Elaine rushed through the rain, her hood and torn cloak doing very little to protect her from the cold downpour. Dahlia ran alongside her, as well as did the remaining guardsmen. The remaining two gnomes and that injured dwarf carried the totem behind them, their expressions stricken and grim. Elaine felt terrible. Where she had expected an adventure, she had only seen suffering and death. The bards back home never chronicled such things. They never told of the horrific side of battle. They only sang about the hero and their triumph.
Ever since the bard came here, she had seen nothing but needless death. Bjorn, Archibald, Helen, and that berserker. They had all stayed behind to allow Dahlia and her group to keep going. Yet even Elaine knew it would not last long. She looked past her shoulder, checking to see if those marauders were still on their tail. There was only darkness, the streets and alleys of the city only becoming visible whenever lightning flashed.
“Stop!” Dahlia hissed. Everyone skidded to a stop in the alleyway, including the ones who carried the totem. The shaman was in the lead, her fist raised. She was gripping onto her sword with her left, her thumb pushing against the guard. Elaine held her breath, watching as Dahlia peeked out into the street. The shaman went still for a moment before she turned to everyone. Their group consisted of four guardsmen, three thieves, two gnomes, a dwarf, and Elaine herself. All together, they were a group of twelve. Dahlia looked to be counting, her gaze moving from person to person. Once she was done, she took a deep breath.
“The center is up ahead. I can see the tower.”
Elaine could feel her hopes rise, her heart beating quickly at the thought.
‘We did it! We won!’
However, the bard’s victory was short-lived once she caught Dahlia’s expression underneath that steel helm. Guilt and hesitance were visible on her face. She had the look of someone preparing to give horrible news.
“It’s a war zone out there. The marauders had already reached the center. Along with the lumen soldiers.” The shaman shook her head. “The courtyard is exposed too, making it impossible for us to reach the center building without being seen.”
Elaine’s heart dropped at the shaman’s announcement. A feeling of dread soon weighed onto her chest as Dahlia turned to her. No words were needed to communicate what the shaman expected from the bard. Elaine swallowed the lump in her throat and forced herself to walk up to Dahlia. She reached for her lute, which had been slung on her back this entire time. Once Elaine reached the end of the alleyway, her fingers were already tuning the strings on the instrument.
The bard peeked out to the courtyard ahead, her eyes widening at the sight. Like Dahlia had said, it was like a full on war. Spells and arrows whizzed through the courtyard, spellcasters from the lumen side trying to cover for their allies whilst marauders pushed from the eastern side of the city. Thieves and city guards were also in the fray, most of them trying to defend the tower at the center. There was so much chaos that the young bard wasn’t sure if they would even make it, buffs or not. Still, she had to try. This was the last stretch.
“Nimble feet and protection should get us through,” Elaine explained. She glanced at Dahlia. “Are you sure about this?”
“We don’t have another option. We’re running out of time,” the shaman muttered. She turned back at the rest of their group, who were all watching with bated breath. Dahlia sighed. “Everyone, form up around the totem. Protect the gnomes and Rockford,” she commanded. They all moved without hesitation, some guards even using their shields to cover the totem and its carriers.
“Elaine, you’re in the front with me. I’ll cover you,” Dahlia unhitched the shield from her back. The bard nodded nervously, her hands positioning the lute. “When Elaine casts her spells, we run!” The shaman called out as she raised her shield.
Elaine took a deep breath, her eyes closing as she mentally recited the castings in her mind. Finally, she opened her eyes, her fingers strumming the lute’s strings. Beautiful notes sounded out into the air, reverberating in the alleyway. If one focused enough, the music could almost drown out the sounds of battle. Almost.
“Alleviate our weights and make us swift, Nimble Feet!”
That was the first casting. Elaine felt as her body grew weightless, her legs burning with stamina. She felt as if she could sprint for miles, her newfound energy almost hurting her muscles. With the first casting out, everyone sprinted.
Elaine continued to strum, her voice calling once more.
“Grant us cover and defend us, Protection!”
Greenish bubbles of magic soon appeared around each of the group, protecting them all personally as they ran through the courtyard.
It didn’t take long for the people of the center to notice them. Arrows and spells flew, grazing and missing Elaine. Thankfully, most of them missed, with only a couple of arrows hitting her protection bubble. However, others weren’t so lucky. A guard to her right was hit by a frost bolt, the spell piercing through the bubble and striking his arm. He yelped and stumbled, which earned him an arrow to the skull. The guard slumped and fell to the ground, his body becoming one of the many nearby.
Elaine kept running, her legs propelling her further through the courtyard. More arrows and spells whizzed by, another hitting the thief on Dahlia’s left. Still, at least he kept moving. Their run would go on for what felt like forever, with Elaine nearly dying from tripping over bodies. In the end, they would make it to the center building.
Once the bard reached the cover of the tower’s interior, she fell to the ground in exhaustion. The inside of the tower was much more barren than she realized. The room they were in was bigger than most shops in Vindis, but it had almost nothing to show for it. The only other thing here was the staircase that led up.
The nimble feet casting was fading away, its drawback making itself present in the form of cramps. She looked back at the group, expecting to see everyone unscathed. Where she expected only one man to be a casualty, Elaine saw how only half of the group remained. Aside from the totem carriers, only Dahlia, two thieves, and three guards remained.
“Get that totem set up now!” The shaman exasperated as she gestured towards the empty room’s center. The gnomes and dwarf moved the totem with help from the remaining guards.
Dahlia tried to help, but she stumbled. The shaman rested against the wall, her breathing growing heavier. Elaine soon spotted the fletching that stuck out around the shaman’s side. There was an arrow stuck in her side, with a bloodstain that grew by the second.
“Dahlia!” The bard reacted as the women before her fell to the ground. Elaine rushed to help, her hand searching through her satchel. She could have sworn she had a bandage or something.
“I’m fine,” Dahlia managed through gritted teeth. She waved off Elaine’s concerns before she broke the arrow’s shaft. “Fuck,” Dahlia cursed as she held up the black and red fletching. “Marauder arrow… Good chance it’s poisoned.”
“What do we do then?” Elaine felt herself panic. She had healing castings, but they were useless against poison.
“I have an idea,” Dahlia answered. She pulled out a knife from her belt, its edge glinting in the sparse light. She held it out to the bard. “Dig the tip out of my body. I can’t cleanse the poison if it’s still there.”
“W-What?! I can’t do that! Can’t you..?”
“Do it! I’m already going delirious. I won’t be able to get it out…” Dahlia shifted to sit, her hand grabbing the end of her cloak and rolling it into a sizable bundle.
“I can handle the pain. Just dig it out,” the shaman ordered. Elaine carefully accepted the knife, her hands shaking as she held it over the arrow wound.
“Are you sure?” She asked.
“Just do it.”
Elaine nodded and looked back at the wound. She took a deep breath, preparing herself.
“Freyja grant me strength…” Dahlia muttered before she bit down on the roll of fabric. With that, Elaine dug into the wound, drawing out muffled screams and groans from the shaman.
“Smite!”
“Ember Slash!”
Both men’s strikes sparked with luminous flames, their swords clashing a mere moment after their castings. Harald clenched his jaw as he forced his glowing sword forward. Its ethereal edge sparked as it contested against the fiery blade, causing even more friction to form between the two weapons. The veteran’s new weapon resulted from Smite, which was a holy spell given by Azlene herself. ‘Smite’ formed a magical blade made of the user’s life-force, its strength measured by the user’s mental will.
Harald had felt how his conjured sword was being pushed back. The unbearable heat of William’s casting enough to turn both their flesh red. He looked down at the former champion’s feet, spotting how the younger man’s footwork was off. The veteran wasted little time, his boot quickly raising and kicking at William’s shin.
“Agh! Fuck!”
Success. William was knocked off balance, his sword losing all strength and momentum. Harald seized the opportunity and pushed. Using his conjured sword, the veteran struck away William’s sword, sending it flying to the scorched ground.
This was his chance. The former champion was exposed and defenseless. There would never be a better chance. Harald thrusted his sword forward, aiming to hit William’s center of mass. His conjured blade only managed to pierce a shallow stab into the armored chest before it was halted. Harald blinked. William was holding onto the sword, his blood dripping down its sharp edge. He held it with all his strength, as evidenced by the way his arms shook and the sweat that dripped from his face.
“I… I can’t let you win! Not like this! It can’t end like this!” William’s plea struck Harald like a hot iron. The man’s voice was that of desperation. He sounded like he was begging for mercy. The veteran could feel his past regret rear its ugly head in the back of his mind. He almost considered allowing William to live. Yet the memory of Azlene’s words echoed within him.
“If you wish to renew your vows, Harald Stroud, then you must strike William Thatcher down. For he has become nothing more than the rot that infects the Lumen Kingdom. There is no saving him.”
The goddess had spoken to him. She had tasked him with this mission. Harald had offered his life to her, and she had answered. Azlene could have easily allowed the veteran to die. She could have chosen a different person to represent her name. Instead, the goddess chose him. She answered his prayers and gave him a second chance. Harald had no more say in his choices. For he now belonged to the ember goddess.
The veteran gritted his teeth. Using all his strength, he shoved the blade through William’s hands. The conjured sword punctured through the former champion’s breastplate, drawing more blood and causing the younger man to gasp in pain. The runes on William’s armor burned out almost immediately, their magic drained by the smite spell. William sagged and fell forward, his chin resting on Harald’s shoulder. The veteran grabbed him, holding him in place so as to not let him fall.
“Dammit all,” William coughed out. His breathing was shallow and quick. “This isn’t right… This isn’t…” Harald could hear how the younger man held back choked tears.
“I… I am sorry, William.”
“Are you? Are you really sorry? You doomed us all. That outlander is going to be our end… He will destroy everything.” William grunted as he tried to stand straight.
“Save your strength.” Harald stopped the younger man. The veteran gently lowered him to the ground, as he had done so many times back in that dreamscape.
“For what? A peaceful death?” William coughed. “Fuck off…” The young man gritted his teeth and forced his gaze away from the veteran. “Why…? Why does Azlene forsake me? Why does she choose you?” William asked in stuttered breaths.
Harald frowned. “Even dying, you still question it. How could you have been so blind?” The older man gestured to the dying flames of the city. The rain’s downpour had nullified most of it, but the destruction of the marauders and lumen forces were still apparent.
“You did this. You allowed it all to happen. You took part in it.” Harald reprimanded.
William turned to the veteran. “Arthur told me it was for the good of Azura! He told me the draugr’s reach infected this city… That it was all corrupted! It needed to go!” The words of the former champion got on Harald’s nerves. It brewed a certain type of anger inside of him.
“Did they all need to go? Including the women, the children, the poor?” The veteran asked.
William’s face dropped at the question. He broke eye contact, his shame clear in his expression. “I… I…” He tried to form the words, but the veteran knew William had no explanation.
“You were being used,” Harald revealed. “Arthur used you, William.”
“No… No no!” William shouted out. He reached up to Harald, grabbing him by his collar. “He would never! He told me everything! That outlander, Gwenyth’s betrayal, that damned abomination we saw on that island! He gave me a chance to stop it all! To bring justice!”
“Justice?!” Harald felt his rage boil. “You call this justice?!” He slammed his fist on the ground. “Look around, Thatcher! This city is in flames! Innocents are dead! Either by marauder hand or lumen sword, they all died because of him! Arthur manipulated you! He used your heraldry to get what he wanted! You were nothing more to him than a summoning circle!”
William stared at Harald, his eyes widening. The veteran could see how the younger man put the pieces together. It all clicked to him.
“What… What have I done?” William gasped it out in a shaky breath, his hands letting go of the veteran. The former champion coughed in pain, causing blood to stain his lips and teeth. He looked to Harald, his mouth opening as if to say something. Instead, a soft breath was released and William was still. Harald stared at the dead man, his jaw clenching as his hands gripped his stiff arm.
After some time, Harald shifted. He closed William’s eyes and stood up. Rain poured upon the new herald, the blood on his armor and clothing slowly becoming washed away from the unrelenting water. He looked back at the battle that was supposed to be waging around him. Instead, he only saw the sullen faces of lumen soldiers and guardsmen. They all stopped their fighting, their gazes now transfixed on Harald. He could see the bodies that were scattered around, their raven and phoenix emblems stained with blood.
“We are done here,” Harald called out. “Any lumen soldier who sides with Arthur may have one more chance to surrender. Otherwise, feel the wrath of Azlene.” With the last word, Harald felt his eyes flare with power. The bright orange flames of his regained magic lit up the surrounding area, its heat blazing. Half of the surviving lumen soldiers were quick to throw their weapons. The rest simply backed away, fear in their eyes before they retreated into the city’s streets.
The guardsmen stared at Harald, their emotions ranging from amazement to pure shock. Kate herself looked to be mixed about the entire situation. Even Felix looked at the veteran with a sense of wariness about him. Harald wanted to say something to them. He wasn’t sure why, but there was a sense of obligation he felt to them all. The veteran contemplated for a moment, but before he could say anything, something whizzed towards him.
Something struck his shoulder, its tip embedding into his arm. It was an arrow, one that had come from the street nearby. Harald’s first thought was that the soldiers had come back with renewed vigor and reinforcements. Instead, he was met with a band of savages bearing the red handprint.
“Marauders,” he growled. Harald was almost ready to order the squads to form up and get ready. Yet his voice died when he saw their expressions. They were all scared. Most of these guardsmen were still young, half of them being volunteers from the town. They were all injured to a degree, with some even missing limbs.
Even Kate was injured, her improvised bandages doing little for the wounds on her arm and torso. Felix looked like hel, his arm trembling as he tried to nock an arrow on his bow. Harald knew then that another battle would surely put the final nail in their coffins. The veteran turned to the oncoming marauders, his grip on his sword clenching.
“All guardsmen! Retreat!” Harald ordered. Everyone looked at him in surprise, their weapons lowering at the order. “Get to the harbor and regroup with the rest of the ravens. I shall cover your escape and hold them off,” Harald called out. He reached down and grabbed William’s sword, which was still in good condition.
“You’re staying?!” Kate called out. “But you’re injured! Gods’ sake, you barely survived the fight with that herald!”
“I can still fight,” Harald responded. He looked to Felix, his hand signaling the archer to get moving.
Felix nodded and looked to the rest of the surviving fighters. “Everyone! On me! We’re going now!”
Everyone moved, some of them dragging away injured while others hurried to get away from the oncoming fight. The marauders seem to notice this, their focus turning from Harald to the retreating men. They hurried in to stop them.
“Summon Flame!” Harald’s voice boomed with power. In an instant, a line of flames blocked their path. “Your fight is with me!” Harald shouted. The raiders before him shouted in anger before they began their advance to him.
“Let go of me! I’m going to fight with him!” Kate’s voice called out in the rain, catching the veteran’s attention. He turned to the young woman, who was being held back by Dirk. “You can’t fight them alone! Please don’t do this!” She sounded desperate, her voice cracking as she tried to call out to Harald. “I can fight!”
“Retreat, Rowan,” the veteran called back. He raised his weapon, which glowed with enchanted runes. “As your teacher, I must do everything I can to protect you all. That is my responsibility.”
“No! I can’t let you! I’m not ready to give up!”
Harald turned to the young woman, his lips forming into a sorrowful smile. The small action was enough to stun Kate, and her body went limp in Dirk’s hold.
“No one is ever ready, Kate,” the veteran spoke. He watched as Kate was dragged off, right before she shouted.
“Come back! Promise you’ll come back!” Her voice was weak, her eyes welling with what looked to be tears. Harald wanted to respond. To tell her he would survive. He would never be able to say it to her, as the marauders had already reached him.
Harald turned and fought the wave of raiders, ready to protect everything he cared for.
Thunder boomed in the night sky, drowning out the sounds of battle around the city. The following lightning flash lit up the small courtyard Lilith was in, showing the four figures left in this battle. Helen, Gustus, Lars, and her were all at a standstill, their gazes locked onto each other.
Their battle had shifted from the alleyway and now took place in a nearby marketplace that had been abandoned. Helen was bleeding, but the blonde woman didn’t seem to care about it. She instead was focused on the marauder before her. Gustus was careful with his movements, his sword and shield raised to keep Helen away.
Lilith could feel how the rain pattered against her exposed back and torso, the only thing covering her being the wrap of cloth that covered her chest. She had ditched the chainmail and baggy gambeson earlier in favor of mobility. They would not be useful when it came to blocking Lar’s monstrous attacks.
Lilith looked at her own opponent, Lars. The crazed man was rid of his shirt as well, leaving his entire torso exposed. Still, the young woman was hesitant to make a move. She had seen what his strength was capable of. The dead gnome back in the alleyway was the result from a simple swing, one that did not require any castings. Lars was a terrifying threat. At least the orcs were stupid. They were careless when it came to defense. The berserker before Lilith had what they lacked. Speed and battle sense. Not even the agility potion she drank earlier was enough to close the significant gap between the two.
Lilith would have to think of a strategy, one that could give her the winning blow. That was growing to be a problem, however, as Lars rarely gave her enough time to think.
“Fight!” He shouted as he rushed forward. His warhammer swung at Lilith, who barely managed to dodge. She quickly backed off, avoiding getting her head caved in. As the hammer flew by, the young woman rushed ahead with her axes. Lilith swung both of them at the oaf’s head, trying to score a hit.
Lars quickly reacted, jerking his head away from the sharp edges of the axes. He grinned in joy, his hands shifting the warhammer’s staff. In a quick motion, he hit Lilith’s gut with its blunt end. Lilith couldn’t help but gasp and cough, her hands nearly letting go of their weapons. She landed on the ground with a thud, her breathing ragged as she tried to regain her composure.
‘To your right!’ Her inner voice shouted. Lars’ warhammer was already inbound, its bloody end flying towards her head.
Lilith did the one thing she could do. She blocked with her right arm, hoping to nullify the impact. Pain flared up almost instantly, her bones audibly breaking as the hammer made contact. Lilith flew away from the strike, her mind concussed and her arm mangled. She gritted her teeth and fought through the pain, despite the tears welling up in her eyes. She needed to fight to keep Lars from reaching Dahlia. This was her job, her goal.
“Still alive, eh?” Lars chuckled. He dragged his warhammer along the inch high water as he walked to the injured woman, almost as if he was savoring the moment.
“Lilith!” Helen shouted from afar. She tried to come in to assist, but Gustus was already upon her, his sword slashing at her. Lilith was on her own.
‘Get up! Get up!’ Lilith’s inner voice mentally yelled as she picked herself up, her arm sending even more pain.
“Good! Good! Get up! Make this interesting!” Lars shouted.
Lilith ignored him, her focus only on her left arm. It shook as it held her only ax. She tried to focus on the fight, to dismiss the pain. Death was not an option. Lilith yelled as she lunged at Lars, her ax swinging towards his head. She saw how he hastened to defend, which she was counting on. Lilith had already dropped to the floor, her initial attack a mere feint. Her ax struck at Lars’ thigh, causing the man to yell in pain. She ripped it out quickly, avoiding another deadly strike. As she dodge the hammer, her body faltered a bit from pain. Her right arm was dangling, its broken state sending even more agony.
She continued to press on; her left arm swinging once again. This time, the ax head hit Lars’ back, causing the berserker to shout in anger.
“You little–!”
Lilith did not stop. She pulled back, dodging yet another strike. She quickly feigned another attack and avoided the end of his hammer’s staff. Lilith struck again, hitting his arm. She would repeat this dance, dodging and avoiding attacks whilst striking at his most exposed parts. It was all shallow cuts, so no actual damage was being made, but Lilith knew she would eventually hit a vital vein. It was a slow game of chance, with every move dangerous and risky. She would have to react quickly to win this and be even luckier to guess Lars’ next attack.
“Lars!”
This strategy, however, had one fatal flaw. It required Lilith and Lars to be completely isolated, with no other factors thrown in. That would change, however, as Gustus threw something to the berserker. Helen tried to intervene, but her injuries made her too slow to stop it. The marauder had thrown a bag to Lars, who caught it quickly. Lilith’s eyes widened when she saw him pull out a silver vial with a blue ribbon tied to it. She forgot its name, but she could never forget the effects it had on her when she first drank it.
Lilith moved to stop the man from drinking it, her ax swinging at the vial. Her reckless action was enough for Lars to exploit, his hammer’s blunt end raising and colliding with her stomach. Lilith stumbled back in pain, watching as the marauder drank the potion. In a last ditch effort, she raised her ax, aiming to hit a deadly strike. She threw the weapon, watching as it spun in the air. It ultimately missed Lar’s head, but it did strike one part of him. The ax’s edge had struck his right hand, the same one that held the bag and potion. It pierced his fingers, lopping them off as it tore through the small bag and vial they held.
Vials and other items, including a red spotted mushroom, fell to the ground, along with the bloody fingers of Lars. Lilith went for her ax, which had landed next to the items. Before her fingers could even graze with the weapon’s handle, Lars’ boot struck her gut. She rolled away from the strike, her body aching with pain. Lilith pushed through, her left hand propping herself to stand. Her tumble on the ground undid her tied up locks, her drenched hair now obscuring her vision. It was only when she stood did she see the incoming hammer.
Lilith raised her left hand, blocking the attack. More agonizing pain, accompanied by another kick that sent her to the ground. Lilith laid there in the inch high water, her breathing growing slower. She could only watch as Lars limped his way to her, his left hand hefting his hammer. He grinned at her.
“I’ll acknowledge your extraordinary strength and perseverance. However, this was your last fight.”
Lilith could only watch as Lars brought his boot back, before he kicked in her face.
The next thing she saw was darkness.
Heat.
That was all Seamus could feel as Eli’s purple flames missed him. The young man kept moving, his hands gripping onto the sword’s handle. Haggard was by his side, the drifter’s hammer already preparing for a strike. Eli raised his hands once again, summoning the black mist around him.
“Thunder Lance!” Falrick’s voice echoed out. The wizard’s spell flew from the side, striking against the black mist barrier the marauder had created. The lance of lightning blew apart the bubble of darkness, leaving a gaping hole in the mist. Seamus and Haggard quickly passed through, their weapons swinging at Eli.
The spellcaster’s cursed eyes widened at the two, his star-shaped pupils visibly shrinking. Runes appeared in his irises, basking everything in a purple glow as he cast a quick spell. Seamus felt his body instinctively jerk to the side, his head narrowly avoiding an ice lance that had cast from the marauder’s bloodshot eyes. Haggard, however, wasn’t so lucky. The drifter took two lances to the torso, his body stumbling back from the recoil.
“Haggard!” Seamus stopped his dance, instead opting to tackle the drifter to the ground.
The young man felt an unbearable cold brush against his body as more lances missed him and Haggard. He tried to drag off the drifter to get to safety.
“Barrier!” Falrick shouted again. Seamus heard the hum of magic as a blue barrier materialized behind him. It blocked off two more projectiles, protecting him and Haggard. “Run Seamus!” Falrick shouted. The wizard sounded weak, his casting lacking the power it had before. It was clear that the elderly man was at his limit.
With that in mind, Seamus ran off with Haggard, his body exerting itself as he dragged the heavy man.
“Leave me…” Haggard managed out. He was barely breathing, his legs half dragging on the ground.
“I’m not leaving you to die!” Seamus answered through gritted teeth. He pushed on, trying to get Haggard to the chamber’s outskirts. He just needed time. Before he could get to safety, however, Seamus felt his legs give out. He tried to pick himself up, but his arms felt like they were stuck in mud.
His entire body burned and his lungs felt like they were squeezed. Seamus grasped at his chest, his breathing growing heavier. Before he could figure it out, he heard the barrier behind him shatter. His heart dropped at the sound.
“Looks like it’s finally taking effect on you,” Eli laughed behind him.
“What? What are you talking about?” Seamus breathed out. He looked at the marauder, who was casually strolling towards him.
“The poison meant for that old wizard,” Eli revealed.
“Poison?!” Seamus felt his blood run cold. “How? When?!” The young man tried to think back to when the spellcaster could have poisoned him. His body went stiff when he recalled the small spear that had pierced him earlier. Eli seemed to notice his reaction, as the marauder laughed even more.
“Yes. That spear. It was meant for the old man over there, but you had to rush towards me.” The spellcaster sighed before he turned to Falrick, who was desperately trying to stand up straight. “Then again, it probably would’ve been a waste.”
Seamus opened his mouth to speak, but stopped when a metallic taste filled his mouth. He coughed into his arm, his lungs feeling as if glass had punctured it. Seamus pulled his arm back and went still. He stared at the blood staining his clothes, fear gripping at his chest.
“I’ll give you a few minutes before blood fills your lungs,” Eli explained. “After that, it is only a matter of time,” Seamus could only stare as the marauder raised his hands.
“Killing you is a mercy.”
As the black mist converged into spears, Seamus forced himself to move.
‘You have to keep fighting! You need to live, dammit! Everyone is counting on us!’
He slowly got up, his hands setting Haggard on the ground. The young man raised his sword, his knees shaking as they attempted to stand straight.
Eli laughed. “Dying on your feet? You’re already more of a man than your father!”
“Fuck! YOU!” Seamus screamed with rage.
“That’s the spirit!” The marauder grinned as he swiped his hand, his many spears flying forward.
Seamus braced himself, expecting to meet every spearhead in front of him. Instead, he was met with the feeling of blistering heat.
“Burn!” Red flames scorched the ground before him, cutting off the spears and sending an enormous amount of heat everywhere. Seamus stumbled back, dumbfounded at the sudden spell. Once the flames simmered down, he could see Eli’s outline. The marauder was singed, half of his robes burnt and his right arm covered in burns. He looked furious, his cursed eyes staring at the source of the spell.
“You.” Eli’s voice dripped with malice and anger.
Seamus turned and saw something impossible. Nathan stood there, his robes tattered and the right side of his face covered in blood and burns. He was grinning maniacally, his right arm holding his crooked wooden staff. The red spell crystal on its tip glowed brightly, illuminating half the chamber with its sinister light.
“How are you alive?!” Eli shouted.
Nathan chuckled, his free hand brushing his black hair back. “Did you really think your fire would be enough to kill me?” The wizard called out. “Pyromancy was the first school of magic I mastered, you fool!” Nathan quickly pointed his staff at Eli, his voice gaining power.
“Inferno!”
A tornado of flames surrounded Eli, sending even more heat throughout the room. As Seamus looked on in shock, his thoughts screamed a warning at him.
‘Get to safety now! He’s buying you time!’
Seamus quickly grabbed Haggard’s shoulders. He used every bit of strength he had left to drag the drifter, his muscles and lungs growing weaker as he pulled. Once the young man got Haggard to a safe distance, Falrick arrived.
“Are you alright? Seamus!” The wizard wobbled as he reached Seamus.
“I… I can’t move or breathe…” the young man managed out. Falrick quickly dug into his pockets, his hands throwing vials and stones onto the ground. Finally, he found what he was looking for. The old wizard pulled out a glass vial, one that had a couple of cracks in it. Seamus watched as Falrick uncorked and took out a small white berry.
“Frostberry. It should slow the poison until we get you cured.” The wizard handed the fruit to Seamus, who quickly took it. It was hard to chew at first, with the berry’s unnaturally cold state and his constant urge to cough. Still, he managed to eat it all. In almost an instant, Seamus felt his body instantly cool down, his body regaining some of its strength.
Still, he was far from cured. His lungs continued to feel like shit and his limbs still weighed like pudding.
“Can you still fight?” Seamus asked.
Falrick nodded. “I might be running low on reserves, but I can still keep moving…” The wizard looked at the inferno spell Nathan had cast. It was slowly dissipating, revealing the ball of black mist Eli used to defend himself.
“That bastard is still on the defense. He’s toying with us,” Falrick muttered.
Seamus grunted as he shifted his gaze. “I… I think he’s at his limit.”
“What?” The old wizard turned to Seamus with a puzzled look.
“The spells are cast from his eyes. I saw it up close,” Seamus coughed, “They were bloodshot when he casted those ice lances… He’s at his limit.”
“Are you sure?” Falrick asked.
“Judging from how haphazardly he was casting spells in the beginning, compared to how reserved he is now… He’s not used to long fights,” Seamus explained.
“I see…” The wizard nodded. As the elderly man pondered on a plan, Nathan’s inferno ran out. Seamus could see how Nathan rushed ahead, his staff forming a rune at its tip. Eli stared at the young wizard, his eyes glowing brightly.
In just a second, the rune on Nathan’s staff dispelled, canceling out any plans the wizard had. Or at least that was what Seamus thought. Nathan quickly revealed his free hand, which was already forming a set of runes.
“Mist Clone: One Man Army!”
There was a huge puff of mist and fog from Nathan, followed by a multitude of mist figures. However, instead of their gray and wispy visages, they looked exactly like Nathan. Down to the color of his robes and the blood on his face. Seamus stared at the sight, confused. He then recalled what Nathan had said months back when he first saw them.
“In a fogcloud or mist domain spell, these clones will look exactly like me in color and detail.”
‘That’s why he cast the fogcloud spell earlier. He was preparing to use the clones before Eli stopped him.’
Seamus could only watch in amazement as the many Nathan clones carelessly rushed toward the spellcaster. Spears came and stabbed at them, reducing clones back to mist. Still, it wouldn’t stop others from rushing forward, trying to reach the marauder.
Seamus tried to get up and assist, but his legs were wobbling too much. He ended up falling back on the ground, his body shivering and shuddering.
“Stay here,” Falrick ordered. “It’s too dangerous for you to keep fighting.”
“Falrick I can–”
“Silence,” the old wizard muttered. “Nathan and I shall take care of this cursed caster once and for all. You stay here and watch Haggard.”
Falrick stepped forward, his finger flexing as he went off to help Nathan.
“I won’t fail a second time. Stay alive, Seamus.”
