“Ah that’s damn splendid.” I grumble to myself as I watch hopelessly and helplessly as Asher is torn down by some fancy magics.
I float in closer to have a look, his assailant towers over his fallen body, Asher is fortunately alive, his quick sacrifice of the not smoking sheep saved him a few moments more in life.
I sigh. Without him I’ll be stuck in this realm forever, unable to interact with anything. But at the same time thanks to him I’m able to move about like an actual spirit, at least I won’t be stuck in place for all eternity like the others.
“So, the orphan child has a guardian.” The voice comes from the man who struck Asher down, the man towering above his body, the man staring directly at me, “Are you why he refused to be touched by Phien?”
Slowly, ever so slowly I back away, moving to the side and watch as the man’s glowing blue eyes follow my movement.
“Ah. You are not his guardian. He is yours.” Despite his hands set behind his back I can’t help feeling he could reach out and grab me if he wished.
“The fold does not require you, but, if you bring your guardian to us, we will favour you with life.”
The man springs to his feet, dancing away from Asher’s immobile body just soon enough to avoid getting split in half by the glowing sliver axe that breaks the ground he stood on.
“Annoying.” The man scowls, his cool and serene mood from before nowhere to be found.
His assailant tears their weapon out of the ground with ease and palms it, as four others, similarly dressed in white cloaks land beside him with all their weapons drawn.
“Someone secure the civilian. Keep sharp, there’s only one in front of us but this is Phien, the rest will come crawling out soon.” The man with the axe says. The white wearing-group split off, covering and cornering the Phien-man.
The Phien-man grumbles some more and spits before raising his arms. That signalled the attack, the groups, either out of paranoia or experience immediately pounce on the Phien-man.
Flaming arrows fly overhead, gusts of wind cut through the ground travelling to kill and maim. All attacks land, and the Phien-man falls over in pieces; cut through and pierced.
“Is it over?” I find myself asking no one in particular.
A ground breaking sound and a barely visible body moving past the white cloaks answers my question.
My head whips to see what that was. There’s a man with a spear scratching at the woman who stayed behind to guard Asher. She has a blue shield up and was straining at the weight and pressure of the man’s attack.
There’s another battle raging, raging everywhere as more and more people crawled out of corners to attack the white cloaks. The leader was right. They would simply keep coming until you cut them all down.
It takes hours to kill them all. To kill the entire village of magic users. The white cloaks are exhausted, injured and irritable. After taking a short break after the battle, the massacre, they took their time again in burning down the entire village along with the bodies of the slain.
They are reluctant in taking Asher at first, many of them wishing to leave him in the bushes near the burning village, but their votes are vetoed instantly by their axe wielding leader who argues that they’d be no different from vigilantes if they left him exposed to the elements and natures many predators. Plus, it wasn’t exactly promoting the good will of the beautiful Goddess of Life, Anera, whom they served.
I followed them onto the next village. Along the journey they discussed mainly of their slain opponents, expressing great concern in their growing power and prowess. Their axe wielding leader couldn’t say much to assuage their fears that the next battles against the Phien cultists would be a lethal one.
If Asher were to encounter the Cult again, would he be able to survive?
I snort. Likely not.