Martin screamed in shock. There was hardly a body left. Just a pile of gore with red soaked High Elder robes. Martin gasped, horrified as he tore his gaze from what was left of Navir.
“Don’t pretend to mourn that man. I know you hated him,” Indenuel hissed.
Martin couldn’t help but back away. It was more than just Navir’s death. It was how violent it had been. How little Indenuel seemed to be affected by how he turned a man to mush.
Indenuel rolled his head around his neck before he tossed his staff in front of him. It levitated in the air and Martin backed away even more to keep from touching it. The staff began to suck light from around it, and the snow turned gray. The trees groaned as they came to life. Martin gasped before he threw his hands to the ground, pouring all the healing power he had left into the earth. He could sense it, just barely beyond his reach. The essence of the trees screaming in fear. The sky trembling at the chaos of snow in the summer, in a place that never received snow. Sensed the good spirits miles away and terrified at the pure evil they could not possibly touch. Sensed the spirits leave the bodies of soldiers as they died by the hands of their comrades.
Martin pushed all the power he could, trying to do whatever it took to keep the four powers from breaking under Indenuel’s corruption.
Indenuel grabbed his staff, headed straight for Martin. He was powerless to stop him. He didn’t dare take his hands off the ground. The trees were coming to life all around him, shivering and rolling their branches.
Indenuel lifted his staff and brought it hard toward Martin’s face, but a sword was there, blocking the deadly blow. Martin glanced up to see Nathaniel.
“Do not touch the staff with your bare hands,” Martin said quickly, knowing there was so much more about the Warlock’s Staff he needed to warn Nathaniel about, but that was the most important.
Nathaniel nodded, then moved his sword with a powerful jerk to throw Indenuel off balance. Indenuel should have fallen, but the staff kept him on his feet as he glided back. Nathaniel did not pause as he brought his sword down, hitting the staff. Despite the uncertainty in Indenuel’s steps, his staff blocked Nathaniel’s sword with the quick anticipated moves of a master.
Martin kept his hands to the ground, forcing all the healing power he had into it as his son attacked Indenuel with all the strength he had. He expected to hear the clang of metal sword against sword, but the staff was made of a different, more devilish material. The dull thuds seemed to have quiet hisses and shrieks to them.
Navir’s robes were not that far, soaked in blood. Martin blinked back tears as Nathaniel pushed Indenuel farther from Martin.
“Just go home, Nathaniel!” Indenuel shouted. “I don’t want to hurt you! Go home, and you’ll survive.”
“You know I won’t do that. You have become a threat to my family,” Nathaniel said.
“I am helping your family! All of you kicked him out! He’s not even welcome in your home!” Indenuel said.
“And I will fight you in order to make sure there is still a possibility for my father to repent. Do not kill him!” Nathaniel said.
“Don’t make me kill you too, damn you,” Indenuel said.
“You feel guilty. I know it. Stop killing the High Elders. We can work through this,” Nathaniel said.
“I don’t care about the High Elders. They deserve to die, every single one of them.”
Indenuel blocked blow after blow until the realization dawned on Nathaniel’s face. “What did you do to Tolomon!”
Indenuel growled, blocking a few of his blows before elbowing him hard in the face. Nathaniel stumbled back, holding his mouth. “The same thing I’ll do to you if you keep trying to stop me!”
Nathaniel wiped the blood from his lip, tears in his eyes before he hit the staff with everything in his power. Martin watched his son, not realizing he had held back before, but with the murder of Tolomon, Nathaniel let loose everything he had against Indenuel. The boy was now his son’s enemy. Indenuel blocked every blow before trying to hit Nathaniel, who in return blocked it with unmatched skill. Martin felt the trees coming to life, and he forced more power into the ground. His healing power built inside him, restoring his fatigue and the shock of using his power so hard.
Indenuel went for a low strike, which Nathaniel easily blocked. Indenuel rammed the top of the staff toward his face, and instinctually Nathaniel grabbed it with his bare hands. Martin gasped, but, to his surprise, Indenuel screamed in pain as though he was being torn apart. Nathaniel elbowed him in the face before kicking him hard in the chest, tearing his grip from the staff. Indenuel went flying before hitting the ground, groaning.
Nathaniel tossed the staff to one side like it was a stick before striding forward, his sword in hand. Nathaniel was not affected by the staff. Not only that, but, despite his power of healing, the demons fled from him like he had the gift of speaking to the dead. Martin gasped, for the first time hope filling his soul. His son could defeat the Staff of the Devil.
Indenuel scrambled to his feet, grabbing a sword off a dead soldier before throwing himself at Nathaniel. He blocked every single one of Indenuel’s blows before forcing the boy’s sword around and breaking his wrist. Indenuel shouted in pain before Nathaniel elbowed his face. Indenuel tried to grab another sword with his left hand, but Nathaniel again blocked it and snapped his other wrist. Nathaniel went to stab Indenuel. He tried to dodge it, but the sword caught his shoulder, burying deep inside. Indenuel screamed, falling to his knees.
“Martin is a liar and a cheat!” Indenuel shouted, out of breath. “A hypocrite and a murderer!”
Nathaniel leaned forward. “So are you.” There were tears streaming down his face.
Indenuel’s glare darkened. “I don’t need your pity. I just need you to get out of my way.”
“I would rather kill you then step aside and have you murder him.”
“You promised you’d never kill me,” Indenuel spat.
“And you promised you’d never sell your soul. I’m truly sorry, Indenuel, but if the devil convinced you to kill Tolomon, you are too unstable to keep alive.” He pulled his sword out, holding it in both hands. “Please find the strength to let go of the anger you will have for me after this.” He brought the sword back before moving the blade with deadly precision straight for Indenuel’s neck.
Indenuel raised his hand and the staff returned to his broken wrists. He gave another scream of pain as the weight of Nathaniel’s sword hit against the staff and his broken wrists. Indenuel kept a hold of the staff as demons entered his wrists, snapping them back into place and holding them there. Indenuel panted, looking up at Nathaniel with burning, black eyes. Nathaniel tried again to stab Indenuel, but the staff was full of demons again, anticipating Nathaniel’s moves.
“Touch it again!” Martin tried to shout. “Nathaniel, you can beat him! Touch the staff again then break it!”
Nathaniel didn’t hear, too busy making blow after blow at the staff. The very air around them shifted. Martin’s face dropped. Indenuel threw his hands forward and Nathaniel was thrown off his feet, lifted into the air by Indenuel’s sheer command of the wind.
“No, Indenuel! Stop!” Martin screamed.
A branch wrapped around Nathaniel’s torso, pinning his hands to his sides as another branch broke Nathaniel’s hand, forcing him to drop his sword. Indenuel walked forward, glaring.
Nathaniel struggled with the branches around his torso until another branch wrapped itself around his neck, preparing. He stilled, then looked at Indenuel far below him. Too far.
Taken from Royal Road, this narrative should be reported if found on Amazon.
“Damn you, Nathaniel,” Indenuel said, not hiding the sob that broke through him. “I didn’t want to kill you.”
“You don’t have to do this, Indenuel. Let my father go,” Nathaniel said, calmly as ever as the branch moved like a snake around his throat.
“I will never forgive you for this, Nathaniel! Never!”
“Indenuel-” He was cut off as Indenuel threw his hand at a tree and the branches around Nathaniel’s torso fell away. The one around his neck tightened.
“NO!” Martin screamed.
The jerk of his weight was too much. Martin shut his eyes and sobbed as he heard the snap of a neck. The horror of it all hit him square in the chest. His healing powers began to sense the life-or-death situation and tried to heal him, but they would never heal him from this. Martin stared at the ground, far too frightened to look above him.
Indenuel moved his broken wrist toward the air and Nathaniel’s body toppled to the ground far too close. Martin gave a shuddering sob.
The ground cracked. Martin stared at it with wide eyes as he forced himself to focus. The snow and ice began to rise, as well as dirt and dust. Something deep within his soul screamed. Indenuel had gone so far into corruption he broke the gifts. Stripped them to their original, elemental state. The one that should be for the Gods. But the devil had figured out a way to get them, too.
Martin looked up to see Indenuel gripping the staff with his demon healed wrists before shooting it forward. The very air around Martin swirled, pulling itself out of his body. His gift began to pull, recognizing the basic elemental state Indenuel was building up. The ground moved and shook as the boy began to run. Martin scrambled to his feet, pulling every ounce of power he had left to shield the only power he could.
The ground rose beneath Indenuel, pushing him higher and higher into the air as the fire inside him continued to build. With a scream, Indenuel leapt into the air. He came down and thrust his staff into the ground, and with it a wall of fire erupted from the staff. Martin closed his eyes and threw his shield toward the inferno, sucking it into the golden glow he created, making it grow stronger and brighter. Flames beat against the shield as sweat and tears poured down Martin’s face. The last remaining soldiers were consumed in flames. There was enough fire emanating from Indenuel’s staff that it would have headed for the city, but Martin strengthened his shield, reaching out toward the similar elements to suck the fire toward him. Martin moved his hands forward, the devilish flames struggling to get out. He wrapped the shield around the remains of the flames, forcing the fire inside before cutting off the air as it sputtered and died.
Martin dropped his shield. He was on his knees, his body trembling in a state of shock. Nathaniel’s body was beside him, his face partially charred, his son’s eyes open and sightless with his head at an unnatural angle. There were other bodies incinerated beyond recognition. There was not one soldier left standing.
Indenuel walked over to Martin, the staff levitating between his hands. Martin couldn’t move. His body trembled at the overexertion of his powers. He forced healing power into himself to give him the energy to keep fighting.
Indenuel stopped in front of Martin, and he looked up at the face so morphed in pain and anger that he hardly recognized it. His eyes burned with black flames, ignited by the devil himself, and yet this was Indenuel. He chose this, of his own free will.
Indenuel held his staff with the demonic powers he possessed and forced it toward Martin. He caught it to keep it from breaking his nose, too exhausted. He was touching it with his bare hands, and he already knew he was going to hell.
The staff was ice cold to the touch. Indenuel lifted his hand. The wrist was somehow swollen, yet functioning. He moved the staff up and therefore forced Martin to his feet. He couldn’t let go. The ice made its way through his hands, past his wrist and toward his elbows.
“I am going to watch you slit your own throat, Martin.” There was an echo to Indenuel’s words. Almost like another hundred demonic voices were talking at the same time with the same words. “And Santollia will finally be rid of you.”
Martin struggled against the ice. He closed his eyes, pouring his healing power into his arms to keep the evil at bay. Indenuel pushed with his wrists toward the staff. “You are evil. Evil men cannot fight against the demons who want to possess them.” Martin kept his powers flowing, kept the demonic ice to his arms. The tears continued to fall down Martin’s cheeks, and the evil began its slow creep up his arms again. He wasn’t going to last.
“Indenuel…” Martin began to say.
The boy glared, clearly wanting this to be over. “I killed Tolomon and Nathaniel, better men then you or I will ever be. Their deaths will only be worth it if I finish off the High Elders once and for all. Kneel and accept your fate.”
Martin let out another sob. He looked right into Indenuel’s eyes. Eyes so black they sucked light from around him to feed the darkness. Martin caused this. He created this pain. Martin chose his power over his family. Only helped Indenuel when it benefited him. He caused a good man to sell his soul to the devil. Indenuel was right. He didn’t deserve to live. He didn’t want to live.
The ice crept past his elbows, moving swiftly into his shoulders as Indenuel threw all his power into the staff. Martin felt his eyes closing, ready to accept his death. To accept his place in hell. Indenuel grabbed the staff, filling it with the corrupted power of pain. It seared through Martin’s arms as he struggled to heal himself, but Indenuel had touched him. With that touch, Martin was immediately transported into the future.
Indenuel walked down the street, his shirt torn enough for the black mark to be seen, blood dripping from his arms from his countless injuries he had received. He was screaming at Adosina.
“Stop it! Stop it both of you!” Elias stood between Indenuel and Adosina. “Get away, Adosina! He’s sold his soul!”
“How could you! You murdered them!” Adosina screamed.
“I did the world a favor by killing the High Elders, and that includes your spineless father!” Indenuel shouted back.
Elias grabbed Indenuel to drag him from Adosina, but Indenuel pushed him away, and the corrupted pain hit Elias in the chest, blood falling from his eyes, nose, and mouth before he hit the ground. Adosina screamed in such pain, Martin thought the corruption hit her too.
Martin gasped and was back in the present. The message was clear. He couldn’t die. If he didn’t kill Indenuel right here, right now, his corruption would spread, killing his family. Killing everyone. Despite his strong desire to give up, to not live in a world where he caused such immeasurable pain, he could not give in to the ice traveling through his body. He pushed all his power into his arms, struggling against the pain and the demonic. He couldn’t do this on his own. He needed help. Five hundred soldiers could not help. He needed help from the Gods, but they were dead.
Please. Whoever, whatever is up there, please, don’t let him win…
“Give up, Martin. You will make the world a better place by not being in it,” Indenuel sneered.
“I’m sorry,” Martin said through a sob. “You’re a good man who… who was forced to go to the devil because none of us listened. I should have helped you. I should have been there. From the beginning.”
Indenuel’s face dropped. Martin was confused, until he realized what this was. Those were the words of Cristoval’s prophecy.
Something cracked. Martin and Indenuel both turned to see blackness ooze out of the bottom of the staff. Indenuel raised his eyebrows in surprise. A golden light appeared by the ooze, seeping into the staff and traveling through the red wood before the top of the staff cracked. Martin could not tell who created the light. The evil ice shrank back from his arms by a power he was not strong enough to possess. The air vibrated around them, almost like it was being pulled into the staff. He heard the demonic screams and felt the chaos of corruption cracking in on itself. Indenuel looked up to see someone just past Martin’s shoulder, and his jaw dropped. Martin turned his head but saw no one.
Then all at once there was no sound. No air. Martin stared at Indenuel, feeling like they had been here before, back in the library of the High Elders. Martin tried to breathe, but he couldn’t.
The explosion ripped across the earth, much like the sound of thirty lightning bolts on one tree as Indenuel was flung back. Martin still trembled, but he managed to stay on his feet, coughing. His legs shivered from the shock, but he knew what he had to do. He grabbed the sword lying on the ground. It was his son’s, fallen from his grasp. He moved forward. In the pile of ashes, he saw Indenuel. He was moving, struggling to get up, his eyes reverted back to their green.
The vision of Elias’ death was far too vivid in his mind. With tears in his eyes, Martin strode forward and buried his son’s blade into the boy’s gut. At first Indenuel looked surprised, not even noticing the blade. He stared at Martin long enough for the surprise to turn into a glare before looking down to see the blade in his stomach. Martin pulled the sword out, feeling it slip out of his weakened grasp as he fell to his knees, panting. Indenuel grunted, covering his wound with his hands, trying to heal himself, but it was pointless. He no longer had that power.
Blood poured out of Indenuel, the ground drinking it up. Martin was in danger of collapsing, but even now, he reached out with a hand, feeling the need to comfort the boy. Indenuel let out a scream and swiped at Martin. He gasped in shock, bringing his arm back as he saw more than felt the bad cut on his forearm. He gripped it before he noticed a piece of the broken staff in Indenuel’s hand. With the last of his strength, Martin backed away as blood dripped from his arm. He stared at Indenuel with wide eyes, growing nauseous as the boy gasped on the ground, the anger and hurt pointed directly at Martin.
“You didn’t win.” Indenuel was gasping, but Martin heard every word the boy spoke. “You just delayed the devil. He will still have you.” Indenuel groaned, gripping his stomach. He was breathing deeply, then turned his black glare toward Martin. “See you in hell, murderer.”
Martin’s eyes widened ever so slightly. He watched Indenuel’s eyes glass over, then the boy’s body relaxed and gave a final shiver.
Martin was on his knees, the black night surrounding him. The silent absolute. Dead and charred bodies littered the ground, and the air hung heavy after a fire storm that never should have happened. None of this should have happened. But it did. The war wasn’t about Oramin, or Zimoro, or Dengria. It wasn’t even about Kiam. It was a war the High Elders waged against their own people. One that lasted a long, long time. One that now came to an end.
Martin crawled over to Indenuel’s body. He picked the boy up, cradled him like he would his own child, and sobbed.