“He’s asking for you,” she said quietly.
“I’m too late to stop it?”
“He waited until the atrium was empty after evening bell for supper. Blocked the doors with one of the pews; nobody expected him to skip a meal. He claimed he had to, but…his heart couldn’t take it. The healers say his regen is simply not enough to sustain him.”
“Blocked the door with one of the pews?” Terrick asked disbelievingly. “Those heavy iron-oak bastards?”
“It was always easy to forget how strong he was in his prime, you know.” The priestess chuckled grimly. “Go on, he’s waiting for you, and the elixir will wear off soon. I don’t need divination to know what will happen then.”
He strode past the priestess, up the steps, and through the main doors. Supplicants and temple staff alike packed the hall, the doors to the temple atrium standing half-ajar with a broken pew leaning to one side. He could hear his old friend fussing before he closed half the distance.
“Move aside, you slack-jawed goblinspawn! Terrick’s here! And I need to tell him!”
“He’s almost here and you know it, now lay back so you don’t burn through the elixir any faster than you have to,” a quietly commanding voice responded.
“I’ve known the moment of my death for days , you old hag! Terrick !” The portly priest was shouting by the time he called Terrick’s name. The sad truth of recovery elixirs was, even if they weren’t enough to restore a patient to health, they still made a person feel restored. Until, that is, they wore off. Many had been the adventurer who, under the false aegis of a healing potion, had refused treatment only to die of what proved to be mortal wounds after the tonics wore off.
“Calm down, old man, I’m here.” Terrick spoke with a joviality he didn’t truly feel, but his friend deserved more than anger in his last moments. “Was this truly the only way?”
“Bah,” retorted the dying priest. “I’ve been dreaming my death for weeks; knew today was the day for a while now. And there’s things you need to know. I wasn’t going to survive to see tomorrow’s dawn regardless.”
“You’d say that either way, old friend.”
“Regardless, you need to know.” Janim pushed a fussing temple acolyte away after repeating himself, and struggled upright, using the altar for support and pushing his scrying orb and incense chalice out of the way. Ritualized divination was a Stamina- and Mana-intensive ordeal, and the circle drawn in chalk on the floor still glowed with traces of the old diviner’s magic. “The Defiler.”
Terrick crouched down next to his friend, concern and grief sequestered in the name of duty. “Go on.”
“He’s not coming for the city, Terrick. The array’s been pulling in Mana from the ley lines under the island, and he’s following one while getting stronger. That’s how he’s gotten ahead of the constable.”
“Is she not drawing from the ambient magic as well?”
“She is, yes, but not as quickly. And your Warden’s contingency is useless. The [Oracle] herself sundered the chains of the Geas, both the summoner’s bindings and the Bloodbind Gem the council demanded when they let her join the Wardens.”
Janim coughed suddenly, the intensity fading from his voice as he slumped against the altar. “I guess the potion is wearing off. You have to hold him off until the constable arrives.”
“Where? You said he’s following—”
“The ley lines!” Janim responded, his eyes burning with a fierce intensity. “They all run to—” The priest wheezed, rapidly growing too tired to continue.
A dull horror worked its way into Terrick’s voice. “Stormbreak Hold. The circle under the spires.”
“You don’t have to worry about the constable, Terrick,” Janim said quietly, mortality robbing his voice of power. “Succubi all want to be mothers, and their damnation…is that they can never bear children. Zizzy sees us, all of us she saved, as her children. She won’t…can’t harm us.”
“And The Defiler…” Terrick’s sadness broke through in his words.
“He killed children, Terrick,” gasped the priest. Even on the verge of death, the old man managed a vicious grin. “Just hold him off until she catches up.” He coughed, breath starting to come more rapidly. “I’m glad I get to go first…to show her the way…” His grin gave way to a beatific smile as he turned his eyes to the ceiling.
And then the light faded from his eyes and Janim slouched, his head drooping as his last breath rattled out of his lungs. The healer who’d been trying to ease the priest’s last moments stood in shock. “The—” He choked on the words.
“Yes, The Defiler. He warned me in time,” replied Terrick, pulling the bottle from his belt and taking several long draws of the bitter solution. Standard practice among apothecary and alchemist classes was to make such brews taste strongly medicinal to keep people from abusing them without need, but need was what he had today. “Send runners,” he instructed. “All you have here, to all the nodes. All available men are to make for the Hold immediately.”
He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, glaring at the motionless healer, the bitter tincture roughening his words even above his intent. “Don’t gape at me like a fish, man! Send word, the Wardens! To Stormbreak Hold!”
The healer recoiled as if slapped, backing away before shouting for messengers. Terrick knelt down and closed Janim’s eyes. “You told me in time, old friend. Sleep easy.” He didn’t wait any longer, activating [Phase Dash] while still within the temple. It had been years since he’d had reason to use it twice in one day, and months since he’d used it at all. He ignored the aches in his legs, refusing to admit he was even older than Janim. He cleared the front steps of the temple on his way out the door, a muted thunderclap following in his wake as his heels slammed into the flagstones to launch himself down the approach. From the Temple to the main boulevard of the Upper District took him less than a handful of heartbeats, and his momentum carried him into the side of a shuttered brick storefront as he made the turn at speed. His boots left cracked imprints in the stone wall as he kicked off to sprint toward Stormbreak Hold.
I’m sure I just woke somebody up in there, he thought with a twinge of amusement. He had no time to stop and express his apologies, however. He raced onward, up the low hill upon which sat Stormbreak Hold itself. Magic pulsed in the air and in the ground, and even his mastered [Phase Dash] skill was beginning to have trouble pushing the Mana aside. Three swirling bands of energy flowed in twisting ribbons from larger nodes in the lower parts of the city, spiraling through the air to connect to the front of the building. They crackled and spat like lightning, but the flow of Mana pulled the sparks back into line before they could drop to the ground. As he approached the Hold, nothing appeared amiss, so Terrick ran to the left, circling the structure. Arcs of Mana flowed into the building from all sides, and as he rounded the corner to the south face, he noticed that one such arc was weaker than its mates, flickering worryingly.
He slowed to a stop, seeing nothing wrong with the building itself. [Phase Dash] fading left him feeling slightly drained, and he took another swig from the bottle on his hip. He could hear alarm bells in the distance and stopped himself just short of following the flickering Mana-stream into the boulder-strewn hills and ravines that lead south into the interior of the island. Above the hold itself, a vortex had formed between the three forked spires, and the Mana began to flow faster, crawling up the building to feed it. Two figures in the signature grey-and-green warden uniforms came dashing out of a side entrance, baring steel before recognizing their commander.
“He’s coming,” said Terrick. “No spells. Be ready.”
Both Wardens saluted before falling into step to his left. The sky to the south was lit in eerie red hues, as though a fire raged just beyond the horizon. “Sir! I thought he didn’t have magic of his own!”
“He doesn’t,” Terrick replied with a smile. Hellfire had a familiar tint that was unmistakable to any who’d ever witnessed it. “We just
have to hold him for the constable. She grows stronger as well.”
“Are you sure she can take him?” the third warden asked. Terrick answered with his blade and another Skill, [Quickstep], turning on his heel and stepping a pace to the side. His dueling blade parted the air with a snapping whistle as it crossed where The Defiler’s neck had been a fraction of a moment before. The [Mage-Eater] dropped its glamour as it realized Terrick had seen through it. “More observant than the others,” it growled at him. The form was hunched, with elongated arms, seeming to blend into shadows while fighting the light that tried to illuminate its body. “Even that hellfire bitch couldn’t spot me that fast.”
The lord-commander was too slow to stop The Defiler as the beast—having long ago left behind the trappings of humanity for whatever abominable class he’d unlocked—leapt back, and the two younger Wardens dropped to the ground. The twin thumps of their bodies were followed by the twin thumps of their severed heads, eyes widened in their final shock. Terrick raised his sword, relaxing into a practiced stance.
“Whatcha gonna do with that pig-sticker?” The Defiler taunted.
Terrick, Lord-Commander of the Stormbreak Wardens, didn’t grace the beast before him with a reply. The [Spellsabre Duelist] had no need for words at the precipice of battle. He invoked his class abilities, feeling them start to pulse through his body in sync with the beat of his heart. He enjoyed a significant advantage here against a [Mage-Eater]—he was no mage. His Mana stayed within him, not heeding The Defiler’s ravenous hunger.
Bestial eyes gleamed as the monster took a deep breath. The pull intensified, and the flickering Mana stream above it bent, dipping to within a few feet. Sparks flew off and were drawn into that shadowy maw, the beast inhaling the magic; the shadows wreathing its form grew even darker as it set its stance.
“All that time I wasted on children and boring old women. There’s so much fun to have here in this world, and no one to stop me.”
The voice rumbled low and gravelly, barely understandable around the physical changes to the vocal cords. Terrick still didn’t respond, stepping sideways to keep himself between the monster and the building. He could feel the array gaining power, and knew he had to keep his foe away from the vortex. The Defiler paced side to side like a prowling cat, and Terrick met every exploratory lunge with the tip of his blade.
Without warning, the beast charged him, low to the ground and on all fours. Even with [Haste] aiding Terrick’s movements, he barely managed to step aside. His sword flickered out in a riposte, a rapid flurry of strikes, as he danced out of reach and left the monster hamstrung and bleeding, the thick, black ichor sizzling and smoking as it hit the air. He almost got me there, Terrick thought grimly. Can’t let him close; I’m in better shape than Janim, but my own regen isn’t as good as it used to be…
So Terrick danced. A few years younger, a little bit faster, and he might have been able to end it right then and there. But the lord-commander’s beard had been grey for years, and aches and pains in his joints had long been an everyday ordeal instead of the occasional annoyance. It was only decades of experience, and no small bit of luck, that kept him from losing his head when his boot slipped on a bloody patch of stone. He tucked himself into the fall, a clawed hand passing close enough to his head that the wind of its passage tugged at his hair. He rolled back, using [Quickstep] to recover his footing and face The Defiler once again.
“You don’t scare like the others. Finally. Someone worth the trouble, even if you ain’t pretty like the young ones.” Its growling voice seemed somehow respectful.
“A man I considered my brother died a few minutes ago. Compared to that? You’re merely a distraction, a loose end that needs tying off before I move on to actual important things today.” Terrick’s tone was flat and empty, devoid of emotion, his words slow and measured. It mocked The Defiler in its matter-of-fact delivery, the Warden refusing to take the bait. The Defiler abandoned conversation with a blindingly fast leap forward.
But the lord-commander’s words had been slow and measured because, to his own perception, he was already moving extremely fast. The [Spellsabre Duelist] didn’t engage in flashy spellwork like a [Mage]; his magic was focused inward, and he’d activated another skill the moment the beast had been revealed. Terrick saw the monster approach in slow motion from the effects of his own internal [Haste] skill. The skill was much more Mana-intensive than [Phase Dash], and it was something he had to use sparingly at his age, with his reduced regeneration. But its usefulness was undeniable; it permitted him to take measured steps sideways and back while ducking under the onrushing arm, talons seeking his heart. His sword came up, flicked down, then came up again. The arcing magic overhead flashed. The blade swept sideways, then back and down again.
He let [Haste] fade away, panting to catch his breath. The Defiler had managed to avoid being decapitated, but four distinct pieces of one arm and a gnarled and disfigured foot lay on the ground. The beast itself thrashed in mixed fury and agony, its gurgling snarls painting the stones with sprays of ichor. It rolled away from the Warden, rage boosting its speed. Its severed limbs were already growing back as it lurched upright. The shadows around it deepened as it inhaled again, and the band of glowing magic above them snapped.
The Defiler gulped down the raw Mana, growing larger and more hideous. When the ribbon of light connected to the building snapped back into place, the stone erupted. Terrick could hear screams from inside the breached wall, and the vortex above began to wobble dangerously. Thunderous cracks and explosive shards of magic flew off in all directions as it bounced between the tines.
The monster heaved on all fours, gasping, gravelling breaths. “I don’t know why you people would build such a thing, and I don’t care. I think I’m gonna stay here after I kill you all, and just keep eating the magic. Do you think there’s enough to make me a god? I might leave then, go back to my old world to have some fun.”
Terrick kept his eyes on the beast as the golden light began to shift into a deeper red that cast a vivid sunset hue on the courtyard. He brandished his blade, letting his Magic flow into the steel. The Defiler watched the blade with wary eyes, already cut more than once. “You don’t throw your magic,” it observed carefully. “You hold it. But that won’t save you, it just means I have to get closer.”
“Try me, beast.” Terrick gave a flourish, letting his sword go from fiery red to icy blue. The roaring cyclone of power above the magical fortress drowned out the approaching wingbeats, and he grinned with savage triumph. Just as the creature was readying itself to leap again, an enraged and empowered Constable Zizzy slammed into the middle of its back with both feet. Most of her uniform had been burned away, but her boots had been made of sturdier material than the rest of her attire. The unbound demon descended upon The Defiler with enough force to shatter the pavement and drop it two feet below the roadbed.
Terrick stumbled back, fearing she’d destabilized the array even further. Several [Mages] had already reinforced the broken wall, shoving the rubble away and shoring up the damaged section on either side. It left the interior of Stormbreak Hold open to view, where over a dozen robed figures stood around a massive table displaying a map of the island and its surroundings, above which floated a series of concentric bronze rings.
The constable screamed, primal fury given a terrible voice. She, too, had been drawing on the gathered magic to grow stronger—and it showed. Every beat of her wings shed sparks of hellfire that lingered on the stones and burned tracers into Terrick’s vision. She was a living inferno, an ember hellstorm writ in crimson flames, and The Defiler screamed in return as those flames burned into its back.
The beast inhaled, and instead of the arcing Mana of the array, it was Zizzy’s hellfire that flowed into its maw. It screamed again as the fires began to burn it from the inside, and the laugh that came from the succubus chilled Terrick’s spine despite the growing heat. Her laughter was short-lived, however, as the flames glowing within the monster
’s chest began to darken and dim. The fire went from crimson to black, shadows growing as The Defiler gave a grim chuckle. A shadow-wreathed hand snapped up and latched around the succubus’s neck, and then slammed her into the ground once, twice, a third and fourth time before the monster stood up.
“I ripped one of your wings off already,” it growled. “If I take both, will they stay gone this time?”
Zizzy tried to roll away, her crushed face already beginning to heal, the broken nose and flattened mouth crunching as bones shifted into place and regrew. The Defiler reached down and picked her up by one ankle to stop her escape, swinging her up and overhead to slam her back down into the ground. This time, the heavy wooden door that had once adorned the wall of the Hold broke her fall. It splintered but didn’t break, and the beast pushed her face-first into it as it straddled her shattered form. Terrick felt hope begin to die as it wrapped one arm around Zizzy’s neck, pulling her head back. A beheading was a sure-fire way to banish a demon.
Zizzy’s eyes met his, and she smiled—and laughed . Her skin blurred, and her broken legs suddenly snapped backward around the monster’s waist, locking together by her ankles. Her arms likewise encircled the grotesque form as her face melted away to reappear nose-to-nose with The Defiler. “Mine now,” she breathed at him, voice husky with a desire that knocked Terrick back from almost twenty paces away.
And then the constable Kissed The Defiler.
Intimacy and lethality had never been so closely intertwined as in the case of a Succubus and her Kiss; it attracted and repelled at the same time, a sensuously deadly display that weakened the knees and averted the gaze. Terrick’s cheeks burned hot to behold it as Zizzy devoured the beast from the inside, setting aflame what she did not consume. The Defiler tried to pull his face away from hers, but to no avail. The monster seemed to shrivel as the demon fed. A thread of burning black energies trailed out of its mouth as the constable inhaled, her expression languid and almost sleepy, her own fires brightening to a vivid crimson as the shadowed flames of her prey dimmed and faded. With one final, exhausted gasp, the last of its life vanished into her mouth. Terrick found himself unable to stand, shaken by the sight. He’d never before witnessed the constable in the act of feeding.
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