The fallen warrior blurred with a speed so blistering that the air itself seemed unable to respond. It moved faster than sight, faster than sound, appearing instantly before Emma like a specter of death.
But the trap had already been laid.
“CLOVAC,” Maverick’s voice rang out, cold and precise, from where he remained unseen.
The warrior halted mid-motion, its grotesque form frozen as though an invisible cage had encased it. It strained against the unseen force, a guttural growl escaping its twisted mouth, the sound vibrating through the narrow corridor.
Emma stood firm, she gripped the Sword of Fate tightly. She could see the faint shimmering lines of the barrier that entrapped the warrior, pulsating faintly with Maverick’s command.
I could’ve severed its Strings of Fate before the fight even started, she thought, her gaze narrowing. But the cost… I don’t think I’d survive the backlash. Not in my current state.
Her fingers tightened around the hilt of her blade as she stepped forward. Without hesitation, she thrust the Sword of Fate straight through the warrior’s head.
The impact was visceral. Black ichor erupted from the creature’s head as the blade drove deeper, spilling down its grotesque, corrupted armor. The warrior’s guttural cries filled the air, its body jerking violently against the barrier that held it in place.
But Emma didn’t stop. She planted her feet firmly and gripped the hilt with both hands, driving the blade even further into its skull. The black ichor splattered onto her hands and face, its texture viscous and reeking of decay, but she didn’t falter.
From the corner of her eye, she saw Maverick move.
He appeared as if from nowhere, his form a blur of motion. With one swift, calculated strike, he drove his dagger across the creature’s neck, severing it cleanly.
The warrior’s head rolled from its shoulders, landing with a sickening thud on the stone floor. The barrier shattered with a faint hum, fragments of ethereal light dissipating into the darkness.
The body twitched briefly, spasming unnaturally as more black ichor pooled beneath it. Finally, the movements ceased, and the air fell silent save for the faint crackle of Maverick’s magical lamp.
The fallen warrior was dead.
Emma let out a shaky breath, her chest heaving as the tension ebbed from her body. Relief coursed through her.... relief that the fight hadn’t escalated into something far worse. She allowed herself a moment to lean on the Sword of Fate, its blade now stained with the ichor of the slain.
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But her reprieve was short-lived.
A voice broke the silence, echoing through the corridor like a sudden storm. It was deep, unmistakably human yet carrying a weight of suspicion and command.
“Who are you... both of you? Humans or monsters?”
Maverick’s body tensed, his posture lowering, ready to attack. The faint glint of his dagger reflected the dim light as he gripped it tightly, his sharp eyes fixed on the figure approaching them. The oppressive energy radiating from the man was suffocating, like the weight of a thunderstorm pressing down before the first strike of lightning. The air seemed to shudder under the sheer force of his bloodlust.
Emma could feel it too.... an overwhelming presence that made her skin crawl and her muscles tighten instinctively. Though fear wasn’t her dominant emotion, the tension in the air was undeniable. She spoke quickly in elven, her voice calm but laced with urgency.
“Wait… we’re humans. See? Humans.”
Her attempt to diffuse the situation hung in the air, the oppressive energy still pressing down on them. Her gaze flickered to the man’s sword, gripped firmly in his hand.
The aura radiating from him was terrifying... more potent than anything Emma had felt before. It was stronger, sharper than Matana’s oppressive power. Though Matana wasn’t in his prime... even a fragment of his strength was overwhelming. If he’d had all his power back, I wouldn’t have stood a chance, she thought grimly.
The man halted, his boots scuffing against the stone. His sweat-dampened black hair fell messily over his forehead as he tilted his head slightly, assessing them. His eyes, a sharp and piercing brown, studied Emma and Maverick with an intensity that bordered on inhuman. For a moment, the silence was unbearable, as though the air itself had frozen in place.
Finally, the man relaxed. His sword slipped back into its sheath with a metallic scrape, and the oppressive energy that had filled the narrowed path dissipated like a receding tide.
Maverick straightened, returning to his usual calm demeanor. The tension in his shoulders eased, though he kept his dagger in hand, his sharp gaze never wavering from the stranger.
“What are you kids doing here all on your own?” the man asked in elven, his voice low but firm. His tone carried no malice, but it held a weight of authority that made it clear he wasn’t to be trifled with.
Emma exchanged a brief glance with Maverick before responding, her tone casual but deliberate. “Well… we got dragged in here, I suppose.”
The man exhaled heavily, rubbing a hand across his face as if trying to rid himself of exhaustion. “Have you seen any children around your age? Or older?” he asked, his gaze darting between the two. His expression remained guarded, but there was an undertone of concern in his voice as he continued. “There are royals. One is an elf, a girl. The others are two siblings, a boy and a girl.”
Emma hesitated. So, it really was them in the carriage, she thought. Before she could answer, Maverick spoke, his voice cutting through the air calmly.
“Are they the prince and princesses?”
The man nodded, his guarded demeanor unwavering.
Emma’s thoughts spun quickly. This could be a valuable opportunity. She straightened, her expression shifting into one of calculated confidence. “I can help you find them,” she said, her voice steady. “But… I’ll need a favor from you.”
The man’s brow furrowed slightly, but he didn’t seem surprised. Turning fully toward her, he asked in a measured tone, “What do you need?”
A small smile tugged at the corners of Emma’s lips. “Well…”