Max's over-confidence in his skills had distracted him from a nearby threat, and he was flung, his body flying in the air by a push of wind. He saved himself by using the wind to break his fall, but unknowingly, he created a Tegilo.
The woman who almost killed him seemed to be their leader. She was covered in mud, and wiped most of it off her face, wiping it onto her shorts. She grinned at him, making her look demonic with the growing fire surrounding them.
"Nice to meet you, M'Lord," she said. "If I win, may I be of service?"
"You won't."
She didn't like that answer.
"Time to have some fun," she said.
Her face rippled, her jaw cracked, and Max saw in horror that her face slowly changed into his. The spirits earlier warned him, but it all made no sense until now.
The Weaver he fought thought it was quite funny to have the last face people saw before they died to be their own, and she was making no exception for him.
"Kvadrato," she shouted. "Kvadrato!"
The keyword was said and the others knew what to do.
The few Weavers that were left took control of the wind with her, and Max fought back, a Tegilo of six against one. The odds were not in his favor. He fell to his knees, feeling a crushing pressure on his shoulders, and fought back, trying to take control of the wind from them. It felt like long, curved swords were slowly digging into his sides, and he remembered how Avalon had died, turning into fine dust.
His fear made him lose focus, and the cuts went deeper, making him scream and cry. He closed his eyes and struggled to stand, and every time he did, he fell again, and again. The shape-shifter walked over to him and held him by his hair, mocking him to stand up, over and over.
"Fuck you," he screamed. "I will get revenge for what you did to them!"
He grabbed her arm, squeezed his eyes shut, and tried to shock her. She freed herself once he tried to grab her, stumbled backward but never hit the ground. She felt like many people were carrying her and she smiled in relief. She looked to the side expecting to see her comrades, but saw no one holding her up. She kicked and screamed, trying to get free, and lost her grip on the Tegilo she had entered.
The feeling of many swords being pushed into his body suddenly became less painful but never went away. Instead, it transferred to her, and now the slow torture was sinking into her. She screamed for help, and now her comrades didn't know what to do. If they tried using another Path their side of the Tegilo would become weaker, but if they stayed and lost, then she would be torn to shreds.
Did you know this text is from a different site? Read the official version to support the creator.
One of them made the choice for everyone. A man ran for his leader, being cut and torn, trying to rescue her, and Max finally had an opening. It was now four against one using the Path of Wind, and each Path had a weakness to another. He was willing to give up a bit of his hold to use another Path at once and prepared himself for more pain. He took off his gloves, put his hands on the ground, and groaned as the balance shifted back to him and away from his opponents.
He decided to make his one-shot count.
A giant dirt wall shot up and separated the four other Weavers left in the Tegilo from Max, and now he only had to worry about two opponents. He knew they were too inexperienced and uncoordinated enough to try and break free from their Thread and he was ready for his victory.
His eyes turned orange, and he ran at the both of them, pushing through the pain of more cuts digging into his body. He punched the man in the jaw, his head spun around and his neck cracked. The woman had already broken free from whatever invisible entity had grabbed her and tried to join the Tegilo again, but it was too late. Max pushed her down, grabbed the sides of her head, and screamed.
Volts of electricity, all the cuts, all the pain, it went to her. All his anger, all his suffering, anything that hurt, she was next, and Max destroyed her.
She lost the Tegilo, and slow deep cuts went across her body, while Max fried her body. He looked into her eyes, the eyes she had copied, his eyes, while he screamed. The cuts kept going, and eventually, her body was cut into many pieces, her body punished for misuse of the gift bestowed upon them. Max let go when he noticed she wasn't moving, and her body wasn't put together anymore.
He stood up and ran for his sword, ready to continue the fight, a soldier until the very end. He put his bloody palm on the ground, receding the dirt wall, and behind it were the bodies of dismembered Weavers. They had tried to run by exiting the Tegilo simultaneously, unwittingly sealing their fate. The fire was now on its way out of the woods and Max sighed, not knowing what to do next.
Another problem on top of another.
He felt a tap on his shoulder, and shouted in fright, ready to fight again, but saw the spirit of Visto, the head butler.
"You should call the other knights for help," Visto said. "You can't do everything alone. We held her back to help you."
One by one the spirits of the murdered servants in the forest reappeared. They thanked him for everything he had done and Max felt silly, blushing in the dark, being complimented by ghosts.
"If there is anything else we can do to help you before we leave for Elysium, Sire, tell us. We would do anything to stop them from hurting more people," Visto said.
"I have an idea," Max said. "Follow me."
----------------------------------------
Back at the dam, with the fire getting closer to the river, Max asked the servants for one last job, cleaning up one more mess.
To help him get rid of the fire before it spread too far.
They curtsied and bowed, and with his help, he led them to greater power they had never experienced before.
Max looked at the river, held out his palm, and the spirits flew into it. They swirled, and a large tunnel of water soared up into the sky, over the trees, and then released over the forest. Max closed his eyes and relaxed, the water washing the mud, blood, and ash from his face. He ran his fingers through his hair, getting chunks of dirt out of it, and smiled softly while communing with the unseen and unheard.