When I had thought about the worst possible outcomes, I had apparently underestimated just how bad it could be.

 

From the maimed Hosi to the demon summoning to the dozens of slain guards who’d obviously been sent to stop it, I couldn’t quite judge what had exactly happened here. The blood flowing in small rivers of life to the altar were jarring enough, and the sight of the gore splattered floor was outrageous enough that it almost went past being horrifying into the realm of comedy. I could only stare blankly at the nearest guard as I watched him try to staunch the blood from his countless burns and lacerations all over his left shoulder and ignore the flow from the massive hole in his abdomen. 

 

The swirling of the portal wasn’t much more encouraging, for I could see the subtle ethereal movements just beyond the threshold as its occupants stared right back. It was too dark to make out exact forms, but the reflections of a thousand eyes and dim fires could be seen. A figure of pure flames could be vaguely in the distance behind the others, its heart stopping gaze seemingly looking straight towards me.

 

More presently, the four surviving acolytes looked just as fearsome as the demons they sought. Each was covered in blood or light burns, and only two of them carried intact shield masks. Walking between wounded man and mage, they made no distinction between friend or foe as they finished off each surviving one, stabbing their wounded brothers just as often as they finished off the guards.

 

Just what the [fuck] had happened here? 

 

From the sheer number of them, it was abundantly clear the guard had already known about this little scheme beforehand, which was possibly why they’d been so flippant about our warnings. But how had they failed so hard? Why had they fought to the death? Had they not thought to escape at all? And how come we hadn’t seen anybody guarding the exit outside? Surely any competent force would’ve thought to keep the entries and exits cleared, as well as couriers for more reinforcements if it all went south as it obviously had. It didn’t make sense that a company of them would just march in here and get slaughtered by cultists.

 

Unless… it had been a trap from the get-go. 

 

It was possible that they’d purposely tipped off the guards so as to get new victims for whatever blood-ritual this summoning required. Perhaps the dead guard we’d found earlier had even been one of the lookouts. I wasn’t sure why they’d chosen guards rather than helpless citizens, but that was the only theory that made any sense.

 

“By the Star…” Fredrick muttered.

 

“Pitch it all.” Breale said at the same time.

 

The Maverick’s recovered quicker than I did, raising their swords as one. Their blades gleamed madly as they did, the bright glyphs engraved in their hilts taking on a whole new emotion then they typically did.

 

The cultists finally noticed us as they did so, though by the dead looks on their faces I couldn’t help but feel like they didn’t care.

 

“For all that shines, what have you done!” Fredrick shouted. “How could you… defile Verol so willingly?”

 

“To save but… but thousands more.”

 

The acolyte at the back looked strained as he responded, as if he were keeping the lid on some great spell. 

 

“It’s…” He clenched his eyes shut. “...too late. Minua will awake into a bloodbath. The plateau needs stren-”

 

“You realise that no matter what reason you have, it’s positively deranged, right?” I interrupted. “There is no justifiable reason to do… this.”

 

It didn’t matter if this was an ultimate good, which this assuredly wasn’t. Even considering doing something like this was positively and irrevocably evil.

 

The acolyte apparently didn’t see fit to respond, because he simply refocused on his ritual and motioned something to the other men, who drew their larger weapons from sheaths.

 

Nor did we seek to debate further. It was clear we didn’t have the time to get them monologuing while whatever monstrosity in that portal got ever closer.

 

If you didn’t count the wounded or the man channelling, we only had three enemies to deal with, one for each of us. That seemed reasonable to me given the Maverick’s training, but I still hung behind Breale as we surged forward, magic brimming in my fingertips. Our opponents lost their emotionless expressions as we came closer, growing grim and gripping their weapons with white knuckles instead.

 

“For the Star!” Breale cried as she ran. “For Andril!”

 

A humming determination rose up in me as we charged, a low power recharging my tired limbs. I couldn’t know if it was just the horror of what I could see or my desire to help Andril, but I felt as though I could blast the altar apart with my bare hands.

 

And then we clashed.

 

I had known about and expected the cutting enchantment of the Mavericks to cleave right through their enemies weapons, but to my surprise it did not, and in fact I could see that their blades had not even been activated for some reason. Instead, each of them parried upwards to catch their opponent’s blades above their heads. 

 

They traded blows and strikes for a few moments, but I couldn’t begin to describe the precise manoeuvres as they performed them. A cultist would stab or cleave and a Maverick would dodge and strike. That wasn’t to say the twins dominated, however. The acolytes were no slouches to combat as it would seem, able to almost keep up with even the tirelessly trained twins, and in a comparison of pure strength as well, Breale was at a slight disadvantage even with her subtle enchantments, nor was Fredrick dominant in that field. But even with that I could see the fight subtly turn against the cultists in the few seconds I was able to watch.

 

I focused on the third man as he came up on Breale’s flank, pointing my knife at him before he could get within a few metres. His shield mask was shattered around his neck, destroyed in his prior fight with the guards and leaving him open to magical attack. But instead of being rightfully afraid, I could almost see a smile poke at the corners of his mouth as he faced me.

 

Despite the horrific situation, I smiled in return. It was never good to underestimate a mage.

 

“Relicin!”

 

“Helvit.”

 

A sheet of ice appeared a metre in front of him, glowing furiously as it shattered into miniscule shards upon hitting some invisible force. The ice crystals shot around the room like a shotgun blast, and I felt a bead of blood drop from my forehead. Looking again, I could see that the man had drawn a small wand to his hand.

 

[Fuck].

 

Of course he was a mage! Why the hell wouldn’t he be! There wasn’t a fighter on this goddamn planet that wouldn’t be!

 

“Sinio.”

 

I dove to the right as a needle-thin line of fire erupted from the man’s wand and scorched the wall far behind me.

 

“Ice? You cast ice?” He looked at me as I got to my feet, bewildered. “How come by you of that?”

 

“Spatal.”

 

“Inalo.”

 

He flicked his wand to the side dismissively, a semi-transparent shield of air summoned into the path of my snow. 

 

“Such a beginner’s-”

 

His boast died in his throat as a snowball the size of a basketball flew straight through the shield and slammed into his chest. The man flew backwards like a ragdoll, a sharp crack accompanying his landing, and a flare of satisfaction and bewilderment flew through me.

 

Did that… did that just ignore his shield? He didn’t just miss, did he? There was no way he did, right?

 

So lost in my confusion was I that the man was already returning to his feet by the time I  was able to launch another spell towards him, one that he was able to dodge by jerking his head back down. He wasted no time in retaliating.

 

“Sinio. Sinio! SINIO!”

 

“Relicin!”

 

We started a frantic game of dodgeball as we began trading spells with no time to breath. Streams of fire and bursts of ice erupted around the room, and I found that I had to be extremely careful to avoid stepping on one of the injured guards or cultists scattered about. 

 

Thankfully, my training over the last couple weeks had served to strengthen my mana reserves by quite a bit, and I was more or less able to trade some weakened spells without throwing myself under the table. I didn’t dare use more than a small handful of rin in each one, and I certainly didn’t dare repeat the feat I’d done with the Izavelo, but I knew that I was nowhere near the level I’d been at before the gala.

 

Nor could I find my reflexes to be lacking. A year of fighting had allowed me enough to easily dodge the man’s clumsy attempts to spear me with spells, and I was able to keep him at arm’s length by stepping aside and firing a few spells whenever he tried charging with his sword. It was only my stamina that began to betray me as the fight went past half a minute in length.

 

“Spatal! Relicin!” I cried as another thread of fire shot past me. “Selur!”

 

“Helvit. Sinio.” 

 

I cursed to myself as my spells splattered against this shield like snow against glass.

 

Irritatingly, that first counter ‘Helvit’ seemed to be actually effective in blocking my attacks wholesale, though I wasn’t sure why that one worked and ‘Inalo’ didn’t. Even worse, I wasn’t confident enough in my mana resistance to just put everything into piercing it, nor was I even sure that I could even if I did. These sorts of wards normally required specifically crafted spells or supercharged force vectors to blow through them, neither of which I could do right now. Oh, how I wished the spell list I had from back on Earth worked…

 

I ducked behind a ruined wall for a moment to catch my breath. Across the room, I could see that Fredrick and Breale were starting to beat back their opponents to the altar, the owner of which looked increasingly worried at that development. Alarmingly for me, however, I could see that at least Breale’s mask had been split in twain during the fight. Neither of them looked burned, but that definitely didn’t signal good things about the school’s mask quality.

 

I couldn’t rely on mine taking more than a single hit if that was the case. I’d need to end the fight, and quickly.

 

“Why hide? Come out, little bird!” My enemy cried. “Are you afraid of being burnt?”

 

But how could I fight him if I couldn’t break his shield? 

 

A plan quickly came to mind as I heard the man step towards my wall. Almost immediately, my mind switched to an even more important decision.

 

“Come out, come out, wheve-”

 

I flew around the corner at a sprint, and the man nearly jumped out of his skin in surprise. To his credit, a ‘sinio’ still erupted from his wand with deadly aim, but I didn’t stop my charge to dodge it either. It hit me full on, and my vision was filled with fire as it rippled over my shield. After half a second I could see shards of mana splinter off with the remains of my shield mask, but it stopped right there. The barest tinge of heat ran over my skin.

 

Leaping through the fire, I cast ‘Knife’.

 

“Pitchin-urg” His protest devolved into gargles as blood poured from his neck artery. I leaped away with the bloodied knife in hand, a sudden wave of revulsion overcoming me as I watched my foe fall to the floor with his hands on his neck.

 

I backed up to the wall, breathing hard. It was clearly a fatal wound, and the cultist could only look up at the roof with the fear of death imprinted upon his face. It was all I could do to stop myself from…

 

No. Not now.

I blinked away the horror. I had a job to do, and it couldn’t wait for regret.

 

“It’s too late! The Lmeri are saved!”

 

I shot my eyes up to the altar, just as a blast of wind knocked me to the ground. Static electricity crackled through the air, and the smell of ozone filled my nostrils.

 

“Damn it all!” Breale cried.

 

I looked up at the portal, but I was struck dumb at the sight before me.

 

For pulling itself through the portal was a flaming claw the size of a tree.

 

“Azhvala Iteos! Come forth!” The last acolyte cackled. “Burn the traitor prince!”