Remus led at the front of the party, the grim silence a tangible web binding his men together. The sound of booted feet smacking against stone reverberated about the place. It was a noise Remus imagined you might hear from an undead army — residents of hell treading forever forward; their infernal punishment.
But this hell was very real. A gigantic stone platform, spanning the size of a large courtyard, stretched out before them. The etched stone was crumbling at the corners, revealing an ancient age. Centuries of blood had been spilled here.
“I’m getting a bad vibe from this place . . .” Aziel said quietly, as if not wanting to be heard.
Remus shivered, but for reasons other than the biting cold. “You can say that again. It’s like I can feel others present with us. The ghosts of the fallen.”
They had arrived early. Earlier than was expected, evidently, as their opponents for today were nowhere to be seen. An ambush maybe? Remus shooed away such a thought. Brison’s mind wasn’t what it once was, but even he was above such a cheap trick.
Koa clasped a hand onto Remus’ shoulder. “Stop being so macabre. Nobody’s going to die today.”
“We can’t be certain about that.” Remus said quietly, the squads arriving behind them out of earshot. “It’s unlikely, but no fight or sparring match is truly ‘safe’. There’s always the possibility of something going wrong. And with so many people fighting today, that chance is even higher.”
The curtaining fog overlaying the scene didn’t help much either. If that smog worsened, they wouldn’t be able to see to the end of the platform. Hopefully once a few fires were sparked, that issue would be amended.
“Our men knew what they were getting into Remus.” Violet and Veida stood to the side, the Flame Warden already scouting out their battlefield. She soon realised the unchanging flatland wouldn’t allow for any tactical uses of the environment, so looked away with a disappointed frown.
“You’re right. It’s just a thin line between my duty to keep them safe, and acknowledging I can’t be wholly responsible for their wellbeing. It’s not like I can defend each of them individually.”
“Exactly. So don't worry about it. I hate how glum you’ve been looking lately.”
She pierced Remus with a concerned glare. It was like being stabbed with a knife made out of feathers.
It made him feel a strange type of way, so he forced his eyes to look elsewhere. “I didn’t expect any of this to be stress free Violet. When I know my family is safe, when this world stops being so broken, maybe I’ll start smiling more.”
At her silence, he knew he’d overstepped.
“Ah, I’m sorry. I’m just nervous Violet. That’s all.”
Remus couldn't help but blush. While he was shivering over simply partaking in this fight, she had the impossible task of taking on Brison. In terms of power, Remus and her were worlds apart. The chagrin was enough to choke on.
It was almost like nothing had changed. Her, an Emblazed equivalent, and him as an Engorged, fleeing the city of First Rite together
Before she could respond, Tanguy called out. “There, I see somebody!”
Sure enough, squinting through the fog, a dark impression lingered against the shifting mist. A broad set of shoulders preceded Brison’s stoic mask, both hands wielding his signature hammer. Remus could envision it dripping with Ichor. A bad omen of the future, perhaps.
“Where are the others?” Octavia asked, and Remus was left scratching his head.
Mason and Tanguy spared no time at all gathering their men into their positions. Without realising it, Remus found himself tensed in a fighting stance. He focused on his breath, flickers of power brewing from his Mark. At the first sign of movement, he would set that bonfire free.
And yet, when Brison’s shadowy hand fiddled with something out of sight, Remus found himself planted in place. Intrigue got the better of him, but in his defence, no-one else had taken the initiative to move either.
Finally, still half-disguised by his cloak of fine mist, the Warlord revealed a horn. Remus had seen drunks sipping from similar objects in the past, but this was something else altogether.
In the slowest action of the world, Brison raised it to his lips.
Remus’s hands flew to his ears, and yet any attempt to shield his hearing from the piercing boom proved futile. A warcry resounded on the coattails of the shattering noise, composed of tens on tens of separate screams.
Now Remus knew where the rest of Brison’s men were. Not far behind. He also discovered that he was wrong: clearly, he had grossly misjudged the Warlord’s character. Brison was not above a surprise attack.
Remus found his own shrieking scream joining the cacophony of voices, both sides taking up the chant.
He clapped both hands together, fire bursting out of his body in the time it took to draw one breath. With a foot, he stomped down, cracking the stone below. Flames streaked off where he made contact, trailing along the indents that separated the stone into equidistant squares.
The fire began as a few short lines, before rising together, rising and rising, all feeding into one wave of boiling heat and death. Reaching its zenith, it rose into a towering monstrosity, a hellfire that would sizzle flesh and melt bone.
By the time it had smacked into the enemy forces, clearing away the clouding fog in the process, lines of light still danced in Remus’ closed eyes.
The fog had been nothing but a lucky coincidence for Brison, but Remus would allow the man no advantage. The smog had evaporated, leaving a moist feeling to the air, and the scent of a new smoke invading Remus’ nostrils. Much more to his liking.
The actual attack had done nothing but scare their opponents, taking the spring out of their step. But it left them disoriented enough for Remus’ attack force to pounce.
Ambition clansmen raced ahead of him, charging into the fray with berserker-like death-wishes, and an insatiable hunger for blood. Intricate dances of azure light shimmied through the air, only to be met by a wall of projectiles. Koa’s wooden darts, the pincers of bees, and the stabbing ends of wasps, all dripping with some insectile venom. Just a preview of what the Insect Clan had to offer
Remus closed his eyes, entering a meditative state. His breath was the only thing in the world, as the movement of his body, the roar of the outside, and the immediate danger all washed away. He focused hard on his spiritual senses, using the heat of enemy Marks, the pulsation of nearby techniques, and the divine rage of those around him to act as his guide. He wove through fires, parried attacks from Ambition clansmen he had once called brethren, and didn’t hesitate for a second.
He was listening in for something. He wouldn’t be able to feel it with his bodily senses, and it may have been impossible to pick up on as an outsider, but if he could just feel the technique in use-
There it was. More potent than his flaming Ichor. United in Strife.
It felt to Remus like an invisible ribbon, no bigger than a thread. Linking each and every one of Brison’s men. Power travelled along that silk passage, zapping from one person to the next, with Brison, the big bad, at its epicentre.
The power seemed to pick up speed, barely perceptible to Remus’ senses, and that was it: the power accumulating. Together they were stronger.
And Remus had taught them all of Enrique’s techniques. He could sense his own Flaming Gold blood mirrored by ever one of the Ambition Clansmen.
But none of them had his Full Body Blood Infusion Mould. They wouldn’t be able to hold it for nearly as long.
With his eyes still closed, Remus ducked, weaved, and shifted to the side as three clansmen charged into him. He was in the midst of enemy territory now, but he had one clear objective in mind: Brison.
The Warlord was in the thick of it, right bang in the middle of the attacking squad. If their plan was to work, he would have to push him deeper into their own lines, to where Violet and the defensive squadrons could keep him occupied. He sensed Violet’s teleportative powers in play, remoulding and rearranging the battlefield to her liking.
All Remus would have to do is keep Brison occupied, letting his guard drop for a fraction of a second. Enough time for him to be warped right where they wanted him; where Violet would knock the daylight out of the Warlord.
The trio around Remus didn’t hesitate. Snapping his eyes open, doing his best to keep his senses locked onto that intangible thread, Remus summoned three serpents of flame. They erupted out of his sides and chest, a serpent rushing forth to barge into each of his oncomers.
A bundle of Eruptive Will was placed into each of their fiery fangs. Upon impact, the explosions were extraordinary.
Yet Remus’ satisfaction was kept at bay. While the clansmen appeared startled, and Ichor was dripping from one of their noses, they hadn’t been pushed back any more than an inch.
Smoking, and eyes of blue mirroring his own, the three jumped on him.
Remus weaved aside from one explosive fist, his own technique of Eruptive Will used against him. The other two used the opportunity to barge into his side.
Gauntlets of obsidian grasped his forearm and leg, dragging him to the ground. His thoughts scrambled for a moment as pain blossomed at the back of his skull, the whisperings of a concussion muttering in his ear.
Their hold didn’t relent, but Remus didn’t either. Fire erupted along the limbs they were clutching onto, turning from baby blue, to a fiery azure, before evolving into a blinding beacon of white. And then, the impossible searing colour of plasma.
That was enough to char both of their hands at once. While they squirmed in pain, Remus used the chance to supercharge each of his fingers with Eruptive Will. Then, feet digging into the stone below to anchor himself, he stabbed each of his fingers into both chests. All in one explosive motion.
Both were sent blasting off gods’ knew where. Likely being swiftly carried away from the battlefield. They had a team of medics on hand at all times, doing their best to ensure no-one was too badly hurt.
Remus desperately wanted to catch his breath, but spun on his feet at the memory of the third and remaining clansmen.
Two streaks of fire was enough to slow down their charge. Then Remus sprang into his own.
Screaming, his arms encircled around this stranger’s chest, he sprinted with every morsel of energy in him. Without pausing, without hesitating to take so much as a breath, or a moment’s recovery, he ran with the clansman in tow. Ran and ran, past the swarming Ambition clansmen leering at him; past the fight that was now birthing above up, comprised of winged clansmen, and men using flame to propel themselves; before, Ambition bubbling in the lactic acid building up in both of his legs, he tossed the body.
You could be reading stolen content. Head to Royal Road for the genuine story.
Right into Brison.
Apparently Brison didn’t neglect to train his back, or maybe it was the force with which Remus tossed the poor lad. Whatever the case, the second they collided, the clansmen he had dragged dropped to the ground like a sack of potatoes.
This was it. He had the Warlord’s attention. And it was time to give him quite the show.
Roaring until his ears rang, Remus clenched both fists. Bursting out of the stone at Brison’s feet, four shadows of flame sparked to life. They were humanoid in shape, like shadows doused in gasoline and thrown a flaming match.
The group levelled their featureless faces at Brison, who regarded each with interest.
“Do you think you’ve gotten me into a pinch, Remus?” He raised his hammer, runes on the weapon starting to glow as they resonated with his Mark. “I commend your efforts.”
Before another word could be spoken, Brison leapt into a spin. He and his hammer became a whirling blur, brushing through all four of Remus’ apparitions. Each was lost to the wind. Yet Brison wasn’t finished. He carried his one-man tornado closer, the hammer moving too fast to dodge.
Remus' heart leaped into his throat. The man was too fast — no way in hell was he going to dodge this.
So he didn’t.
Remus stood his ground, and met the attack head-on with a venomous look.
Brison let out a mad cackle, ending his whirlwind spin with his hammer coming crashing down on Remus face.
Remus felt the weight of several mountains falling on top of him, as if they were commanding his body to submit. To be pulped into a bloody mixture. Instead, he held his ground. But Enrique’s technique of Thick Skin could only sustain so much.
His ears popped, and a searing headache ravaged his mind, setting his train of thought ablaze and toppling off track. But despite the tempest of wind, of momentum and force doing its utmost best to push him back, he barely gave away a millimetre.
Brison paused, and so did several skirmishing clansmen around them. All letting their jaws drop at Remus’ impossible defiance.
A trail of Ichor oozed down his forehead, followed by another, and another.
But they were just droplets.
The Warlord looked down to his hands, both ensnared by Remus’ chain before he had even noticed their appearance.
With as much energy from his Mark as he could stuff into both arms, he tugged the chain backwards.
Brison’s hammer was sent flying out of his grasp, spinning arcs through the air before crashing down metres away. It smashed in the stone floor, sending a dust cloud of rock and debris billowing through the air.
The Warlord made to retrieve the article, before the first highlights of magenta enveloped his form.
“No.” He started. “No, no, no!”
And just like that, Violet had him in her hands.
Remus was exhausted, his Mark hotter than the sun and his limbs begging for sweet release. But he could not relent. Remus flew lightning-fast to where Brison’s hammer lay. The man would not have a weapon on hand to defend himself, when Violet came for him with her full wrath.
Remus summoned a ring of fire to ward off any attacks, and circled his chain around the handle of the great weapon. Then, once again planting his feet into the stone, he mustered up all of his strength, relenting his flaming wards.
Ten clansmen were approaching, the thread of United in Strife more powerful than ever. This would be the equivalent of facing down a highly trained squad all on his own.
His vocal cords could not have been more sore, but he hissed nevertheless. He swung his chain around, four men acting as the head of the group advancing forwards.
He smashed Brison’s hammer into each of them. One by one, the sound of bone fracturing and muscle bruising resounded through the air.
So much for avoiding serious injuries.
“Surrender.” Remus said darkly, not recognising the sound of his own voice. His throat was chafed from so much shouting, but the words came across as downright malevolent. “I found no joy in beating my own clansmen.”
“You bastard!” One of the men he had struck screeched, rising to a shaky stand. “You can’t take all of us.”
Remus raised an eyebrow. “Oh, wanna try?”
All ten of them screeched in unison. Good gods, was he facing an entire attacking force on his own? Who else would Brison have been leading but the brunt of his army?
Remus was getting tired of playing king of the hill, swatting down clansmen from his highground of uprooted dirt and stone. He retrieved Brison’s hammer from his chain, and instead wielded one weapon in each hand. The hammer was awfully heavy, as if it was to tear Remus’ arm off if he held on for too long. That was probably why even Brison, one of the most muscular men Remus had ever met, especially for his old age, used both hands when fighting with such a formidable weapon.
Remus would play by his own rules. He used the chain to whip at the approaching enemies, and smashed his hammer into the few clansmen who came too close for comfort.
This was getting awfully brutal for what should have been a friendly bout. As Remus flattened the nose of one clansman who strayed too close, he couldn’t help but feel a little bad.
Especially when he realised it was Edmund.
The man dropped to the ground, not bothering to get back up. Remus couldn’t tell if that was hatred or awe in those eyes of his. Remus was cloaked in flame, wielding a weapon forged out of a deceased Right-bearer made from Supreme Steel, and, in the other hand, had stolen the very hammer their sect leader called his most trusted weapon.
But he wouldn’t be able to keep this up much longer.
Remus almost swung into a man that materialised at his side from nowhere, before realising it was Aziel.
“Praise Infinity, Remus, what the hell . . .?”
“Sorry.” Remus spoke between pants, still whipping his chains through the air. The space around them was swarmed by lethal metallic chinks. “Are we winning?”
Aziel extended both hands out, daggers of concentrated flame stabbing up and down out of the ground, an undulating layer that made it far more difficult for Brison’s men to advance.
“We’re winning. Brison and Violet are fighting so quickly. I can’t see their movements, but they seem to be in a stalemate.”
Remus narrowed his eyes, barely making out two blurs of motion blasting against one another. One was streaked by a fiery purple. Then, before he could take another look, a wall of oak erupted, separating him. Koa’s doing.
There was a lull in the conversation, as Remus sent one more crafty clansman rolling against the ground. His arms were really starting to ache. Through the flames, he could see every vein protruding from his skin, carrying the fiery syrup of his blood.
“You’ve been handling a fifth of his men all by yourself!” Aziel wouldn’t stop grinning, and neither would his barrage of techniques cease. “It’s just a matter of-”
Aziel stopped speaking. Remus thought he was simply focused on the task at hand, and yet, after an uncomfortable silence, the man didn’t speak up. He looked over, only to see his companion knocked out cold. A boulder of obsidian had smashed against his temple. Remus almost retched at the sight of so much Ichor.
One of the medical teams overseeing this match, indicated by their tabarbs to identify them, lifted up Aziel with both hands before disappearing. Remus gritted his teeth. Shock and fatigue were a deadly cocktail, the two main ingredients in the recipe for his defeat.
Five clansmen swooped in, their fists glowing. And, flickering between them, barely perceived by his spiritual senses, was United in Strife.
Remus’ breaths were shaky, his legs affected by a slight tremor that wouldn’t stop, no matter how hard he tensed.
Maybe he shouldn’t have been so reckless. Koa’s words of warning echoed ironically in his mind. We can’t let hubris be our downfall. We’ll be able to handle more opponents than most, but too many Foot-Soldiers, and any one of us will be quickly overwhelmed.
Three glowing fists, streaking with blue, drowned Remus’ world with a blazing light. He couldn’t still his body fast enough, and before Thick Skin could take hold, a fierce barrage sent his body flying.
The air was a haze of destruction: an abstract pattern of cerulean fire, flying clansmen, and the distant impression of brick red fire. Tanguy or Veida’s doing, by the looks of it.
Remus tried to land on his feet, but there were too many clansmen beneath him. With bared teeth, they grasped onto each of his limbs, blows raining down like fiery bullets. More punches than he could count battered away at his skin, pushing his Thick Skin ability to its limit. It was the equivalent of bearing down on a suit of armour, waiting for the metallic layer to relent.
And it didn’t take long for his skin to give in.
Blood splurged out in a stream of gold, his skin purple and bruised in every region you could think of. A medic was probably already rushing forth to get him out there, to provide some safety.
His Infirnite armour could only take so much. It was cracked all over, pieces of crystal and alloyed metal collapsing to the ground, only to be fractured more by the stomping of clansmen.
Remus focused on his spiritual senses, his physical sensations too much to bear. There it was again.
The thread of United in Strife.
It was at its zenith, shooting power between every soldier in an intricate net of transmission. Their ire towards Remus only seemed to accentuate that dormant power. Despite the clansmen that had fallen at Remus’ hands being snipped away from that invisible nexus, the technique felt no weaker to Remus.
The group cheered, cackled and screamed as their beatdown continued, Aziel’s beautiful gift of armour reduced to crystal dust. Remus tasted the Ichor streaming from his mouth, the coppery sensation enough to make him gag.
Was this it? He had caused enough trouble for Brison’s team that they were in a good position to win, but he couldn’t accept defeat yet. Not until he was absolutely certain their victory was assured.
Remus honed in on that thread, ignoring even the wounds brutalising his body as he tried to reach out for it. His Mark was steaming, the surrounding tissue burnt and smoking. There, visible to only his absolute focus, a thread rose out of his own Mark, like one of Octavia’s webs shooting outwards. It clawed through the air, stretching like a hand reaching for purchase against a rocky summit, trying to avoid a lethal descent at all costs.
The thrown fists, the kicked feet, both refused to cease, an avalanche of pain crashing into Remus ad nauseam. He screamed again, set to lose his voice for days, but he had more immediate concerns to worry about than missing out on campfire songs.
Closer. The string from his Mark wavered, trembling in the air as if about to break. The volume of his voice only grew, blaring out loud enough to reach all four corners of the battlefield.
There it was, only a hair’s width away from the rest of the entangled strands. Nobody had noticed. This could work, this could-
All the clansmen surrounding Remus shifted out of the way in one synchronised movement. Making way for the apparition ready to crash down on him.
The flame serpent put any of the snakes Remus had weaved to shame. Its fangs alone were large enough to bite through the entrance of a building, and that form of fire and hate could only have one target for lunch: yours truly.
Remus’ Mark answered to his peril, and the agony that seized his beaten body. His strength increased in proportion to his suffering; how intimately he danced with death, and this was the closest he had gotten in some time.
His thread made contact with the greater whole, and the power of United in Strife was all his.
Remus launched to his feet, rejuvenated by a second wind, and found the clansmen picking up his discarded weapons. With no consideration for how monstrous he must look, armour ruined and only fused to his skin through burns and dried Ichor, he flew in their midst.
One poor boy, a year or two younger than Remus, screeched at the sight of him. Then, with grim determination, they held Brison’s weapon closely.
A mistake he would pay the price for.
Remus opened his hand wide, a river of fiery snakes streaking forth. They all bit into the boy at once, who put up a hasty shield of flame at the last second. It was far too weak. Remus’ serpents only slowed for a second as they ate through the flimsy layer. The boy’s skin was next.
He dropped to the ground, swarmed by the reptiles until no part of him was left visible. Remus wasted no time at all, clutching onto the hammer which had seen many better days. The handle had been burnt until Remus only had a charred stick to hold onto, and cracks were digging through the hammer head.
Leaching off the power of United in Strife, combined with his Flaming Gold technique, and the shards of Infinite that stabbed into his skin, Remus had never felt stronger. Brison’s hammer was a light thing, and in one fluid movement, Remus spun. He imbued the weapon with enough Ambition to drown a newborn, and in the weapon’s centre, planted the largest bundle of Eruptive Will he thought possible.
The serpent was one blink away from crashing into him. The moving pillar closed the distance, fitted with wisps of white fire, so potent, they streaked off like lightning in jagged glares of light.
This creation must have been the combined power of several clansmen, all willing to drain their resources to clear him off the board. Remus smiled, noticing how loose the teeth in his mouth felt. How troublesome.
He spun the hammer through dexterous fingers, and in one inhale, tossed Brison’s masterpiece. His whole body was in the movement, each muscle fibre acting as one explosive force.
If he was to go down, he would show the Ambition Clan just how serious his rebellion really was.