Post by lordtwinblade on Dec 5, 2008 13:29:09 GMT -6
This chapter is one of the ones I had more trouble with. Feedback is always mucho appreciatado.
Chapter Three: A Slender Beam of Light
Neo swung one leg up over the lip of the cave and dragged himself onto the flat ground. Crawling up to one knee, he surveyed the cavern beyond. The dank recesses of the chamber yawned like a hungry mouth, greedily anticipating his approach.
After a few minutes of rest, the swordsman climbed shakily to his feet. The wind still howled outside, but was not admitted into this private lair.
“Bring back something to prove I’ve been here.” Neo muttered to himself. What am I supposed to get? A dragon’s head? An egg? He shrugged his shoulders, trying to reestablish contact with his nerve endings. Maybe Sable would let me get away with a rock.
True to the name of its occupant, the cave was pitch-black, making it impossible to navigate by sight. Neo spent several minutes trying to think of some way he could fashion his shirt into a rope that he could follow back to the entrance, but eventually gave that endeavor up as a lost cause.
Great. Maybe I’ll just fumble my way down random corridors for a while. Neo shook his head. Either way, I won’t get anywhere just sitting here. Taking a deep breath, the swordsman took his first tentative steps into the black abyss.
___________________________
The Darkblaze Dragon touched down on the ground just inside the fort’s outer wall. Several soldiers, hands on their weapons, surrounded the scout and its passenger. Émigré slipped down off the dragon’s back, raising her hands as she did so.
“Who are you, and what business do you have in Anima?” The speaker was a brown-haired man wearing a suit of slate gray armor. A dark cape fluttered at his shoulders, and his hand rested warily on the hilt of his longsword, which was strapped to his waist.
“My name is Émigré. I have come from the Realm of Thestalos the Firestorm Monarch with a warning for the one named Freed.” The interloper’s azure eyes locked with the armored man’s hazel ones. “I must speak with him immediately.”
The man nodded slowly. “You’ll have to surrender your weapon.”
“Done.” Émigré unfastened the clasp that held her massive greatsword across her back and plunged its point into the ground. The runes along the spine of the weapon seemed to shimmer as the tassel fastened to its pommel fluttered in the wind.
The armored man turned on heel and moved quickly across the courtyard. Two guards held the steel gates open to admit him. The other soldiers did not move, did not take their hands off their weapons, until he returned. “General Freed is ready for you.” The man gestured for the others to return to their business.
Émigré turned towards her escort. “Thank you for your assistance.”
The scout made a noncommittal noise and turned away, spreading its wings. “May the wind be ever at your back.” With that it flexed its legs and leapt into the air, quickly shrinking into a tiny dot in the heavens.
The woman turned back to her host. “Lead on.”
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General Freed was tall, about the same height as Émigré. He wore a suit of impeccably polished silver armor decorated with golden embellishments, which shimmered in the light from the tall glass windows that lined the walls on either side of the chamber. He extended a hand to his guest. Émigré shook it, and then sat down in the chair he offered her.
“Émigré is an odd name, although it is odder still that you come from the realm of the Firestorm Monarch.” The general stroked his full golden beard. Émigré noted that even his healthy facial hair could not hide the lines of age that crept out from the corners of his mouth as he smiled knowingly. “I sense there is more to you than meets the eye, outsider. But enough of that,” and here the general sat down in the chair behind his desk, “Commander Rahz tells me you have an urgent message from Thestalos.”
Émigré leaned forward, pressing her hands together. “I do, General. Thestalos’s kingdom is besieged by the forces of Caius the Shadow Monarch.”
A foul silence fell. The general’s bodyguards shifted uncomfortably. It seemed to them that a bit of light left the room as Freed spoke, all mischief gone from his voice.
“Caius the Shadow Monarch?” The general spoke barely above a whisper. “He’s returned?”
Émigré nodded grimly. “Even as we speak, he sets his will against Thestalos.”
“And the only reason you would have been sent,” Freed’s hands clenched on the desktop, “is if Thestalos is sure that he is doomed.”
“He knows it, sir. Caius has already defeated Granmarg and claimed the land of the Mountain King for his own.”
The general sat back in his chair, as though shocked into silence by the news. After several moments he spoke again, his tone carefully controlled. “Thestalos believes Caius will strike against the humans next.”
Émigré nodded again. Freed leaned forward, focusing all his attention on an inkwell near the edge of his desk, his face a mask of concentration.
“He will attack from the north, then?”
“I think so, sir, although he may attack Zaborg’s realm next.”
Freed shook his head. “If he conquers us he clears a path to all the other monarch’s domains.” He ran a hand through his blond hair, and Émigré notice several gray strands that flecked the otherwise flawless mane. The corner of his mouth twitched up. “I suppose Thestalos told you to come to me.”
“His words were, ‘he is the only one with the skill to defeat them’.” Émigré’s azure irises flashed as she spoke.
“I don’t know what he thinks I can do against an army that will surely conquer him.” The general sagged, resting his elbows on the desktop. “I am well past my prime.”
“General, a wise warrior once told me, ‘Sometimes the only difference between victory and defeat is faith’.” The woman stood, stepping forward to place her hand on the man’s shoulder. The bodyguards tensed, but did not try to intervene. “Thestalos had faith in you, and he believed…so do I.”
Freed looked up into the messenger’s eyes. Inside them burned a fire that brought both heat and chills to the deepest recesses of his soul. Émigré, he thought, what other secrets do you carry in your cerulean heart?
The general stood, his armor glittering as he did so. “Thestalos trusted you to bring hope to my people. It would be unthinkable for me to stand by and do nothing.” He threw back his cloak and walked around the desk, gesturing for his guards to follow. “Bring Commander Rahz and the battalion leaders to the ready room. I will be there shortly.” As he moved past Émigré, he turned his head, speaking only to her. “Thank you, outsider.” With that he swept past through the double oak doors, his guards rushing off to do his bidding.
___________________________
Caius’s army flowed across the lava field, war cries tearing through the hot, saturated air. The red-skinned warriors waiting for them in the trench readied obsidian-tipped spears and slammed down helmet visors. Several archers standing in carved stone towers fired arrows down into the charging tidal wave, but did not even slow its progress. The hunched gray monsters reached the trenches first, leaping through the obsidian spikes, and the fighting began in earnest.
Screams rang out as tooth and claw met spear and fist, and corpses began to pile up in the trenches. As the gray fiends thinned the ranks, a second wave, this one filled with humanoids and taller beasts, joined the fray. The first line of trenches fell beneath their combined assault.
Flaming arrows rained down from the archery towers, their obsidian tips tearing into the flesh of beast and man below. The red-skinned soldiers roared and leapt from their entrenchments, meeting the enemy in between the first and second line of defense. Even as they did so, a dark shadow passed overhead, followed by smaller ones. The White-Horned Dragon swooped low, unleashing streams of lightning from its jaws, cooking warriors still waiting in the second row in its hellish salivation. Its massive tail swung down, shattering one of the archery towers and sending chips of pumice and mangled bodies sailing through the air. Its followers, close behind, blasted the trenches with fire, even as the ground forces reached the second line.
The ground began to shake, and some of the attackers stumbled. Then the volcanic rock beneath their feet exploded, hurling them high into the air to crash down into the ranks far behind them that had not even joined the fight yet. The monster that leapt from the earth roared in fury, swinging twin diamond claws in bloody arcs, carving a swath through the mass of demons before it. The creature towered over the scuttling beasts below, its red-orange skin flaring with inborn fire. It opened its mouth and blasted the front line of Caius’s army with a raging crimson inferno, incinerating whole lines of his troops in seconds. Shaken and outgunned, the front line’s advance was temporarily halted, and Thestalos’s warriors gave a frenzied battle cry, driving the attackers back.
“We are holding them.”
Thestalos watched as the honey colored images rushed towards one another, as the dragons wheeled overhead and the Volcanic Doomfire cut Caius’s ground forces to pieces. Vim sat, immobile, all his concentration focused on projecting the map into the chamber.
“Still no sign of Caius’s portals opening anywhere,” the mage reported, not moving a muscle.
“What are you up to, brother?” Thestalos murmured. Caius’s mount was high above the battlefield, out of the archer’s range, and had not come close to the battle yet. Perhaps he waits for me to show myself, so he can confront me, like he did with Granmarg. The monarch turned his attention back to the Doomfire as it smacked one of the dragons that came too close out of the air and leapt on it, tearing the beast’s head from its body with razor-like teeth. The Doomfire tossed the skull aside; the discarded cranium crushed several of the gray creatures on the ground below.
Now the White-Horned Dragon came around for another pass, this time targeting the volcanic behemoth with its lightning spray. The Doomfire weathered the storm and countered with one of its own. A lance of flame hurtled from its maw and singed the dragon’s wing as it rolled aside. The flying beast slammed directly into its grounded counterpart, shoving it back. Diamond claws wrapped around the dragon’s throat while it shot blades of pale silver electricity into the Doomfire’s face. Taking advantage of the momentary distraction, Caius’s forces redoubled their attack, covered by the smaller dragon’s constant barrage of fireballs.
Further north, a lance of Caius’s army was breaking off from the main group, attacking at a different angle. The same thing was happening to the south, and soon Thestalos’s army was slowly being pushed back on all fronts.
“My lord, portal disturbance!” Vim cried. Thestalos’s eyes quickly located the flashing point on the map, just behind the last line of defense, where humanoid monsters and gray beasts were boiling out of thin air.
“Send word to the fourth line! Move all available troops to stop them!” Thestalos shouted, directing his words at the Flame Spirit technicians monitoring communications. The communication network was an extension of the magic Vim worked to project the map, and worked instantly. In seconds, soldiers were bearing down on the ever-growing infiltration party. Even as they closed around the attackers, more portals began to open, first two, then three, then five, all spilling the taint of darkness into the Realm of the Firestorm Monarch.
___________________________
Neo let out an exasperated hiss as his toe struck another sharp stone. Damn, I’m getting tired of this. He placed his hand against the wall again and carefully stepped over the rock. By his reckoning he had been feeling along in this way for almost an hour, and he had already forgotten what light looked like.
Why didn’t I just start climbing down the mountain? I don’t have any reason to obey Sable, especially when he’s not anywhere near me. Neo knew the answer to that question before he asked it, but it was comforting to feel like he had no idea why he’d done something so infernally stupid. He was still musing on the topic of his intelligence when one of his feet connected with nothing where a floor should have been.
The swordsman tumbled forward, rolling down a steep, rocky incline. Sharp stones plunged into his back, ribs, and arms as he tucked his head, raising his hands to protect his face. After only a few seconds the ground leveled out and he skidded to a stop, groaning in pain. Purple shades flickered before his eyes as his head spun, apparently unconvinced that his fall was over quite yet.
As Neo calmed his raging heart, he heard someone – or something – breathing in the dark. At first he managed to convince himself it was just the echo of his exhalation, but then the other being gave an acidic snort. Cursing quietly, the swordsman got to his feet and wrapped his fingers around the sword hilt at his waist.
There was a crash of falling stone, and a mote of light poured into the chamber. Neo’s eyes stung as the rays cast their luminescence onto a pool of water in the center of the room, throwing an eerie blue glow into its far corners. Just on the other side of the pool crouched a huge black dragon, its scales dyed sea green by the reflected light. Neo’s sword flashed from its sheath, its tip pointing directly at the center of the monster’s skull.
The creature growled deep in its throat, a feral, animalistic rumble. Neo profiled himself, making his body a smaller target. His right hand held his sword, still pointed at his foe, while his other clenched into a fist, golden sparks of energy crackling through his tensed muscles. The behemoth facing him roared, blasting a wave of sound through the spacious cavern, and lunged straight at the diminutive human.
Neo pivoted, his hand coming up, fingers splayed against an invisible wall. A Lucian missile streaked from his palm, thrusting towards the charging serpent. Just as the arcane arrow was about to strike, though, the dragon dove aside with shocking agility, rolling in midair to land on its feet. The projectile splashed across a cerulean-stained stalagmite, boiling away years of carefully carved stone. The dragon snorted, almost derisively, and responded with an arrow of its own.
The acidic green mass hurtled through the air, hissing as it flew. Neo dropped into a roll, narrowly avoiding the attack, into striking range of the beast. He swung his shimmering steel brand upwards, attempting to cut into the monster’s thick-muscled leg, but the beast withdrew, swinging its skull sideways at the warrior. He fell back as the cranial bludgeon passed over him, ruffling his hair with its passing.
The warrior came up in a crouch, grabbing his sword in a two-handed grip. He uttered a feral cry and swung laterally, nicking the dragon’s jawbone with the tip of the blade. The ebony behemoth recoiled, like a snake jerking away from an unexpected movement. It spat again, and this time Neo could not avoid the burning salivation. Instead he threw up his hand, letting his arm go rigid, his fingers forming into a knife. As the missile drew within a millimeter of his extended digits, it split in two, the cut spreading out from the initial breach and tearing the meteor asunder. Its halves plowed into the floor, noxious clouds of vapor rising from the wounds they carved in the dirt.
Both combatants stood motionless for a long moment, the only sound in the chamber the hiss of stone dissolving. The refracted light on the walls slowed its oscillations until they nearly ceased, and in that moment, the beast and the man became one. The dragon saw Neo’s fierce determination, his confidence, and his desire to rise beyond what he was. Neo, in turn, saw a gaping chasm in the monster’s heart, a wailing void of despair that gave birth to an undying anger. He faced the anguished storm and let it wash over him, tasting the bitter tang of the power that it gave him.
Eventually time restarted. Neo slowly brought his sword up over his head, and down on the other side of his body, grasping the hilt in both hands. The dragon snarled, challenging his confidence to match its rage. The corner of Neo’s mouth turned up in a vicious half-grin.
“Try me.”
___________________________
The once-gray sky was now stained orange and black. Corpses were piled high in the trenches, and explosions welled up from the ground as Caius’s air support made pass after pass. Thestalos leaned heavily on the railing that ringed the map ditch, not flinching as a fireball tore a hole in the wall of his command center.
The Volcanic Doomfire still fought, though it was bleeding sulfur from dozens of wounds along its flanks. The red-skinned beast-warriors were falling back, trying to hold dozens of intrusion points against countless thousands of enemies. For every demon or dark soldier they felled, three more stood in its place. Some enemies refused to be slain, rising again even after they were dealt a mortal blow.
“My lord, we are not holding up well. Our southern flank is lost, and the north will follow soon. We need to start evacuating into the tunnels if we are to have any chance at all.” Vim was breathless, and his shoulders shook with the effort it was taking to maintain the projection.
“Order a fighting retreat into the tunnels. We will remain here until the last battle group is through.”
Vim’s voice, though exhausted, betrayed his deep concern. “Lord, if we wait until the last group has escaped, it unlikely we will have time to effect an escape ourselves.”
The Firestorm Monarch’s face was indiscernible behind his steel visor. “I know.”
___________________________
The swordsman steeled himself for another barrage, but none came. Instead, the dragon leapt back, pumped its enormous leathery wings twice, and faded into the posterior of the cavern. Neo lowered his weapon, confused.
Follow.
The unspoken command seemed to ring from every wall, its compelling tone nearly forcing Neo’s legs into motion. Only his strong will to live stopped him.
Follow.
The swordsman scrutinized the dark abyss he was about to venture into, imagining every possible ambush scenario that could occur if he obeyed. After several long moments of fighting, he decided the danger was worth the risk. Taking a deep breath, Neo allowed the blackness to engulf him, plunging towards the nucleus of his compulsion.
Follow.
___________________________
The buzz of conversation flickered and died as General Freed stepped into the ready room. All eyes turned towards the aged warlord as he sat down in his designated seat at the head of the table.
“I assume all of you have read the reports Field Commander Rahz gave you, but let me just go over the main points.” The General leaned forward, one hand reaching beneath the iron table to rest on a hidden panel attached to the arm of his chair. The artistic map etched into the tabletop seemed to shimmer, and then the images rose off the surface and resolved into three-dimensional shapes, creating a rolling diorama of the countryside.
“According to the Intel we received from the outsider, Granmarg’s kingdom has been conquered by Caius the Shadow Monarch, and Thestalos’s realm will soon be under his heel as well.” Murmurs of concern rippled along the row of commanders. Each already knew the circumstances at hand, but hearing the words from the acclaimed Matchless General made them much more real, more terrifying. “It is likely that his dread army will strike us next.”
Freed straightened his back, keeping one hand on the panel beneath the table. “All commanding officers are, from this moment, on active duty. Captain Rowan,” and here he turned to a blond man clad in slate-grey armor with a pair of straight blades fastened to his waist, one long, the other short, “I want you to take a detachment of soldiers to the border of Thestalos’s kingdom.” A rectangle of land on the map began to flash green. “If Caius’s army shows itself, I want you to bring word back. No heroics.”
“You can count on me, General.” Rowan nodded, his blue eyes shining with determination.
The General turned his attention back to the other commanders. He indicated another armored warrior, this one with flowing golden locks and a pair of glittering crimson eyes. “Dej, I want recon over Thestalos’s realm. Get me anything you can; force deployment, battle tactics, whatever you can find, I want it. Stay out of sight of Caius’s flyers and avoid engagements at all costs. You’re dismissed.” Freed turned to the rest of the group as the Familiar Knight quickly left the room. “The rest of you will be drilling your soldiers. They need to be sharp for the coming battle. I’ll meet with each of you separately for your individual assignments. Dismissed.”
The officers stood up and filed out, leaving Freed and Rahz alone at the table. The General leaned back with a sigh as the map receded into the smooth iron surface.
“Sir, may I ask you a question off the record?” Rahz asked, shifting uncomfortably in his seat.
“Speak freely, Commander.”
Rahz hesitated, and when he spoke, it was with careful deliberation. “Was it wise to put Rowan on watch?”
Freed smiled. “He is almost as old as you are, Rahz. He’s not a child anymore.”
“I’m sorry,” the Commander shook his head, “I don’t agree with that statement, sir. He’s just a boy.”
“A boy who has shown a great deal of promise in all aspects of his command.” Freed leaned towards his subordinate and placed a comforting hand on his shoulder. “Don’t worry, he’ll be fine.”
“Of course, sir.” Rahz rose and saluted. “Permission to return to my unit, sir?”
Freed nodded curtly, his eyes focused on the map etched into the tabletop. “Dismissed.” The General continued to stare at the table even after the Commander left, as through tracing each line in its surface with his eyes.
___________________________
Thestalos watched as the army surged towards his command center like a black tsunami, burying the very land in its path. His soldiers continued to hold it at bay in some places, but most had already retreated into the lava tunnels below. Above, Caius and his vulture continued to circle.
“He’s waiting for me.” Thestalos murmured, tightening one hand around the stone guardrail until steam began to waft from between his fingers.
“My lord, we have a limited window of time in which we can still-“ Vim’s sentence was cut off as the front wall of the command center disappeared, replaced by a tornado of swirling debris. Thestalos threw up an arm, generating a shield of flame in front of his body. He could hear the hiss of stone shards vaporizing as they struck the wall he had created.
The dust began to settle. The front of the control chamber had been torn open, as though by a giant claw, the jagged edges of the gash still smoking. All the technicians who had been working there were gone, either incinerated or impaled by spikes of pumice. The other technicians got shakily to their feet, hurrying to check the wounded. The Firestorm Monarch’s gaze swept the room and came to rest on Vim.
The mage had not left his seat, but the ditch in front of him was now vacant, the map extinguished. The front of his robe had numerous minute slashes in it, from which blood oozed to soil the exquisite crimson fabric surrounding them.
Thestalos vaulted over the guardrail. He moved to Vim’s side and knelt next to him, placing a hand on his shoulder. “Vim? Are you alright?” He whispered.
Vim coughed twice, and when he spoke, his voice was like sandpaper rasping across wood. “I think I’m hit, my lord.” Thestalos started to reply, looking down to inspect the damage. The words died on his tongue.
A foot-wide slab of stone was imbedded in Vim’s stomach at a diagonal, traveling from the bottom of his right pectoral all the way to his left hip. The gruesome piece of shrapnel was razor-thin, which explained how it had avoided detection from above. Swallowing, the Monarch placed his gauntlet gently against the mage’s chest, tentatively peeling the cloth away from the wound.
“Hold still for a moment, Vim.” Thestalos brushed a fingertip against the place where flesh met stone. Vim hissed in pain. I need to get this out of him and seal the wound before it poisons his blood.
Resolve gripped the monarch. His hands hovered over either side of the invading shrapnel. Vim groaned, trying to lean forward to see what the Flame King was doing.
“Don’t move, Vim.”
“My lord…”
“I’m sorry, my friend, but this is really going to hurt.” Thestalos seized the stone. Vim yelped, and then screamed as the monarch ripped the blade from his flesh. Hurling the offensive weapon aside, Thestalos clapped his hands on the gaping wound, ignoring the gout of blood that stained his gauntlets and bracers and spewed onto the floor. Blades of flame slashed through the crimson fluid and seared the flesh beneath, cauterizing it on impact. Vim’s cries subsided as he slipped into unconsciousness.
His brutal work done, Thestalos lifted his friend out of the ditch and climbed back onto the command center’s floor. He laid the mage down on the ground and took his hand. For several minutes he watched Vim’s shrouded face intently, until the spellcaster let out a shuddering breath and coughed.
“Vim, are you all right?”
The mage gasped, reaching a trembling hand up to push his hood back. His flesh was deathly pale, blood flecked his lips, and his long black hair was drenched in sweat. “My lord…I am dying.” His voice was harsh and his breathing labored, but his tone bore no hint of regret or despair.
Thestalos shook his head. “I am sorry. I did all I could.”
Vim grasped his king’s hand, gripping it with all his might. “You must escape, my lord. They will be on top of us in moments.”
“Very well.” Thestalos bent to scoop his friend up, but Vim deterred him.
“I am spent. Bringing me with will only slow you down.”
Thestalos bared his teeth beneath his visor. “I will not leave you behind.”
“You will.” Vim grinned. “My resting place is here. I will hold them here. They will pay for every soldier they have killed…here.”
A screech pierced the heat-thickened air. Thestalos looked up to see hoards of the gray skinned creatures approaching their position, flanked by humanoid warriors. Vim grabbed his shoulder. “Stand me up,” He ordered, his eyes flashing, “and give me my staff.”
___________________________
The lead Zoma sniffed the air, suspicious. It smelled fire and death, but there was something else here. Curious, it screeched to its comrades and crawled into the gutted command center.
No one stirred. The corpses on the ground were virtually untouched. Though it couldn’t see anyone, the Zoma was sure he had scented human in the air.
A ball of flame streaked from the shadows behind a pile of pumice shards, exploding in the Zoma’s chest and hurling fleshy fragments in every direction. The other Zomas spun to meet the attacker, but met similar fates, struck down by the volatile spheres.
More soldiers poured into the command center. Vim spun his staff and unleashed a line of explosives into the air, turning the first rank of the advancing enemies into charred hunks of scattered flesh. Some attackers made it through the inferno to engage him in close combat. They met not a wounded, rapidly failing mage, but a furious, flaming entity, unafraid of injury and more than willing to use his incendiary magic in close as well as ranged combat. The walls of the chamber were spattered with blood and carbon as Vim cut a tempestuous swath through his foes.
___________________________
“He fights like a demon.” Mataza whispered reverently as the crimson mage obliterated one of the Regenerating Mummies, leaving nothing for the zombie to regenerate with. The samurai stood on a mound of pumice, blood and grime staining his face and armor. He watched with fascination as the enemy sustained a crippling blow from a sword and responded by burying his scythe-like staff in his opponent’s skull.
“He’s no more than a human.” Spoke a growling, sinister voice from behind him. Mataza turned to see Daemon standing on the hilltop, not a single wound, burn, or bloodstain on his body. His sword, however, glimmered red in the setting sun. “I will show you how a demon works.”
The vampire leapt into the air, clearing Mataza’s head in a single bound and charged down the hill, vaulting directly into the middle of the command center. His sword flashed out, dealing two violent wounds to Vim’s chest. The mage swung his staff at knee level, hoping to knock the vampire’s feet out from under him, but Daemon jumped over the attack, performing an elegant snap kick that caught Vim beneath chin, throwing his head back and pointing his eyes skyward. A quick slash from the rapier cut across the mage’s throat, narrowly missing his jugular. He choked as he stumbled backwards, his legs finally giving out. He caught himself on what was left of a stone table and fell into a sitting position atop it. Daemon lunged forward and placed the point of his weapon against the wizard’s bloodstained Adam’s apple.
“Any last words, human?” The vampire hissed through his teeth as the Zomas and Regenerating Mummies fanned out into a semicircle behind him.
A smile danced across Vim’s pale visage. His right hand darted up to grab the sword at his throat. Daemon’s eyes widened as the mage swung his left up to snap the slender rapier in half.
“I’m called...” The mage flung the blade aside and crossed his arms over his chest, howling his next words at the top of his lungs, bloody spittle from his lips spattering Daemon’s face, “THE BLAST MAGICIAN!!”
With those words, Vim’s body turned pure white, moats of energy shooting from his silhouette and blinding all the enemies surrounding him. Mataza had just enough time to dive behind the pumice hilltop before the explosion ripped across the landscape, cleansing the command center and a circle several thousand feet in diameter outside of its invaders.
___________________________
Neo slipped against, and had to press himself against the black stone – again – to keep himself from falling. Above him, he could see stars glimmering between the clouds. The dragon had led him to this shaft, and was presumably waiting for him at the top. Heavy drops of rain were filtering down the tunnel, making the rock slick and difficult to hold on to.
Why am I such a damned idiot?
The swordsman clambered up the last few feet and threw his arms over the lip of the hole. When he opened his eyes, he wasn’t sure he actually had.
He was at the top of a giant stone spire. Below him the mountainside sprawled like a beige sheet across the knees of a sleeping giant. Beyond that a dappled green plain stretched into the distance.
There was no ground close by. Anywhere.
Why does this always happen to me? Neo swung one leg up onto the lip of the shaft and pulled himself up so that he straddled the edge. He chanced a single glance down and had to grip the rock with both his arms and legs to keep from falling.
Oh my god, that’s a long way down. The swordsman closed his eyes and pressed his forehead against the smooth stone as the rain buffeted him. He had just decided to climb back down the shaft and put this whole thing behind him when the voice spoke again.
Jump.
“You got to be fucking kidding me.” Neo eyed the horizon line, being very careful not to look at the ground uncountable thousands of feet below. “I am not jumping.”
Jump.
Neo pushed himself up so he was sitting on the ledge, his white-knuckled fingers still gripping the stone. “No.”
The command came again, this time tinged with mockery. Jump.
“Piss off.” Neo’s voice was quiet.
This time, the voice became stern, seeming to say, if you don’t, everything you’ve worked for will become completely meaningless. Jump.
Neo sucked in a breath. After a few moments of hesitation, he climbed shakily to his feet and teetered on the edge, both arms stretched out to maintain balance. What have I got to lose? “You’ll catch me, right?”
Jump.
The first few moments of the fall were ridiculously exhilarating. Neo’s heart thundered in his ears while the air roared outside them. He plummeted straight down, the rock spire shooting past next to his feet and the wind stinging his eyes. The beige surface of the mountainside began to resolve into individual boulders and stones.
Oh yeah, my life.
Chapter Three: A Slender Beam of Light
Neo swung one leg up over the lip of the cave and dragged himself onto the flat ground. Crawling up to one knee, he surveyed the cavern beyond. The dank recesses of the chamber yawned like a hungry mouth, greedily anticipating his approach.
After a few minutes of rest, the swordsman climbed shakily to his feet. The wind still howled outside, but was not admitted into this private lair.
“Bring back something to prove I’ve been here.” Neo muttered to himself. What am I supposed to get? A dragon’s head? An egg? He shrugged his shoulders, trying to reestablish contact with his nerve endings. Maybe Sable would let me get away with a rock.
True to the name of its occupant, the cave was pitch-black, making it impossible to navigate by sight. Neo spent several minutes trying to think of some way he could fashion his shirt into a rope that he could follow back to the entrance, but eventually gave that endeavor up as a lost cause.
Great. Maybe I’ll just fumble my way down random corridors for a while. Neo shook his head. Either way, I won’t get anywhere just sitting here. Taking a deep breath, the swordsman took his first tentative steps into the black abyss.
___________________________
The Darkblaze Dragon touched down on the ground just inside the fort’s outer wall. Several soldiers, hands on their weapons, surrounded the scout and its passenger. Émigré slipped down off the dragon’s back, raising her hands as she did so.
“Who are you, and what business do you have in Anima?” The speaker was a brown-haired man wearing a suit of slate gray armor. A dark cape fluttered at his shoulders, and his hand rested warily on the hilt of his longsword, which was strapped to his waist.
“My name is Émigré. I have come from the Realm of Thestalos the Firestorm Monarch with a warning for the one named Freed.” The interloper’s azure eyes locked with the armored man’s hazel ones. “I must speak with him immediately.”
The man nodded slowly. “You’ll have to surrender your weapon.”
“Done.” Émigré unfastened the clasp that held her massive greatsword across her back and plunged its point into the ground. The runes along the spine of the weapon seemed to shimmer as the tassel fastened to its pommel fluttered in the wind.
The armored man turned on heel and moved quickly across the courtyard. Two guards held the steel gates open to admit him. The other soldiers did not move, did not take their hands off their weapons, until he returned. “General Freed is ready for you.” The man gestured for the others to return to their business.
Émigré turned towards her escort. “Thank you for your assistance.”
The scout made a noncommittal noise and turned away, spreading its wings. “May the wind be ever at your back.” With that it flexed its legs and leapt into the air, quickly shrinking into a tiny dot in the heavens.
The woman turned back to her host. “Lead on.”
___________________________
General Freed was tall, about the same height as Émigré. He wore a suit of impeccably polished silver armor decorated with golden embellishments, which shimmered in the light from the tall glass windows that lined the walls on either side of the chamber. He extended a hand to his guest. Émigré shook it, and then sat down in the chair he offered her.
“Émigré is an odd name, although it is odder still that you come from the realm of the Firestorm Monarch.” The general stroked his full golden beard. Émigré noted that even his healthy facial hair could not hide the lines of age that crept out from the corners of his mouth as he smiled knowingly. “I sense there is more to you than meets the eye, outsider. But enough of that,” and here the general sat down in the chair behind his desk, “Commander Rahz tells me you have an urgent message from Thestalos.”
Émigré leaned forward, pressing her hands together. “I do, General. Thestalos’s kingdom is besieged by the forces of Caius the Shadow Monarch.”
A foul silence fell. The general’s bodyguards shifted uncomfortably. It seemed to them that a bit of light left the room as Freed spoke, all mischief gone from his voice.
“Caius the Shadow Monarch?” The general spoke barely above a whisper. “He’s returned?”
Émigré nodded grimly. “Even as we speak, he sets his will against Thestalos.”
“And the only reason you would have been sent,” Freed’s hands clenched on the desktop, “is if Thestalos is sure that he is doomed.”
“He knows it, sir. Caius has already defeated Granmarg and claimed the land of the Mountain King for his own.”
The general sat back in his chair, as though shocked into silence by the news. After several moments he spoke again, his tone carefully controlled. “Thestalos believes Caius will strike against the humans next.”
Émigré nodded again. Freed leaned forward, focusing all his attention on an inkwell near the edge of his desk, his face a mask of concentration.
“He will attack from the north, then?”
“I think so, sir, although he may attack Zaborg’s realm next.”
Freed shook his head. “If he conquers us he clears a path to all the other monarch’s domains.” He ran a hand through his blond hair, and Émigré notice several gray strands that flecked the otherwise flawless mane. The corner of his mouth twitched up. “I suppose Thestalos told you to come to me.”
“His words were, ‘he is the only one with the skill to defeat them’.” Émigré’s azure irises flashed as she spoke.
“I don’t know what he thinks I can do against an army that will surely conquer him.” The general sagged, resting his elbows on the desktop. “I am well past my prime.”
“General, a wise warrior once told me, ‘Sometimes the only difference between victory and defeat is faith’.” The woman stood, stepping forward to place her hand on the man’s shoulder. The bodyguards tensed, but did not try to intervene. “Thestalos had faith in you, and he believed…so do I.”
Freed looked up into the messenger’s eyes. Inside them burned a fire that brought both heat and chills to the deepest recesses of his soul. Émigré, he thought, what other secrets do you carry in your cerulean heart?
The general stood, his armor glittering as he did so. “Thestalos trusted you to bring hope to my people. It would be unthinkable for me to stand by and do nothing.” He threw back his cloak and walked around the desk, gesturing for his guards to follow. “Bring Commander Rahz and the battalion leaders to the ready room. I will be there shortly.” As he moved past Émigré, he turned his head, speaking only to her. “Thank you, outsider.” With that he swept past through the double oak doors, his guards rushing off to do his bidding.
___________________________
Caius’s army flowed across the lava field, war cries tearing through the hot, saturated air. The red-skinned warriors waiting for them in the trench readied obsidian-tipped spears and slammed down helmet visors. Several archers standing in carved stone towers fired arrows down into the charging tidal wave, but did not even slow its progress. The hunched gray monsters reached the trenches first, leaping through the obsidian spikes, and the fighting began in earnest.
Screams rang out as tooth and claw met spear and fist, and corpses began to pile up in the trenches. As the gray fiends thinned the ranks, a second wave, this one filled with humanoids and taller beasts, joined the fray. The first line of trenches fell beneath their combined assault.
Flaming arrows rained down from the archery towers, their obsidian tips tearing into the flesh of beast and man below. The red-skinned soldiers roared and leapt from their entrenchments, meeting the enemy in between the first and second line of defense. Even as they did so, a dark shadow passed overhead, followed by smaller ones. The White-Horned Dragon swooped low, unleashing streams of lightning from its jaws, cooking warriors still waiting in the second row in its hellish salivation. Its massive tail swung down, shattering one of the archery towers and sending chips of pumice and mangled bodies sailing through the air. Its followers, close behind, blasted the trenches with fire, even as the ground forces reached the second line.
The ground began to shake, and some of the attackers stumbled. Then the volcanic rock beneath their feet exploded, hurling them high into the air to crash down into the ranks far behind them that had not even joined the fight yet. The monster that leapt from the earth roared in fury, swinging twin diamond claws in bloody arcs, carving a swath through the mass of demons before it. The creature towered over the scuttling beasts below, its red-orange skin flaring with inborn fire. It opened its mouth and blasted the front line of Caius’s army with a raging crimson inferno, incinerating whole lines of his troops in seconds. Shaken and outgunned, the front line’s advance was temporarily halted, and Thestalos’s warriors gave a frenzied battle cry, driving the attackers back.
“We are holding them.”
Thestalos watched as the honey colored images rushed towards one another, as the dragons wheeled overhead and the Volcanic Doomfire cut Caius’s ground forces to pieces. Vim sat, immobile, all his concentration focused on projecting the map into the chamber.
“Still no sign of Caius’s portals opening anywhere,” the mage reported, not moving a muscle.
“What are you up to, brother?” Thestalos murmured. Caius’s mount was high above the battlefield, out of the archer’s range, and had not come close to the battle yet. Perhaps he waits for me to show myself, so he can confront me, like he did with Granmarg. The monarch turned his attention back to the Doomfire as it smacked one of the dragons that came too close out of the air and leapt on it, tearing the beast’s head from its body with razor-like teeth. The Doomfire tossed the skull aside; the discarded cranium crushed several of the gray creatures on the ground below.
Now the White-Horned Dragon came around for another pass, this time targeting the volcanic behemoth with its lightning spray. The Doomfire weathered the storm and countered with one of its own. A lance of flame hurtled from its maw and singed the dragon’s wing as it rolled aside. The flying beast slammed directly into its grounded counterpart, shoving it back. Diamond claws wrapped around the dragon’s throat while it shot blades of pale silver electricity into the Doomfire’s face. Taking advantage of the momentary distraction, Caius’s forces redoubled their attack, covered by the smaller dragon’s constant barrage of fireballs.
Further north, a lance of Caius’s army was breaking off from the main group, attacking at a different angle. The same thing was happening to the south, and soon Thestalos’s army was slowly being pushed back on all fronts.
“My lord, portal disturbance!” Vim cried. Thestalos’s eyes quickly located the flashing point on the map, just behind the last line of defense, where humanoid monsters and gray beasts were boiling out of thin air.
“Send word to the fourth line! Move all available troops to stop them!” Thestalos shouted, directing his words at the Flame Spirit technicians monitoring communications. The communication network was an extension of the magic Vim worked to project the map, and worked instantly. In seconds, soldiers were bearing down on the ever-growing infiltration party. Even as they closed around the attackers, more portals began to open, first two, then three, then five, all spilling the taint of darkness into the Realm of the Firestorm Monarch.
___________________________
Neo let out an exasperated hiss as his toe struck another sharp stone. Damn, I’m getting tired of this. He placed his hand against the wall again and carefully stepped over the rock. By his reckoning he had been feeling along in this way for almost an hour, and he had already forgotten what light looked like.
Why didn’t I just start climbing down the mountain? I don’t have any reason to obey Sable, especially when he’s not anywhere near me. Neo knew the answer to that question before he asked it, but it was comforting to feel like he had no idea why he’d done something so infernally stupid. He was still musing on the topic of his intelligence when one of his feet connected with nothing where a floor should have been.
The swordsman tumbled forward, rolling down a steep, rocky incline. Sharp stones plunged into his back, ribs, and arms as he tucked his head, raising his hands to protect his face. After only a few seconds the ground leveled out and he skidded to a stop, groaning in pain. Purple shades flickered before his eyes as his head spun, apparently unconvinced that his fall was over quite yet.
As Neo calmed his raging heart, he heard someone – or something – breathing in the dark. At first he managed to convince himself it was just the echo of his exhalation, but then the other being gave an acidic snort. Cursing quietly, the swordsman got to his feet and wrapped his fingers around the sword hilt at his waist.
There was a crash of falling stone, and a mote of light poured into the chamber. Neo’s eyes stung as the rays cast their luminescence onto a pool of water in the center of the room, throwing an eerie blue glow into its far corners. Just on the other side of the pool crouched a huge black dragon, its scales dyed sea green by the reflected light. Neo’s sword flashed from its sheath, its tip pointing directly at the center of the monster’s skull.
The creature growled deep in its throat, a feral, animalistic rumble. Neo profiled himself, making his body a smaller target. His right hand held his sword, still pointed at his foe, while his other clenched into a fist, golden sparks of energy crackling through his tensed muscles. The behemoth facing him roared, blasting a wave of sound through the spacious cavern, and lunged straight at the diminutive human.
Neo pivoted, his hand coming up, fingers splayed against an invisible wall. A Lucian missile streaked from his palm, thrusting towards the charging serpent. Just as the arcane arrow was about to strike, though, the dragon dove aside with shocking agility, rolling in midair to land on its feet. The projectile splashed across a cerulean-stained stalagmite, boiling away years of carefully carved stone. The dragon snorted, almost derisively, and responded with an arrow of its own.
The acidic green mass hurtled through the air, hissing as it flew. Neo dropped into a roll, narrowly avoiding the attack, into striking range of the beast. He swung his shimmering steel brand upwards, attempting to cut into the monster’s thick-muscled leg, but the beast withdrew, swinging its skull sideways at the warrior. He fell back as the cranial bludgeon passed over him, ruffling his hair with its passing.
The warrior came up in a crouch, grabbing his sword in a two-handed grip. He uttered a feral cry and swung laterally, nicking the dragon’s jawbone with the tip of the blade. The ebony behemoth recoiled, like a snake jerking away from an unexpected movement. It spat again, and this time Neo could not avoid the burning salivation. Instead he threw up his hand, letting his arm go rigid, his fingers forming into a knife. As the missile drew within a millimeter of his extended digits, it split in two, the cut spreading out from the initial breach and tearing the meteor asunder. Its halves plowed into the floor, noxious clouds of vapor rising from the wounds they carved in the dirt.
Both combatants stood motionless for a long moment, the only sound in the chamber the hiss of stone dissolving. The refracted light on the walls slowed its oscillations until they nearly ceased, and in that moment, the beast and the man became one. The dragon saw Neo’s fierce determination, his confidence, and his desire to rise beyond what he was. Neo, in turn, saw a gaping chasm in the monster’s heart, a wailing void of despair that gave birth to an undying anger. He faced the anguished storm and let it wash over him, tasting the bitter tang of the power that it gave him.
Eventually time restarted. Neo slowly brought his sword up over his head, and down on the other side of his body, grasping the hilt in both hands. The dragon snarled, challenging his confidence to match its rage. The corner of Neo’s mouth turned up in a vicious half-grin.
“Try me.”
___________________________
The once-gray sky was now stained orange and black. Corpses were piled high in the trenches, and explosions welled up from the ground as Caius’s air support made pass after pass. Thestalos leaned heavily on the railing that ringed the map ditch, not flinching as a fireball tore a hole in the wall of his command center.
The Volcanic Doomfire still fought, though it was bleeding sulfur from dozens of wounds along its flanks. The red-skinned beast-warriors were falling back, trying to hold dozens of intrusion points against countless thousands of enemies. For every demon or dark soldier they felled, three more stood in its place. Some enemies refused to be slain, rising again even after they were dealt a mortal blow.
“My lord, we are not holding up well. Our southern flank is lost, and the north will follow soon. We need to start evacuating into the tunnels if we are to have any chance at all.” Vim was breathless, and his shoulders shook with the effort it was taking to maintain the projection.
“Order a fighting retreat into the tunnels. We will remain here until the last battle group is through.”
Vim’s voice, though exhausted, betrayed his deep concern. “Lord, if we wait until the last group has escaped, it unlikely we will have time to effect an escape ourselves.”
The Firestorm Monarch’s face was indiscernible behind his steel visor. “I know.”
___________________________
The swordsman steeled himself for another barrage, but none came. Instead, the dragon leapt back, pumped its enormous leathery wings twice, and faded into the posterior of the cavern. Neo lowered his weapon, confused.
Follow.
The unspoken command seemed to ring from every wall, its compelling tone nearly forcing Neo’s legs into motion. Only his strong will to live stopped him.
Follow.
The swordsman scrutinized the dark abyss he was about to venture into, imagining every possible ambush scenario that could occur if he obeyed. After several long moments of fighting, he decided the danger was worth the risk. Taking a deep breath, Neo allowed the blackness to engulf him, plunging towards the nucleus of his compulsion.
Follow.
___________________________
The buzz of conversation flickered and died as General Freed stepped into the ready room. All eyes turned towards the aged warlord as he sat down in his designated seat at the head of the table.
“I assume all of you have read the reports Field Commander Rahz gave you, but let me just go over the main points.” The General leaned forward, one hand reaching beneath the iron table to rest on a hidden panel attached to the arm of his chair. The artistic map etched into the tabletop seemed to shimmer, and then the images rose off the surface and resolved into three-dimensional shapes, creating a rolling diorama of the countryside.
“According to the Intel we received from the outsider, Granmarg’s kingdom has been conquered by Caius the Shadow Monarch, and Thestalos’s realm will soon be under his heel as well.” Murmurs of concern rippled along the row of commanders. Each already knew the circumstances at hand, but hearing the words from the acclaimed Matchless General made them much more real, more terrifying. “It is likely that his dread army will strike us next.”
Freed straightened his back, keeping one hand on the panel beneath the table. “All commanding officers are, from this moment, on active duty. Captain Rowan,” and here he turned to a blond man clad in slate-grey armor with a pair of straight blades fastened to his waist, one long, the other short, “I want you to take a detachment of soldiers to the border of Thestalos’s kingdom.” A rectangle of land on the map began to flash green. “If Caius’s army shows itself, I want you to bring word back. No heroics.”
“You can count on me, General.” Rowan nodded, his blue eyes shining with determination.
The General turned his attention back to the other commanders. He indicated another armored warrior, this one with flowing golden locks and a pair of glittering crimson eyes. “Dej, I want recon over Thestalos’s realm. Get me anything you can; force deployment, battle tactics, whatever you can find, I want it. Stay out of sight of Caius’s flyers and avoid engagements at all costs. You’re dismissed.” Freed turned to the rest of the group as the Familiar Knight quickly left the room. “The rest of you will be drilling your soldiers. They need to be sharp for the coming battle. I’ll meet with each of you separately for your individual assignments. Dismissed.”
The officers stood up and filed out, leaving Freed and Rahz alone at the table. The General leaned back with a sigh as the map receded into the smooth iron surface.
“Sir, may I ask you a question off the record?” Rahz asked, shifting uncomfortably in his seat.
“Speak freely, Commander.”
Rahz hesitated, and when he spoke, it was with careful deliberation. “Was it wise to put Rowan on watch?”
Freed smiled. “He is almost as old as you are, Rahz. He’s not a child anymore.”
“I’m sorry,” the Commander shook his head, “I don’t agree with that statement, sir. He’s just a boy.”
“A boy who has shown a great deal of promise in all aspects of his command.” Freed leaned towards his subordinate and placed a comforting hand on his shoulder. “Don’t worry, he’ll be fine.”
“Of course, sir.” Rahz rose and saluted. “Permission to return to my unit, sir?”
Freed nodded curtly, his eyes focused on the map etched into the tabletop. “Dismissed.” The General continued to stare at the table even after the Commander left, as through tracing each line in its surface with his eyes.
___________________________
Thestalos watched as the army surged towards his command center like a black tsunami, burying the very land in its path. His soldiers continued to hold it at bay in some places, but most had already retreated into the lava tunnels below. Above, Caius and his vulture continued to circle.
“He’s waiting for me.” Thestalos murmured, tightening one hand around the stone guardrail until steam began to waft from between his fingers.
“My lord, we have a limited window of time in which we can still-“ Vim’s sentence was cut off as the front wall of the command center disappeared, replaced by a tornado of swirling debris. Thestalos threw up an arm, generating a shield of flame in front of his body. He could hear the hiss of stone shards vaporizing as they struck the wall he had created.
The dust began to settle. The front of the control chamber had been torn open, as though by a giant claw, the jagged edges of the gash still smoking. All the technicians who had been working there were gone, either incinerated or impaled by spikes of pumice. The other technicians got shakily to their feet, hurrying to check the wounded. The Firestorm Monarch’s gaze swept the room and came to rest on Vim.
The mage had not left his seat, but the ditch in front of him was now vacant, the map extinguished. The front of his robe had numerous minute slashes in it, from which blood oozed to soil the exquisite crimson fabric surrounding them.
Thestalos vaulted over the guardrail. He moved to Vim’s side and knelt next to him, placing a hand on his shoulder. “Vim? Are you alright?” He whispered.
Vim coughed twice, and when he spoke, his voice was like sandpaper rasping across wood. “I think I’m hit, my lord.” Thestalos started to reply, looking down to inspect the damage. The words died on his tongue.
A foot-wide slab of stone was imbedded in Vim’s stomach at a diagonal, traveling from the bottom of his right pectoral all the way to his left hip. The gruesome piece of shrapnel was razor-thin, which explained how it had avoided detection from above. Swallowing, the Monarch placed his gauntlet gently against the mage’s chest, tentatively peeling the cloth away from the wound.
“Hold still for a moment, Vim.” Thestalos brushed a fingertip against the place where flesh met stone. Vim hissed in pain. I need to get this out of him and seal the wound before it poisons his blood.
Resolve gripped the monarch. His hands hovered over either side of the invading shrapnel. Vim groaned, trying to lean forward to see what the Flame King was doing.
“Don’t move, Vim.”
“My lord…”
“I’m sorry, my friend, but this is really going to hurt.” Thestalos seized the stone. Vim yelped, and then screamed as the monarch ripped the blade from his flesh. Hurling the offensive weapon aside, Thestalos clapped his hands on the gaping wound, ignoring the gout of blood that stained his gauntlets and bracers and spewed onto the floor. Blades of flame slashed through the crimson fluid and seared the flesh beneath, cauterizing it on impact. Vim’s cries subsided as he slipped into unconsciousness.
His brutal work done, Thestalos lifted his friend out of the ditch and climbed back onto the command center’s floor. He laid the mage down on the ground and took his hand. For several minutes he watched Vim’s shrouded face intently, until the spellcaster let out a shuddering breath and coughed.
“Vim, are you all right?”
The mage gasped, reaching a trembling hand up to push his hood back. His flesh was deathly pale, blood flecked his lips, and his long black hair was drenched in sweat. “My lord…I am dying.” His voice was harsh and his breathing labored, but his tone bore no hint of regret or despair.
Thestalos shook his head. “I am sorry. I did all I could.”
Vim grasped his king’s hand, gripping it with all his might. “You must escape, my lord. They will be on top of us in moments.”
“Very well.” Thestalos bent to scoop his friend up, but Vim deterred him.
“I am spent. Bringing me with will only slow you down.”
Thestalos bared his teeth beneath his visor. “I will not leave you behind.”
“You will.” Vim grinned. “My resting place is here. I will hold them here. They will pay for every soldier they have killed…here.”
A screech pierced the heat-thickened air. Thestalos looked up to see hoards of the gray skinned creatures approaching their position, flanked by humanoid warriors. Vim grabbed his shoulder. “Stand me up,” He ordered, his eyes flashing, “and give me my staff.”
___________________________
The lead Zoma sniffed the air, suspicious. It smelled fire and death, but there was something else here. Curious, it screeched to its comrades and crawled into the gutted command center.
No one stirred. The corpses on the ground were virtually untouched. Though it couldn’t see anyone, the Zoma was sure he had scented human in the air.
A ball of flame streaked from the shadows behind a pile of pumice shards, exploding in the Zoma’s chest and hurling fleshy fragments in every direction. The other Zomas spun to meet the attacker, but met similar fates, struck down by the volatile spheres.
More soldiers poured into the command center. Vim spun his staff and unleashed a line of explosives into the air, turning the first rank of the advancing enemies into charred hunks of scattered flesh. Some attackers made it through the inferno to engage him in close combat. They met not a wounded, rapidly failing mage, but a furious, flaming entity, unafraid of injury and more than willing to use his incendiary magic in close as well as ranged combat. The walls of the chamber were spattered with blood and carbon as Vim cut a tempestuous swath through his foes.
___________________________
“He fights like a demon.” Mataza whispered reverently as the crimson mage obliterated one of the Regenerating Mummies, leaving nothing for the zombie to regenerate with. The samurai stood on a mound of pumice, blood and grime staining his face and armor. He watched with fascination as the enemy sustained a crippling blow from a sword and responded by burying his scythe-like staff in his opponent’s skull.
“He’s no more than a human.” Spoke a growling, sinister voice from behind him. Mataza turned to see Daemon standing on the hilltop, not a single wound, burn, or bloodstain on his body. His sword, however, glimmered red in the setting sun. “I will show you how a demon works.”
The vampire leapt into the air, clearing Mataza’s head in a single bound and charged down the hill, vaulting directly into the middle of the command center. His sword flashed out, dealing two violent wounds to Vim’s chest. The mage swung his staff at knee level, hoping to knock the vampire’s feet out from under him, but Daemon jumped over the attack, performing an elegant snap kick that caught Vim beneath chin, throwing his head back and pointing his eyes skyward. A quick slash from the rapier cut across the mage’s throat, narrowly missing his jugular. He choked as he stumbled backwards, his legs finally giving out. He caught himself on what was left of a stone table and fell into a sitting position atop it. Daemon lunged forward and placed the point of his weapon against the wizard’s bloodstained Adam’s apple.
“Any last words, human?” The vampire hissed through his teeth as the Zomas and Regenerating Mummies fanned out into a semicircle behind him.
A smile danced across Vim’s pale visage. His right hand darted up to grab the sword at his throat. Daemon’s eyes widened as the mage swung his left up to snap the slender rapier in half.
“I’m called...” The mage flung the blade aside and crossed his arms over his chest, howling his next words at the top of his lungs, bloody spittle from his lips spattering Daemon’s face, “THE BLAST MAGICIAN!!”
With those words, Vim’s body turned pure white, moats of energy shooting from his silhouette and blinding all the enemies surrounding him. Mataza had just enough time to dive behind the pumice hilltop before the explosion ripped across the landscape, cleansing the command center and a circle several thousand feet in diameter outside of its invaders.
___________________________
Neo slipped against, and had to press himself against the black stone – again – to keep himself from falling. Above him, he could see stars glimmering between the clouds. The dragon had led him to this shaft, and was presumably waiting for him at the top. Heavy drops of rain were filtering down the tunnel, making the rock slick and difficult to hold on to.
Why am I such a damned idiot?
The swordsman clambered up the last few feet and threw his arms over the lip of the hole. When he opened his eyes, he wasn’t sure he actually had.
He was at the top of a giant stone spire. Below him the mountainside sprawled like a beige sheet across the knees of a sleeping giant. Beyond that a dappled green plain stretched into the distance.
There was no ground close by. Anywhere.
Why does this always happen to me? Neo swung one leg up onto the lip of the shaft and pulled himself up so that he straddled the edge. He chanced a single glance down and had to grip the rock with both his arms and legs to keep from falling.
Oh my god, that’s a long way down. The swordsman closed his eyes and pressed his forehead against the smooth stone as the rain buffeted him. He had just decided to climb back down the shaft and put this whole thing behind him when the voice spoke again.
Jump.
“You got to be fucking kidding me.” Neo eyed the horizon line, being very careful not to look at the ground uncountable thousands of feet below. “I am not jumping.”
Jump.
Neo pushed himself up so he was sitting on the ledge, his white-knuckled fingers still gripping the stone. “No.”
The command came again, this time tinged with mockery. Jump.
“Piss off.” Neo’s voice was quiet.
This time, the voice became stern, seeming to say, if you don’t, everything you’ve worked for will become completely meaningless. Jump.
Neo sucked in a breath. After a few moments of hesitation, he climbed shakily to his feet and teetered on the edge, both arms stretched out to maintain balance. What have I got to lose? “You’ll catch me, right?”
Jump.
The first few moments of the fall were ridiculously exhilarating. Neo’s heart thundered in his ears while the air roared outside them. He plummeted straight down, the rock spire shooting past next to his feet and the wind stinging his eyes. The beige surface of the mountainside began to resolve into individual boulders and stones.
Oh yeah, my life.