Herald of the Nine

by Tiger Hebert

  “Fieros batol,” shouted the angel with a voice like thunder.

  A ring of golden runes fell from the sky to encircle the warrior. The glaive was thrust forward as the avwrest lunged with skewering force. A shockwave of brilliant white and golden light flashed outward in a short arc. The half circle of light slammed into the demon before its attack ever landed. The Seraph’s wave of flaming light blasted right through the demon’s waistline. The giant demon’s red skin lost all its color as it faded to gray, then the demon disintegrated into a windswept gust of ash.

  Before the dust ever touched the ground, the warring angel had already begun his charge toward the nearest hell-rift. The other two Vei’thalo did the same. Demon dogs, jecarils, and other demons swarmed them. The demons were met with righteous fury of angels on the warpath. Hammers of white and gold landed with titanic force as they smashed their way toward the demonic portals.

  Vacinne held tight. Ausaliia dove down through the clouds. They split the mist like an arrow and the battlefield opened up below them. Vacinne’s eyes widened.

  “What are those... The angels, they’ve returned!” she screamed.

  Ausaliia seemed to nod as she continued her rapid descent. The dragon’s cobalt eyes were not fixed on the Seraphim, but rather the greater threat of the Warlock Supreme. Her reptilian eyes locked onto their target. Ausaliia screamed toward the ground. She opened her mouth with a terrible roar and an icy blast erupted. The beam of frozen death, filled with crystalized shards, rained down upon the battlefield. The brilliant white beam of ice shot through the air toward Jherenon. The warlock shouted curses and flung his arms toward the attack.

  A burning red barrier sprang forth to meet the attack. The beam of icy breath collided with the fiery ward. Flashes of brilliant red and blue light surrounded the point where the dragon’s magic collided with the warlock’s demonic power.

  Jherenon shouted, “You cannot stop me!”

  Ausaliia’s barrage was unrelenting. As the beam of white dragon’s breath beat down upon the warlock’s fiery shield, massive shards of ice began to crash down. The crystalline spears pounded the magical ward and the ground around it. The burning orange shield flickered as it began to falter.

  Jherenon screamed.

  The frost breath and shards of ice broke through the shield and rained down as he vanished in a fiery flash. Jherenon teleported away, narrowly escaping. The mighty dragon landed on the frost-white ground with violent force, her powerful legs absorbing the impact. Demons on all sides turned their focus to her. They charged. Vacinne lowered the Ashthorill Runeblade to her right. Golden-white lightning flared out from the blade. The dazzling blast of divine power arced between the demons, leaving six smoldering, twitching corpses to fall to the ground.

  Like the crack of a whip, Ausaliia’s tail lashed out to the left. The thundering blow struck a pack of jecarils. The demon dogs were sent flying and the dragon roared triumphantly.

  Vacinne loosed another blast of the sword’s once latent power. Holy lightning raced across the courtyard. With righteous fury, the lightning sought out and consumed five more demons. Their charred husks crashed to the ground. Vacinne was in awe of the power her blade held. Power she never even knew existed.

  Jherenon attacked. He’d teleported to a new location and was launching a barrage of fireballs toward them. Neither Vacinne nor Ausaliia saw the avwrest charge.

  The massive demon struck with titanic force. The shoulder charge into the dragon’s flank was devastating. Ausaliia’s ribs snapped. She cried out in pain as she was driven sideways. Vacinne was thrown violently from her perch upon the dragon’s back. The blow sent her sprawling through the air. She tried to call upon her power. She tried to shield herself before impact, but her Spirit was depleted. Vacinne tumbled toward the ground and fireballs raced after her.

  The wind began to blow.

  The storm gusts filled the courtyard. Demons and men alike staggered under the gale force winds. Without looking, Renlar shot out a hand toward Vacinne, halting her wild flight. Blasts of air deflected the fireballs toward nearby demons. The warlock’s flames set the demon’s ablaze in unholy fire. Renlar eased Vacinne to the ground as they burned.

  Renlar hands were down at his sides. Strong winds tugged at his dark hair and garments as he rose into the air. His badly burned legs dangled below. His magically enchanted daggers spun in a serpentine spiral around him. His eyes burned white like lightning, and they were fixed upon Jherenon.

  “Your reign ends now,” declared Renlar in a voice made of thunder.

  Jherenon replied with mocking laughter. “You think you can defeat a dark ruler like me? You’re not even a Lightborn. You’re nothing but a lowly Hellborn.”

  “To Hell I am,” replied Renlar.

  His hands shot out to his sides. His daggers shot outward in all directions, piercing and shocking demons all across the courtyard. The Vei’thalo below seized the opportunity. The temporary distraction allowed the three, towering war-angels to charge hard toward the hell rifts. Renlar floated away from the battlement walls, over the battlefield toward Jherenon.

  The warlock’s laughter turned to curses. “The Abyss take you!”

  Foul words of the demon tongue flew from his lips. Dark magic spilled over the ground. Writhing, black and purple tendrils of darkness stretched forth as it crawled across the bloodied ground. The few demons and humans in its path scrambled away from the hissing magic that raced toward Renlar.

  Renlar’s eyes went to the creeping darkness. His vision fell into the nothingness of the sorcery. His head began to swim and his balance began to falter. As his eyes were drawn into the void. He felt as if he was about to fall in, right through the world, through reality, into the nothingness of the void.

  “Void magic,” he realized with a start.

  It was in some of the older tales, tales of a forgotten age, an age of darkness. He remembered the tales of the dreaded magic—magic that could unmake a man—from the inside out, by separating their mind from reality.

  Those tales were not supposed to be real, void magic was not supposed to be real. This is not supposed to be real. This isn’t real, confessed Renlar as his eyes searched the nebulous void that spread across the ground as it stretched toward him. Noises rose up around him. Sounds of chaos, sounds of battle, sounds of laughter. Down became up and up became down. Left had become right and right now left. The haunting laughter grew.

  The sounds that were all around him were then drowned out with one voice.

  Renlar... Renny, wake up! Snap out of his spell.

  Renlar’s thoughts were muddled, the confusion was overwhelming.

  The angels can seal the rifts. We can win!

  Renlar fought to lift his eyes away from the black and purple emptiness that had nearly reached him. He tried to pull his gaze away, but he couldn’t. The unseen wonders of the void, where shadows shifted and took form in the darkness, held him transfixed. And their dance drew him deeper.

  Renny, I’m here. I’m here. Find me. Look at me. Look up, look at me.

  Renlar heard the voice, but even it had begun to fade away. His eyes held fast to the void. Darkness clouded his vision. Every sound in the world around him melded into a blurring, indiscernible howl of a raging tempest. The resilient blade forged of hope slipped from his grasp and fell away.

  It’s over, he realized. This is the end, I failed.

  Hell’s hounds were loosed. Despair attacked from all sides. It ripped and tore at the fabric of his being. It rent his soul, and deep inside him something began to die. His body still floated into the air, but it shook uncontrollably as the sobs rocked his body. The cacophony of the raging storm silenced even his own broken weeping.

  Crowds of shadows awaited him. Their dark forms took shape in the nothingness.

  “Hellborn! Demon Seed! Cursed!” shouted the accusers.

  “He can’t help it, it’s in his blood.”

  The dark forms moved toward him and faces began to t
ake shape.

  The first group of faces he saw was Dranthyr and the rest of the Dirt Dogs. Their filthy, angry faces stared accusingly at him. Then a new shadow began to take form in their midst. Its shape grew taller than the dwarves and took on a feminine form. The face shifted until it was a face he knew all too well.

  “Everyone around you...” said Sutara with bitter eyes.

  The voice echoed from behind her. Then another female shadow stepped into view from behind her. This face was different. It was older, and gentler. It was his mother.

  She reached out toward him. Her black hand stroked his cheek. Her gentle, familiar smile drew him in. She moved in close with her arms wide, ready to embrace her son.

  The voices of the others grew louder, but her enchanting gaze stole his attention. She whispered to him, but he couldn’t hear her words.

  “I can’t hear you,” Renlar mumbled.

  “Everyone around you...” she rasped.

  He stared back at her. Confusion ruled his thoughts as the studied the black face that so perfectly resembled his mother. Renlar’s mind was adrift in a raging sea of incomprehensible thoughts. Her black face drew within a foot of his. Like a vapor, the kindness in her eyes vanished, revealing the spirit’s true nature: malice.

  She snarled, “Everyone dies!”

  The void spirit lunged at him with barred fangs. Renlar wrestled to push it away, but his strength was failing, and failing fast. The accusing shadows set upon him too.

  Beyond the cry of the raging spirits of the void and the anguish of his own soul, a voiceless whisper touched his mind.

  Look up, my son.

  Something surged inside of Renlar. Something had come alive. New strength filled his bones like fire. Renlar dragged his gaze away from the void. His vision rose from the Abyss into the maelstrom that now surrounded him as he floated higher into the air.

  Golden lightning arced through the tempest. Peals of thunder chased on its heels.

  The soundless whisper rose above the storm once more.

  You were never alone.

  He shook as a river of tears rushed from somewhere deep inside him, tears of joy. New hope flooded within Renlar.

  A lying voice roared at him. “You cannot defeat me, you fool. You failed!”

  Renlar’s tears were replaced with unexpected laughter as he responded not to Jherenon, but to the Nine.

  “Wrong! You’re already defeated!”

  Renlar kept his eyes on Jherenon. Lighting arced throughout the stormwall. His hands rose before him and he loosed the full power of the storm infused with the Light.

  The tempest surged forward with a power far beyond any man, angel, or devil. Golden lightning shot outward in every direction, striking down demons as the twisting storm rushed ahead. Servants of the Nine fell under the smiting power of the storm. Charred and smoking bodies were left scattered across the battlefield.

  Jherenon screamed, “It can’t be!”

  His unbelief was echoed by the shrill cries of the lying tongues of the Nine. Their wretched wails reached the mortal realm, piercing the air as the storm swallowed Jherenon. The corrupted Grand Master was consumed by the storm’s fury. The spirit of the Nine were released as his life and their influence was ended.

  Gale force winds blew through the rest of the temple grounds for a dozen heartbeats, and then just like that, it was gone. The swirling maelstrom, the golden lightning, all of it was gone. Renlar hovered twenty feet above the cold hard earth. His wounded legs dangled limply below him as the gentle swirl of his magic held him steady. He surveyed the landscape before him. He watched as the three mighty Vei’thalo used their divine power to close and seal the rifts. The corpses of hundreds of demons smoldered across the field of battle and along the tops of the ramparts. The surviving Wardens, though barely half their number remained, cheered their victory.

  Renlar’s eyes sought out his companions. He turned back behind him. His eyes fell upon Vacinne, who was standing tall, shield in one hand and her blazing sword in the other. Her long blond hair was loose and flowing in the breeze. She smiled and nodded at him. He turned and found his blue-skinned friend right where he left him, upon the battlement wall. Draece, completely exhausted, sat with his back to the wall. Renlar met his friend’s silver eyes. They were full of relief... and perhaps something more. The two men exchanged smiles.

  Renlar scanned the battlefield. Frantically his eyes scanned the battlefield for his new dwarf friend.

  There!

  The ragged and battle worn dwarf towered over a small pile of demon dogs. The jecarils, no doubt slaughtered by Thrazen’s axes which dripped with the signature black ichor. Renlar nodded to him.

  It was only then that Renlar realized his exertion. He’d fully depleted his Spirit and had drawn deeply from his Will, and more. The wave of exhaustion slammed into him with tidal force. Renlar strained to focus as he eased himself to the ground. The world around him started to spin. Renlar fell and his world turned black.

  19

  Broken Blade

  Renlar was on his hands and knees with his eyes held tightly shut. Calloused yet gentle hands cradled his face. His mind spun in darkness. Thoughts were jumbled. Renlar’s whole world felt as if it would never cease spinning. He tried and tried to corral his thoughts.

  “If only I could focus...”

  At least that’s what he thought he said. His words came out slurred and incoherent.

  “Shhh, just try to relax, you’re in good hands,” said a familiar voice.

  He tried to put a face to the voice, but it was futile. He knew the voice, but his thoughts were... scrambled. He just couldn’t put anything together. Desperate he tried though. The nausea hit like a warhammer.

  The stranger’s hands pulled away.

  “Stop fighting it, Renny. You’re making it worse,” said that strangely known voice.

  He tried to respond, but it only came out as a groan. His stomach lurched and he jerked forward reflexively. He discarded all the contents of his stomach. He could only hope that those gathered around him, of which he was certain there were at least a few, were able to dodge his involuntary assault. He heard no shouts. The only sound was his own retching and a few comforting words from someone.

  “That a boy, let it all out.”

  Renlar opened his eyes and spotted the bile-splattered cobbles of the courtyard.

  “Ugh,” he moaned before wiping his mouth.

  “Here, rinse with this,” said the gruff voice.

  Renlar turned to the side the voice came from. He was still doubled over, but he saw an armored arm extended his direction with a proffered flask. Renlar reached out, took the flask and poured its contents into his mouth. He swished the water about and spit it out. He did this several more times in an attempt to rid himself of the foul taste.

  “The taste never seems to go as quickly as it comes,” said the voice.

  Renlar took a deep breath then stood up. His eyes met the pale blue eyes of the older man. Renlar’s thoughts were still jumbled, but he knew that face. It was long and narrow and much of it was covered with short gray stubble. He was fighting to draw his memory back to him, but everything still seemed jumbled.

  The man’s hawkish eyes remained fixed on him. The name might have been forgotten, but those eyes he remembered. Yet, something was wrong—or perhaps different. Those eyes looked upon him with concern, perhaps even compassion. His mind slowly started to come into focus as his memories and thoughts all started to fall into place.

  Renlar looked around. He saw many faces, but some he remembered. As he studied their faces, his thoughts and memories came into focus. Thrazen’s filthy face stared back at him. His indigo-skinned friend Draece studied him with concern in those silver eyes. And then there was Vacinne, the young woman who stole his heart. Through it all, his friends were by his side. Then Renlar turned to the person who stood at his side. It was Vacinne’s uncle. Behind him, the surviving Wardens, less than two hundred in total, stood behi
nd Vichont, and they all stared down at him.

  “Vichont LeDroux,” Renny said between breaths.

  Vichont went to say something but his words were interrupted by the thundering footsteps of the Vei’thalo. They made their way across the courtyard from Jherenon’s corpse toward Renlar. The crowd of battle-weary Wardens parted, clearing passage for the massive angels.

  The first of the three strode forward. He was clothed in white linens and golden plate armor. The sun shone brightly upon the armor; the white fabric was drawn away in the breeze. The awestruck soldiers stumbled backwards as they gave a wide berth to the Seraphim. The earth seemed to tremble with each step.

  Three terrible voices thundered in unison, “Renlar Alsiiv Demass, son of Syhilah.”

  Renlar eyed the approaching Vei’thalo. He tried to stand. Excruciating pain tore through his magic ravaged feet as soon as he attempted to put any weight on them. He yelped in pain.

  The three voices boomed as the three angels extended an arm toward him while speaking. “Flesh, you are restored.”

  Sparkling white fire danced away from their outstretched fingers and darted toward Renlar. The three cords of sweeping light twisted and twirled as it shot around him, toward his mangled feet. Renlar’s eyes were desperate to follow the luminescent strands of power. He twisted back in time to watch the white and somehow golden light to land upon his ruined feet. The light began to pulse as the healing power began to enter his body.

  Everyone crowded around him to see the miracle. Renlar and the onlookers stared in amazement as new skin grew in place of the old charred flesh. The red and blackened skin was washed away under the healing power of the Light.

  “Rise, Demon Hunter,” commanded the three.