen in decades. Another body depicted an elderly man with a similar garb, his eyes staring at the red death with a look that showcased accusation. Another was a young boy, his chest caved in and his eyes pulled out. The last one was someone he did not want to look at.
“What is this?” Deimos murmured.
“Sigrid,” a soft female voice called out. Deimos blinked and turned to the source. It was her. The source of the voice was a young woman, one that was in her late twenties. She had black hair that flowed freely to her shoulders. Her skin was like fair ivory, her eyes a faint green and blue.
“You,” the chieftain called out. “How…?”
“You were having a horrible dream,” she explained. The young woman stepped forward, her hand raising to Deimos.
Deimos accepted it, his larger hands gently caressing them. “A dream,” he repeated.
“Yes, a dream,” the woman confirmed. “Sigrid, please stop this. This death and destruction.” She sounded worried, as she always was. “Let us live in peace, like we’ve always talked about.” She begged softly. Deimos was quiet as she came closer. Her hands crept up to his horned helmet, her fingers gently grazing the blackened steel. “Take off this armor and that symbol. Let us be at peace, Sigrid.”
The chieftain slapped her hand away from his helmet. “My name is Deimos.”
“What? What are you–?”
Deimos interrupted her, his right hand grabbing at the illusion’s throat. As soon as he did so, the world around changed back to normal. The woman he had once loved transformed in that moment, changing into the witch from before.
“What?! H-How?!” The witch gasped out in shock.
Deimos grinned. “It shall take much more than sweet words and images of the past to take me down.”
“But… I showed you what you wanted? How could you kill the one thing you loved the most?”
Deimos only chuckled, his other hand moving in to grab the witch’s throat much more efficiently. “I’ve already killed what I’ve loved. That is why such illusions will never work,” he whispered to the witch. With that, Deimos squeezed slowly, watching with sick glee as the witch’s life was snuffed out of her eyes.
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Dimitri did his best to make not one sound. The rest of his crew were doing the same, their eyes full of primal fear and shock. They had all sat by as Deimos massacred the Thieves' Guild hideout.
The shipmaster and his crew had arrived at the hideout at the worst of moments, right when Deimos had found it. They were wise enough to stay hidden and quiet, watching as the chieftain slaughtered thieves and knights alike. They stood no chance against him.
Dimitri could hear how Deimos threw aside the witch’s corpse, her body making a light thud on the floor near his hiding spot. The shipmaster was currently tucked into a tight corner of the guild storage rooms. Piles of silver and valdoras littered the room, making it even harder for the man to move around quietly. The rest of his crew sat nearby, their gazes fixed on the entrance to the storage room. While the entrance was hidden well, they could still catch the glimpse of the outside world.
Dimitri had the better viewpoint, his eyes watching as the Red Death strolled around the room. He caught glimpses of the chieftain, who was covered in wounds and dents. Deimos wasn’t even healing himself, yet Dimitri could see how the man’s bloodied wounds were slowly healing.
‘His armor… It can’t be…’
It was. The shipmaster was witness to the process of healing runes, enchantments that are far from common. Deimos’ armor was home to such magic, the effects of it healing his battle wounds and reforming the dents and nicks in his armor. While slow, Dimitri couldn’t help but feel as if the Red Death was unkillable. Can James even stand up to such a monster?
Support creative writers by reading their stories on Royal Road, not stolen versions.
As the shipmaster contemplated, he heard the telltale clink of a valdora hitting a pile of silver. His heart dropped at the miniscule sound. One of his crew had accidentally knocked the coin over a crate. Deimos’ stroll stopped immediately at the sound, the chieftain’s body shifting to the storage room. While Dimitri couldn’t see his face, he knew Deimos was smiling.
He could only watch as the Red Death approached the room, his boots echoing one by one. Dimitri felt all the hope in his body drain away. There was no winning this fight. Not against Deimos. His crew all seem to realize this, as their gazes turned to Dimitri in despair. Even Liam looked like he had lost all hope for living. After everything they had gone through together, this was where Dimitri’s luck had ended.
I’m sorry, Dimitri mouthed. He felt guilt weighing him down, his body losing all control as he slumped against the wall. He could only count the seconds as Deimos grabbed at the storage room’s door.
Suddenly, thunder boomed above. It wasn’t any ordinary boom, no; it was one that was surprisingly close to the guild house. It was much more different from the regular lightning as well, its echo much more pronounced and deafening.
‘Magic?’ Dimitri questioned. Deimos stopped his movements, his body still. Dimitri watched in slow agony as the chieftain contemplated. After what seemed like forever, the Red Death stepped away from the door, his body turning for the stairs.
Even after Deimos would leave, it would be a long time before Dimitri or any of his crew made a sound. Once they did, it was out of relief and fear, their voices overlapping as they comforted each other.
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Lilith felt scared. It was a feeling not too uncommon with her. She had felt it back when she fought that huge knight. Back when Seamus nearly died. Back during Aldren’s fall. It had gripped her like a vise, yet Lilith pushed through. The young woman had always pushed through it. The fear only motivated her, pushing her to survive.
“Get moving!” Helen shouted out from behind. The blonde woman looked how Lilith felt. Scared. She too had the look in her eyes. The one that showed fear of loss and death.
Lilith kept moving through the dark rain, her eyes trying to adjust to the alleyway’s pitch black shadows. She could see the shaman ahead of her, trying to peek corners whilst moving as quickly as she could. The gnomes and that dwarf were right behind, carrying around that hefty totem. The young woman had no idea what it did, but she knew it was important. Vital even. It was her duty to protect these gnomes and their totem. Seamus had entrusted this goal to her.
Thunder boomed and lightning crackled in the sky, this time much closer than the young woman expected. It looked like it had struck somewhere in the city. Before she could question, another bolt of lightning struck, thunder sounding out almost immediately. As a result, the alleyway lit up. In that instant, Lilith felt dread. There was a shirtless man in the shadows, his arms carrying a large hammer. The young woman’s voice died in her voice as she tried to scream and yell at the man. Yet even that was too slow. She could only watch as the bearded man jumped down into the alleyway, his hammer raised. Lilith pushed past Helen and another guard, her hands equipping her two axes.
Everything was slow. Lilith could see how Dahlia lunged with her sword, her yell inaudible through the thunder. The gnomes could only watch in horror, their bodies stiff and frozen. Rockford the dwarf tried to intervene, but he, too, was slow. The berserker before Lilith could only grin as he swung his warhammer on the closest gnome. Gore and gray matter flew as the hammer obliterated the small man’s head, sending specks of bone and blood everywhere.
Lilith watched all of this transpire in less than a second, her heart dropping and her eyes widening. She watched as the male gnome’s body went limp, falling to the ground right after the strike. The female gnome could only scream in terror, her hands dropping the totem. The old dwarf rushed at the man responsible, but his face was violently kicked in by the fearsome man. Lilith roared with anger, her legs propelling her body toward the berserker. Her axes struck steel, the bastard’s warhammer acting as a defense.
The hammer then pushed the young woman back before it swung at her with blinding speed. Lilith raised her axes to defend, but Helen moved in to do it for her. The blonde woman raised her shield, taking the attack head on. A second later, she flew back to Lilith, knocking her down. As the young woman shifted on the ground, her thoughts reminded her of one more person.
‘Dahlia!’
Lilith raised her head, spotting the shaman avoiding the strikes of the berserker. A guard tried to get in to help, but he ended up getting his chest crushed in. The other guards around took a step back, trying to find another opening.
Lilith saw how severe the wound was, which made her move to check in on Helen. The older woman was currently trying to get up, using her spear to hold her weight. The shield she used was far from useful, as it now consisted of two broken pieces. Lilith went to help but Helen shrugged her off.
“Go help Dahlia! That berserker is going to kill her!”
Lilith nodded and focused her attention on the shaman. Dahlia was using her shield to try and defend, but even that was proving to be useless. The berserker’s swing was deadly and stronger than an average orc’s. Lilith raised her two axes and focused her breathing. She needed to be calm and precise. Just like back on that island.
The young woman rushed at the berserker ahead, her axes swinging in sync. The berserker noticed this and turned to meet her advance. Lilith slid on the wet ground, avoiding the hammer swing from the man. Her axes flashed and struck at the man’s leg and belly. Perfect spots to set up an evisceration kill. Yet her strikes hit nothing but rain. Lilith blinked and realized that this man had foreseen her attacks and dodged accordingly.
The berserker raised his hammer once more, before he swung down on Lilith. Lilith quickly dodged, her eyes watching the hammerhead strike the ground with enough force to splinter it. In less than a second, the young woman was back up and ready to fight again. She stared her opponent down, who looked to be interested in Lilith.
“What is this?” He laughed. “Someone who can match my speed?” He pointed his hammer at the young woman. “Who are you?”
Lilith only stared, her axes raising once more.
“Silent type, eh?” The man laughed. “Good. I hate talkers.” He grinned.
“Lars!” Another voice called out. Lilith risked a glance to the source. There was a man in black armor, his hands carrying a sword and shield. “We are here to stop the totem, nothing more!”
“Silence!” Lars exploded at the other man. “You have your goal! I have mine! Do not interfere, Gustus!”
“We have a mission to do–!” an incoming spear interrupted Gustus, its pointed edge scratching against his shield.
“Shut the fuck up and fight!” Helen shouted, her feet kicking at the armored man’s shield.
“That is more like it!” Lars laughed.
“Dahlia! Get out of here! Get that totem to the center, no matter what!” Helen shouted. The shaman could only stare dumbly, her mouth opening to protest. “No matter what!” Helen shouted once more, her spear stabbing at Gustus. The other man slapped it away with his shield before he tried a slash at the blonde woman. Helen barely dodged it. “Go Dahlia! Lilith and I will handle these two!”
Dahlia looked conflicted, her face contorting into several emotions. Yet she did not argue. She instead pulled the female gnome away from her companion’s body, her voice calling out to the guardsmen around.
“Anyone who’s still alive! Let’s go!”
The guardsmen and the shaman hurried to the totem, picking it up in the wide alleyway. Gustus tried to intervene but was cut off by Helen again.
“We’re not finished!” Lars shouted at the guardsmen. He moved in to block them off, but Lilith rushed in. Her axes swung at the man, who blocked it cleanly with his hammer’s staff.
“Persistent are you?!” He shouted in glee. Lilith only backed away, her axes moving in for another strike. Lars blocked it once more before he recuperated with his own strike. Both berserker and woman fought then and there, their strikes ringing out in the rain.
‘Protect Dahlia and the totem! No matter what!’
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Archibald was reaching his limit. For every marauder he put down, three more always came into their place. The surrounding men were falling one by one, their raven emblems becoming stained in crimson. Marauders were growing by the number, their overwhelming force enough to push the small group back. The elf wasn’t sure why he was still alive, but he did not question. He just kept stabbing and thrusting his rapier, his body struggling to keep its pose for every strike.
“Come at me! Is that all you got?!” Bjorn’s shout caught Archibald’s attention, causing the elf to risk a glance at the dwarf. Bjorn was having the time of his life, his ax cutting down weaklings whilst his shield blocked off spears and arrows. Through the chaos of the night, he looked to be in his element.
“We have to retreat!” Archibald called out to Bjorn. “We’re becoming overwhelmed!”
“Fine by me! It means I have more to fight!” Bjorn grinned as he bashed another of the marauders. Archibald could see how the dwarf was covered in bleeding wounds, his eyepatch torn off at some point.
“We’re getting surrounded, you dolt! We have to fall back and strategize!” Archibald argued. He dodged another attack, his rapier’s tip quickly dispatching the marauder behind it.
“You can fall back! I’ll keep fighting!” Bjorn shouted.
“Dammit!” The elf cursed. “Everyone! Fall back behind Bjorn! Make your way to the bridge!” Archibald watched as the rest of their group slowly backed away from the fight, their shields and weapons up. Some wouldn’t make it, as marauders took advantage of their retreat.
Men around the elf died, with both marauder and raven losing blood and appendages. Archibald pushed through, gritting his teeth as he fought off the surrounding bastards.
“Multi-Strike!” His rapier glowed a bright blue at the sound of his voice, its tip quickly thrusting forward. His muscles screamed with effort, his arm a blur as it struck at the marauders before him. Archibald didn’t know if he was hitting any of them. All he knew was that it was keeping him alive.
Soon enough, the elf would reach solace, his feet feeling the elevating wood of the bridge. He looked behind him, seeing how some ravens made it to the other side alive. The only ones left to cross were Archibald and Bjorn.
“Bjorn! We have to–” Just as Archibald spoke, he felt someone grab at his collar. The elf was thrown back just in time to avoid a deadly strike from a mace. He landed on the bridge, stunned and surprised. Bjorn was before him, the dwarf’s shield raised. Archibald could see how Bjorn’s body was wounded, his leg having a noticeable limp. His breathing was hard, probably from all the castings he had used.
“Fall back, Archibland,” the dwarf called back. “I’ll hold them off.”
The elf blinked. “The hel you will! We’re falling back together!” Archibald quickly sprang from the ground, his rapier moving to stab the bastard that had come up to the narrow bridge. Delilah stabbed clear through the marauder’s bare chest, hitting his heart with precision. “I’m not leaving you behind!”
“You’re going to have to!” Bjorn exerted himself once again, his ax cleaving a marauder’s jaw off.
“They’re going to keep following us… Regardless of how far we run. Keeping them here ensures more time for Dahlia and those gnomes!” The dwarf explained all of this in heaving breaths. He raised his shield once again, blocking off a sword slash. Archibald stared at the dwarf, who continuously held off the group of marauders.
“More will come!” The elf panted as he cut down another man. “These rabble will continue to grow! To push!”
“I’ll hold them off!” Bjron exclaimed with another strike. “Just go! Dahlia and her group need help! No matter what, we need to help! This is our way!” Bjorn turned to the elf. “I’ll keep them from crossing this bridge, even if it’s the last thing I do!” He shouted as he bashed someone with his shield. Archibald hesitated, but nodded. There was no room for arguing. Time was running thin.
“Alright… I’ll go!” He finally gave in. The elf slowly stepped back, watching as the dwarf held off marauder after marauder. Archibald began to turn, to run off with the rest of the ravens. Yet he couldn’t. A certain tightness grabbed at his chest, stopping Archibald in his tracks. He gritted his teeth, his head turning back to the dwarf once more.
“Just… Just don’t die!” The elf called out. Bjorn didn’t look back, but Archibald knew that he was grinning.
“None of these savages shall pass this bridge. That is my word! My promise!”
“Just stay alive! No matter what!” Archibald called back. With that said, he turned and ran, leaving Bjorn to the horde of marauders.
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“Thunder Lance!”
Falrick’s shout was accompanied by the blinding whiteness of lightning, followed by the booming thunder it emitted. The Wizard’s spell flew through the air like an arrow, its jagged edge aimed for the cursed beholder user. Eli simply raised his hand at the flying spell, his eyes flashing brightly. In just a moment, a large barrier of magic was raised, shattering once the thunder lance impacted it. Seamus squinted through the bright flash of magic, trying to get a good view of the action before him. Yet he could see very little through the air of smog that had resulted from the clash of spells.
Before the smoke could clear, however, Haggard came from the marauder’s flank. The drifter raised his hammer, which glowed a bright red.
“Power Strike!” He had bolstered the casting, as evidenced from the way his body tensed and the speed his hammer was moving. Eli quickly backed away, his hands raising in defense. A wall of mist came up to defend him, blocking the drifter. Yet Haggard’s strike tore through it like nothing, filling the air with what sounded like glass breaking.
The hammer kept its trajectory, aiming to hit Eli in mere moments. The beholder user countered once more, this time with flowing spears that materialized from the mist around him. Haggard was struck with the jagged points, his body faltering and his hammer missing Eli. While his armor shrugged off most of the hastily made spears, some of them managed to hit his leg and shoulder, breaking the drifter’s Carapace buff and sending streaks of red flying out.
Seamus rushed in at this point, his sword flying at Eli. He was scared, terrified even. Yet he knew he couldn’t allow Haggard to die right here. Eli saw the young man coming at him, the spellcaster’s hands moving to gesture towards Seamus.
“I suppose you want to die with him!” He shouted. Seamus felt his body freeze up, the coward in him returning in full force. He was faced with the sharp ends of multiple spears, all them racing towards him.
“Barrier!”
“Lightning Strike!”
Both Nathan’s and Falrick’s voices boomed with magical ability, both of their castings protecting Seamus whilst also distracting Eli. Seamus stumbled back, watching how the blue barrier before him cracked and fractured. Nathan’s barrier spell quickly dispatched the spears, while Falrick’s spell scarred the floor and struck Eli at the same time. The smell of burnt wood and ozone filled the young man’s nostrils, making him want to cough and gag. The old Wizard looked to Seamus, his hand gesturing to Seamus to get away.
“Seamus! Stay back! This is a battle you cannot win!”
Falrick’s warning was accompanied by the booming of thunder, with a strike of lightning breaching the roof of the chamber right after.
“Barrier!” Falrick quickly conjured a blue barrier of magic almost immediately after the thunder, his staff aimed at the air. The strike shattered the barrier, sending another boom of thunder that echoed throughout the room. More smoke and dust filled the air, followed along with the light pattering of rain that came from the hole the lighting strike made.
“I can use lightning magic too, asshole,” Eli’s voice called out. The beholder user walked from the smoke, his eyes glinting with power. He made his way to Falrick, who was currently on the ground. The Wizard had been knocked back from the lightning strike, his sluggish body movements showing that he was concussed. Seamus could see how Falrick’s staff was now in two pieces.
“Burn!” A voice called out. Flames came in immediately after the shout, cutting Eli off from Falrick. Seamus turned to the source, watching how Nathan stepped up. The younger Wizard already had his wooden staff at the ready, his shout echoing.
“Encase Flame!” His spell summoned the flames around Eli, which quickly formed into a spiral that went around the marauder. However, it was quickly blocked off, this time by that damned mist. The mist was immediate and effective, blocking off the harmful flames from Nathan.
Eli’s eyes glowing brightly as he commanded the mist that surrounded him. Nathan gritted his teeth, clearly frustrated. He slammed his staff on the ground, his voice calling out once more.
“Encase Flame!” The gem on the staff’s tip glowed a bright red, a clear sign that the spell was bolstered. As a result, the flames of the Wizard’s casting blasted against the spellcaster’s mist shield once more, its heat felt throughout the room. Seamus had to cover his face to block the wave of hot air that came from that. The spell soon dissipated, along with the black mist that had covered Eli. The spell had done nothing. The beholder user simply stood there, his expression full of glee and amusement.
“My turn,” Eli called out. He raised his hands, which dripped with dark magic. Seamus braced himself, expecting more of those blackened spears to come at him. Instead, the spellcaster summoned something else entirely. Flames appeared around the room, their heat rivaling Nathan’s own spells. They were also purple, a departure from the usual orange and yellow flames the young Wizard produced.
Eli made a gesture and the flames shifted from their spots. They raged towards Nathan, who raised his staff in response.
“Fog Cloud!” Mist exploded from the Wizard’s position, filling the room in the smog. Still, thanks to the flames from earlier, Seamus could see the outline of Nathan. The Wizard avoided Eli’s flames with ease, his staff raising for another spell.
“Summon Water!” His words were accompanied by the rumbling of the ground, causing everyone to wobble and stumble. The wooden floor beneath splintered and cracked. Thin streams of water pierced out of the floor, summoned the sea below.
Nathan shouted a couple more words out, ones that Seamus couldn’t catch. Still, he could see what the Wizard was planning to do. The summoned streams of water turned sharp at Nathan’s command, their jagged edges rushing towards Eli. While mist covered everything, the beholder user was still visible. His eyes burned through the fog, lighting him up like a beacon. Black mist came in to overshadow the fog, forming to block off the water spears.
“Creative! For a peasant!” Eli shouted.
Nathan raised his staff once more, moving to cast one more spell. Yet he wouldn’t be able to. Seamus could only watch as a black spear shot up from underneath the floorboards, its tip flashing towards the young Wizard’s head. Blood was spilt and Seamus saw the man’s red crooked hat fly through the air, its brim and base ripped through.
Nathan stumbled a bit, but he retained his posture. He raised his staff, his voice booming throughout the chamber.
“Fireball!”
Just at the sound of the word, Seamus dropped to the floor in fear. The madman was casting a Fireball in an enclosed space.
In just a moment, a ball of fire and destruction flew towards the beholder user. Eli simply stood there, his hand making a quick gesture. Black mist rose up almost immediately, blocking the Fireball in its path. Still, it boomed and sent shrapnel everywhere. Seamus had to curl up in a ball to avoid getting hit. Once it was over, the young man peeked from his position. Through the mist and smoke, he could see the Wizard’s outline. He was in the same spot, his staff shaking.
Eli sighed. “Are you finished? Good.” He raised his hand, his flames from before rushing towards Nathan.
The Wizard before him struggled to stand up straight, his staff raising one last time.
“Magi Shield!”
The Wizard’s bubble shield only lasted for a moment before a barrage of blackened spears shot through it, shattering it. Seamus watched with wide eyes, spotting the Wizard’s body recoil violently from the impact of one spear that had managed to hit him. Purple flames engulfed Nathan right after the spear, before bursting into a fiery explosion.
“No… No no no!” Seamus couldn’t believe it. He had just watched a man known for his mastery of magic die in front of him. Eli had simply dispatched him like he was nothing.
“You… You bastard!” Seamus shouted in anger and rushed at Eli, his sword ready. The marauder raised an eyebrow, his hand raising towards Seamus. More spears came at the young man, but Seamus didn’t care. He just kept running.
Something then clicked in Seamus. It was like everything was slow. His body felt lighter and his thoughts were almost completely different.
‘Dodge! Dodge it all!’
Seamus held his breath, jaw clenched as he ran in full speed. He jumped over the first spear, his torso shifting to avoid the second and third. His sword deflected the fourth, its edge grinding against its length. Seamus locked gazes with Eli, their eyes staring at each other for a moment. Eli looked stunned, his expression that of complete surprise.
Seamus yelled as he swung at Eli, his weapon gliding through the thick humid air. Before he knew it however, the sound of shattering filled his ears. The blue shards of his Carapace buff flew through the air and something stabbed at the young man’s gut.
Seamus felt his eyes widen, his gaze moving down to the spear that had penetrated past his armor and to his stomach. This spear was smaller than the others, possibly made out of desperation. Still, it hurt like hell and Seamus could feel his anger dissipate almost immediately. Before Eli or Seamus could do or say anything, someone tackled and grabbed Seamus, yanking him away from the marauder.
“You idiot!” Haggard shouted.
“I… I lost it again.” Seamus managed out in a gasp.
‘Stupid stupid!’
This wasn’t the only time Seamus’ anger had gotten the best of him. It had nearly got him killed back during last Frost, when he fought those Lumen soldiers. Now it seemed like he had pushed his luck too far again.
“I’m bleeding…” Seamus dumbly muttered. He looked at his wound, which started to form a small red mark on his armor.
“You’re fine!” Haggard assured Seamus. The drifter pressed his fingers against the light wound, which stung a little. “He didn’t pierce that deep. Your armor and Carapace buff protected you well.”
Seamus was about to ask Haggard about Falrick, but was interrupted when he felt a wave of heat coming from nearby.
“Shit!”
Eli had sent a wave of purple flames, their focus on the two men.
“Magi Shield!” In an instant, a bubble was formed around both Haggard and Seamus, protecting them from the fire. Once they cleared out, Seamus could spot the Wizard who had casted it. Falrick stood there, his hands shaking as they formed the rune necessary for the shield
“You all are getting on my nerves,” Eli called out. “What kind of idiot risks themselves for a third rate magic user?”
“His name was Nathan!” Seamus shouted out. The young man moved out of Haggard’s hold, his feet stumbling as he tried to stand up straight. “He was a better man than you!”
“He was dirty gutter trash. A peasant who had the gall to call himself a Wizard.” The beholder user sighed. “I’m surprised he held out as long as he did.” He talked of Nathan as if he was a thorn. Like he was nothing more than just an annoyance. “Don’t you agree, old man?” Eli asked the older Wizard, who was still trying to collect himself.
Falrick just stared at the marauder, his expression darkening slowly. “I’m going to do what I should have done from the beginning. What I should have done back at the fort.” Falrick slammed his palms together, his fingers quickly forming runes.
“Another spell?” Eli laughed. “You lot really are persistent.”
Falrick clenched his jaw. “Seamus! Haggard! No matter what happens tonight, we must kill him! No matter what! This city is counting on us!” The Wizard turned to the two. “Ready yourselves! For we shall take our final stand!”
“You got it,” Haggard murmured. The drifter limped his way to Seamus’ side, his hammer raised. “Are you ready?” He asked. Seamus nodded and readied his sword. His wound was still bothering him, its pain almost making the young man falter his stance. Yet he kept his resolve, his body tensing up. He needed to push all the fear back, all the anger, everything.
“This might be fun, actually,” Eli chuckled. “Come one then! Give me your all!” That seemed to do it. Falrick raised his hands, the rune they formed glowing brightly.
“Thunder Flash!”