Chapter 57
Helsket was slowing down.
He’d predicted a five-minute burst of power with his Exallos Skill; speed, and durability enhancement the main effects, but he’d been shy.
It had been too long since he’d done this and he was about to pay for his overconfidence with his life.
His body was soaked with blood - dozens of cuts and jabs and bruises coated him like a second skin. He hadn’t stopped fighting yet, but he was close.
Desperation had never touched his mind until now, when looked back over at Mikel’s prone form, encased in the moondust of the road leading to Kar’Xet. He never worried about himself - only those around him. The berserker rage he utilized kept him razor focused when in use - but now, as his power waned his usual emotions were coming back.
Dammit, boy - I told you to run. He didn’t know if Mikel was already dead or far enough along that it didn’t matter - but the devastation he felt was still the same.
The rest of the thought was interrupted as the broken end of the staff he’d shattered earlier caught him in the ear and sent stars flying through his vision.
He used his one free hand to rip the mace towards the attacker but missed the strike as he portaled away to start the assault anew.
Maintaining momentum Helsket whipped the mace back towards Metrike and aimed for her head.
Like the man, she vanished in a black portal - which left Helsket, suddenly, all alone.
Power still coursing through him he looked around wildly, trying to find his prey. The instinct to kill and to rip and rend was thick in his mind - the only real impulse keeping him standing.
If his Skill hadn’t been active he would have fallen minutes ago. The wounds he’d sustained were enough to slow him down and to kill most men. If he made it another minute in this state he’d count it a blessing from whatever gods were left listening to mortal pleas - but he wasn’t counting on it.
He wanted to spend the last minute fighting - and yet there was nothing left for him to -
Above.
The thought came too late as Metrike mimicked an attack from earlier and shot down from the sky with a hawk’s speed and precision - her Cat’s Claw dagger her talon, the black cloak around her, her wings.
“Dammit,” He muttered, “Too slow,” as the dagger slammed to the hilt into his shoulder, severing arteries and blood vessels as if they were made of thread.
It’s over. Helsket thought as the power coursing through his body began to flicker wildly - apparently, the Cat’s Claw had some kind of enhancement on it that cut his body's resource circuits as well as his veins.
The blow was fatal and there was nothing he could do.
Helsket fell to his knees, blood spilling from his shoulder as his mace hit the ground in a puff of dust - the multi-hued glow from around him fading to a dull pulse, and then to nothing.
There was no pain - only surety. He’d lost, and Mikel would die as a result.
Helsket twitched his bound arm but was unable to move anything except the tips of his fingers - whatever gunk held it in place was solid.
Metrike withdrew the dagger and blood poured from the wound - each gout erupting in great, vibrant gushes in time with his ragged heartbeat - a heart that had carried him through countless battles, and would ultimately be his demise as it pumped out every drop of blood left in his body.
“I’m sorry… Mikel,” He said as he stared at the dirt, “I’ve… Let you down.”
He shifted, darkness beginning to set in around the corners of his vision. He glanced towards where Mikel lay - the rage of his Skill dying away the last vestige to go.
He startled when he found the hole the boy had been in empty - as if Mikle had never been.
“Wha -”
Then something was beside Helsket, moving faster than even he’d moved during the peak of his berserk rage.
One moment Metrike was there and the next she was wrapped in a net of red fibers and hauled to the ground where the strands bit down on her, causing her to scream as her bones crackled under the assault.
“Achos! Philander! Kill him! Hurry! He’s up! Somehow -” She cried before a gag of red folded over her mouth and invaded her nostrils.
Helsket hadn’t seen her face to that point, but whatever the red fibers were acted to dispel the cloaking. He watched as her eyes went wide in surprise and fear as her wind was cut off and the ligatures bound her in place.
Helsket felt something shift to his left and he glanced over in time to see red fibers try to wrap around the male assassin the same way they had done to Metrike - but he, seeing what had happened, reacted and used what was left of his staff to tangle the threads up and fall back.
The remnants of the staff shattered as the fibers constricted and the pieces fell to the dust as the fibers turned to liquid and fell in a fine rain, turning the nearly bone-white dust black.
A flicker of something caught his eye and he watched in surprise and more than a bit of awe, as a being encased in blood-red armor crashed down from the sky like a meteor cratering in - except this meteor wasn’t aimed at just the earth, it was aimed at the male assassin.
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“Philander!” Metrike screamed, having fought the gag away. She’d called too late as all the male assassin had time to do was to look up as a crimson longsword, dripping bloody power slashed through his body - neatly severing it into two pieces which fell to the ground in a splash of blood and an eruption of dust.
Philander hadn't even had time to scream.
“No!” Metrike screamed as the blood-red warrior took up a spot in front of the bisected assassin and held a hand out above the man’s remains.
Helsket watched in sick fascination as rivulets of blood began to separate from the pile of flesh and dust to coil upwards towards the open, armored palm of the warrior.
“Blood Gorge,” came from within the meticulously crafted helm - the voice sounding familiar, but tinny and distant, as if he were listening to a recording of the real thing echoed through the suit of armor.
At that instant, the rivulets which had been drifting serenely upward began to shiver before they erupted towards the man’s palm. Upon coming in contact with the red metal armor the rivulets vanished and a healthy scarlet glow began to permeate the form of the armored warrior. Helsket could have sworn it was Health being consumed as a resource, but the color was darker and held an organic quality that pure Health Lacked.
Blood, he thought as he continued to bleed out, Blood.
Helsket couldn’t look away as the corpse being drained of its lifeblood shifted and crackled under the duress of being desiccated so fast - within seconds all that remained recognizable of the man was the strange black cloak he’d worn and a crispy husk of dry flesh. That didn’t remain long either as the last vestige of bloody moisture was wicked from it and drawn into the now shimmering form of the warrior.
The warrior clamped his hand shut with a metallic clang as the blood-red steel met more blood-red steel. He lowered his arm and turned his head to regard Helsket.
The big warrior wanted to flinch but couldn’t move. He was nearly out of blood - he could feel his body growing cold and his heart laboring under a heavier and heavier load as its vital resources depleted through the gaping wound on his shoulder.
The blood-red warrior shifted and with a grace which belied how heavy the metal armor he wore must have been, walked with a steady, silent gate to Helsket.
“If you’re going to do that to me,” he indicated the dusted Assassin, “You might as well just kill me first. Do me that honor at least. I don’t want to feel what little blood I have left course up into you before I black out.”
By the swimming fashion of his vision, Helsket knew that time wasn’t far off.
The warrior arrived near Helsket and held his hand over the old warrior's head in the same fashion he had done to Philander.
“Brute,” Helsket muttered as his vision continued to go dark, “Couldn’t even -”
“Blood to Power - Power to Blood,” The warrior muttered and Helsket closed his eyes. If it was his time, it was his time. He’d fought as hard and as long as he could - to die at the hands of a worthy opponent was no shame.
He would maintain his dignity until the end.
He took what he thought was his last breath and savored the bloody, dusty, hot air. He’d seen worse days but they were few and far between.
This day worked as well as any other to die on.
He exhaled and felt a warmth emanate from the slash on his shoulder; the blood pulsing and undulating through his veins.
Helsket could practically feel the blood coursing upward to the warrior's hand - but he didn’t look. He was dead - that was fine, he just hoped it didn’t hurt too bad.
He waited. And waited. And waited - until several long breaths passed and with each, strangely, Helsket felt better and better. It almost felt as if vitality were flowing into him instead of up and out to the warrior.
This must be what death feels like, He thought as the pain from his various wounds began to fade away until a moment later they were little more than memories. His joints were next to feel better - age-locked and brittle moments before, the irritation he felt from kneeling went the way of a Ghast in daylight - then his back, his chest, and his shoulders all felt as if a warm balm had been poured over them.
His gooped left arm was suddenly free and Helsket nodded to himself - This is it. I’m not in my body anymore… I’m -”
Then the sensation of pulsing blood stopped and he shifted, pain-free for the first time in decades, and opened his eyes.
“If I'm dead… Then this is one hell of a joke.”
He saw the same scene he’d shut his eyes on - the dust, the ruined city, the smoke and blood in the air, and the desiccated corpse of one of the enemies in front of him.
A fate he’d assumed he’d share.
Helsket grunted, breathed in again, and tasted the fading heat of the day, ash, and blood.
“I’m not dead -”
Helsket lunged forward and rolled upright, bringing his mace with him but by the time he stood he would have been dead had the unknown warrior wanted to hurt him.
The warrior hadn’t moved.
Helsket eyed down the warrior who snapped his hand shut just as he’d done while draining the assassin and glared at Helsket from within the dark visor of his enthralling armor.
To Helsket, the set of armor was the finest he’d ever seen.
The interlocking red plates which made up the majority of the armor were all crafted with meticulous detail to ensure they appeared as if they were organic instead of artificial. The lines of the armor followed the natural flow of musculature in the man’s body and accented everything male and powerful it could.
The warrior's arms were massive, bigger than Helsket’s and he stood at least a head taller. Gently curving plates locked together with partially hidden crimson chainmail to cover the warrior’s body and the helm, shaped to look like a roaring fiend with a curl of ram's horns whorling down over the ears finished the look of terror-inspiring demon. The face plate, which looked as if it slid into place from a slot on the lower side of the helmet, was solid except for a hollowed-out T in the center where the hidden warrior could look out, breathe, and function as if he weren’t wearing armor at all. A crest of blood-red feathers adorned the helmet and cascaded down the back like a crimson waterfall.
A stylized emblem of The Callisto Jewel spread from the center of the ornate breastplate; gold and crimson and blood red rubies encrusted the edges making it appear as if The Jewel were hemorraging.
Helsket could hardly peel his eyes from the insignia - it drew him in and made him feel as if he were drowning in blood.
“So, who are you?” Helsket asked as he brandished his mace, “And more importantly, how am I not dead? That young lady,” He gestured to an unconscious Metrike, “Got me damn good. I shouldn’t be breathing right now - let alone standing. Care to elaborate?”
The warrior’s only response was to shake his head and point behind Helsket with a gauntleted hand to where Philander had lain, dead and dry moments before.
Helsket jerked his eyes to the side and spun around into a ready stance when he saw what was happening. The third assassin, Achos, Helsket assumed, stood over the desiccated form of Philander with his hand held out like the red warrior had - except instead of pulling a blood tithe from the corpse, Achos fed it something winding and dark.
The scintillating cords of Essentia, black, white, and silver corded together from the tips of Achos’ right hand before shooting into the dusted remnants of the corpse, beginning to knit them together.
“No!” Helsket yelled once he realized what was happening.
He charged and brought his mace up for a tremendous blow against Achos - but fell short as the chief assassin raised his other hand and without a word caused Helsket to freeze mid-stride.
He could still think, and breathe and move his eyes - but his body was frozen stiff. there was no other sensation than the inability to move.
All he could do was watch in horror as Philander's body engorged itself from nothing to the two halves of a man and then back into a whole body.
It was as if Achos had turned back the clock on Philander’s death.
By the time the deed was done strange lights whirled around Philander like a tornado and with a gust, they lifted him from the ground and set him upright. Seemingly of its own accord Philander’s right hand reached out and grasped at thin air as his staff formed from dust and pieces of the broken weapon.
Philander grabbed the weapon and held it at his side, then opened his eyes and glared at Helsket.
“I don’t know how I’m back - but I’m going to kill you for what you did to me.”
It was the first good look Helsket had gotten of Philander and the old warrior was a little disappointed he didn’t look like the typical villain. He was clean-cut, middle-aged, with square, blunt features and a shock of black hair on top of his head. A snarl colored his features with rage as he swung his staff through the air like a sword, testing its balance.
“Thank you, Master,” Philander said, shifting his gaze to Achos.
Achos still wore his hood - the only one of the three to still do so. If he did respond Helsket couldn’t see it - his only action was to move back from the scene and point towards Helsket.
“Oh, aye,” Philander said, turning his burning gaze back to Helsket, “I’ll take care of him and the red one. That hurt and I want payback.”