by Aaron Bunce
It wasn’t the sword he’d taken from Faalksgrad, but a Bardstown blade, the pommel etched with the starburst sun set before a curving river – a town guard’s blade. He didn’t know where she found it, but he was glad that she did.
DaeGeroth’s body continued to change, his face drawing out and the skin mottling. His clothes fell in tatters, exposing a body more beast, and less Garon. The gnarls swarmed out, forming an arc, spreading until they formed a solid semi-circle before them. There were too many of them. The beasts would swarm them over in the blink of an eye.
“You should have run,” Roman whispered.
“You can’t fight all of our battles alone,” she said, chuckling uncomfortably. “Tadd and Folkvar have a head start. If we turn and run, they’ll chase us down. I’m tired of running.”
Roman nodded, just as the gnarls charged, a hundred dark forms leaping forward, their eyes and teeth gleaming in the morning light. The Ifrit’s heart awoke inside him, just as the snow came alive at his feet, and rushed up to cover his legs. He was done running, too. The time had come for him to stand his ground and fight.
Dennah jumped behind him just as heat and flames engulfed his arms, billowing forth and bathing the ground all around him. The fire spilled forth almost beyond his control, the powerful dark heart’s immense strength amplifying his own. When the fire finally died away, the snow and ice had been burned away, the grass and shrubs underneath scorched black from the heat.
The treehopper leapt over them and landed amidst the front wave of gnarls, breaking the line of their charge. It snatched one unfortunate beast off the ground and skewered it with its pincers, impaling another half dozen beneath its churning legs.
“Stay behind me and be ready,” he told Dennah as the gnarls swarmed in from the left and right flank, surging around his spirit guardian. He gasped and pushed the fire out, the flames leaping violently into the air. The first few gnarls in the charge recognized the danger and leapt aside, but the beasts behind them never stood a chance. Fire met skin and fur, the chaotic and hungry flames consuming and spreading with abandon.
Roman pushed the billowing flames as long as he dared, the Ifrit’s dark heart pushing to take him over completely. His thoughts suddenly turned to ash and death, and he pulled back, the flames evaporating and drawing back inside. He staggered to the side, Dennah’s grasp keeping him from falling over as his vision swam.
Roman shook his head and stood up straight, the Ifrit’s heart going quiet once again. How close had he come to losing control and becoming the beast, and would there be a way back if he ever went too far?
He caught a glimpse of a wide, blackened stretch of grass and trees before him, twisted and burned bodies littering the ground. And then they were fighting. Dennah hooked her arm through his and twisted him around, cutting a small gnarl down and pulled him out of the way of another.
“Stay with me. We fight together, or we die!” she shouted, dancing back from claws.
Roman nodded and cut at another gnarl, the beast jumping back and toppling into several others. The beasts pressed in, Roman getting a lucky jab in, dropping one before it could pull away, or worse, claw out his throat. He wanted a bow.
The treehopper appeared in a sudden shower of snow and branches, the many-legged beast bursting from a thick pine. Dennah cut down another gnarl, her sword slicing through the arm it held up to shield against her strike, the blade biting into its chest.
Two gnarls dove in before she could bring the sword back around. Roman jabbed the first in the belly, but the second slunk past, knocking her to the ground. Roman yelled, but four more of the beasts pushed in, jumping between them, slashing and hissing angrily.
Black bodies swarmed onto his fallen friend, the bound spirit feeding off of his desperation. An instant later the treehopper landed with a crash, its host of small, grasping arms scooping up three of the wrangling gnarls and pulling them towards its clicking pincers.
Roman shouldered one of the gnarls aside, throwing caution to the wind, his sword flailing wildly. Claws tore at his left arm and side, but he accepted the pain, smashing the cross guard into the responsible beast’s face. He lumbered over to Dennah, a lone gnarl thrashing atop her. He lifted his sword to strike just as the tip of a blade erupted from the creature’s back, the shiny steel coated in thick, dark blood.
He kicked the dead creature off and lifted Dennah off the ground, her face spattered with blood. She eyed him wildly, gasping for breath, then lunged, skewering a creature leaping for his back. He pulled her back and cut hard at a pair of gnarls as they slunk in opportunistically.
The treehopper skittered by them, scattering the gnarls and scooping up any unable to get out of the way fast enough. The beast leapt and landed into a copse of trees crushing a group of hiding gnarls under its weight, but before the spirit could jump again the trees came alive, twisting and slithering like snakes.
The treehopper raged against the branches, legs churning and wood splintering and breaking, but the trees collapsed over it, pinning Roman’s conjured spirit in a crushing mass of wood and snow.
“Come on!” he said, and made for the copse of trees, the fire already simmering beneath the surface. He didn’t know if fire would harm his conjured aid, but also didn’t know if he would have the strength or the ability to summon it again if he had to send it away.
He cleaved through a tangling branch, Dennah following suit when something moved to his left…nothing more than a blur in his peripheral vision. Something bowled Dennah over and bounced painfully off of his head next. In the next instant, he was on the ground, the snow cold against his back.
Arrin appeared above him, a club smashing into the snow beside his head, the gaunt young man rearing back to strike again. Dennah heaved herself off the ground, and tackled Arrin, the two toppling into the snow. Roman fought his way to his side, and then to his feet, hot blood running down his face and dripping into the snow, a lump already throbbing on his forehead.
He moved towards his friend as she struggled against Arrin, their respective sword and club forgotten. Roman barely got the sword up in time as someone appeared around a shrub. Wood rang against steel as his sword deflected the staff. Alina cartwheeled forward, closing the distance between them quickly, the staff slashing in hard for his legs. He kicked back, dodging the strike, but allowing her to push him back and away from Dennah.
“Why are you doing this, Alina?” he yelled, spotting DaeGeroth not far away, his hands and voice weaving power into the air. “He killed your mother, your brother…he’s killing everyone!”
She growled, jabbing the staff, and promptly turning in a sweeping high, low combo that he couldn’t hope to block. The first strike knocked his blade aside, and the second caught him behind the left knee. Roman pivoted and staggered, the treehopper’s pain suddenly flooding into him. DaeGeroth was crushing the beast, and there was nothing he could do to stop it.
Roman turned as the staff swung around again, smashing into his sword arm. Pain shot like lightning out to his hand, nearly breaking his grip on the sword. Alina pressed in, the staff a blur of perpetual motion, jabbing and sweeping, striking him twice for every time he managed to deflect a blow.
Roman fought to push his will towards the trapped spirit, desperately needing it to be free. They didn’t stand a chance without it. The treehopper surged against the crushing branches, wood splintering and fracturing, several segmented legs breaking free of the trap. But it wasn’t enough. More branches crashed down.
The treehopper screeched in pain, its body starting to crack and break under the pressure. Roman blocked the staff, jumped over a follow-through and managed to swing back in a rare counter, forcing Alina back.
His heart lurched as he released his grip on the spirit and felt its body dissolve into mist. The pain instantly lifted, DaeGeroth’s snare crashing to the ground, the treehopper’s body melting away. The spirit flooded back into him, the strange beast abandoning him and fleeing to its own realm.
He gasped, the resulting void draining him of strength. Dennah cut in behind Alina, a gnarl sliding off her blade. Garon’s daughter deflected his friend’s next strike, Roman stabbing in weakly afterwards as they worked at her from two directions.
Alina twirled, deflecting both swords in a majestic dance, the staff flowing around her body. Roman feinted high, swept the sword at her feet, and jabbed hard for her midsection. Dennah lurched in from behind when Alina twirled to the side and wrapped the young woman in a crushing hug.
Gnarls were all around them, seething and growling, but for some reason they didn’t attack. The two women grappled for a moment, what Alina offered in grace and speed, Dennah making up for in strength. Roman came in, hoping to subdue Garon’s daughter and force a stalemate, but an invisible force swept through the line of gnarls, blasting them out of the way a heartbeat before it hit him.
Roman tucked his arms in as he tumbled, the snowy ground pummeling him. He clawed his way back to his feet, the sword lost somewhere in the snow. Rough, clawed hands scrabbled against him. He fought them off, but there were too many of them. The gnarls pulled him upright. Alina was walking towards him, DaeGeroth’s monstrous form next to her, Dennah now struggling in his arms.
“Let her go!” Roman howled!
DaeGeroth laughed, a hand sliding up around his friend’s throat.
“You have proven yourself more powerful and courageous than I ever imagined, Roman. But now it ends. First for her, and then you,” the Nym said.
Roman looked from the fiend’s simmering green eyes to Dennah, her face white with fear and shock, and then to Alina. He saw no compassion, no common ground. There was nothing else for him to do. DaeGeroth was too powerful, his gnarls too numerous, and Alina too agile and gifted. He was going to have to watch his friend die. Unless… His thoughts froze on a possibility, his decision processing without any real thought.
The fire broke loose inside, the Ifrit’s heart responding immediately to his call. The heat grew, pushing out towards his hands, only he didn’t hold it back this time – hells, he wasn’t sure he wanted to anymore. Roman let the fire denizen’s essence flood into every crack and crevice of his being, dark fire and ash worming in and threatening to push his own thoughts away.
Flames burst to life over his body, his clothing burning away and flesh turning to hardened firescale. He was wholly aware of his body changing, the red haze drifting over his vision, but he quickly became lost to the fury. Everything needed to burn.
The gnarls around him burst into flame like long dead trees. He lashed out, his cinder talons splitting dark flesh and splintering bones. He reveled in the power, flowing as if he was fire itself. Then a pain stung him. He swiped at the air, beating his massive, smoky wings, but the small, pale creature was fast, dodging and weaving around him. A staff jabbed and swung in, striking his hardened flesh in a dozen places, ashy armor cracking and breaking, his angst and fire slipping out to scorch the air. If too much of his toxic essence was allowed to bleed out, he would cease to be.
The small figure cartwheeled and dove, but he had seen enough. He was shadow and flame, and all things would burn before him. Fire burst forth in a ring as he drove his wings down, shadow and choking ash swallowing everything. He drove his wings down again, propelling himself above the thickening cloud, and then dropped, crashing to the ground.
The small creature coughed and gagged, blinded by the cloud. It didn’t affect him, however. He was fire. He was ash. A claw locked onto the staff, the wood immediately setting aflame. He lashed out, his tail knocking the small creature off the ground. A single leap brought him to where she lay in a heap, his claws ready to tear her open. But a voice stopped him.
A single word split the air. It struck him, crashing through the heat and fire, a sliver of light breaking through the cloudy, dark heart smothering him.
“Roman!” the voice cried again, but it wasn’t the creature trapped beneath him, but another. The name rattled amidst his blind and scattered thoughts, latching on and pulling him up. He grasped the name. It had meaning. He was…it was him.
He plucked the girl’s still body from the ground and dove from the cloud, finding the large, pale one waiting… death shining through emerald eyes. His gaze dropped to the creature in its grasp, locking onto her face – those hazel eyes so familiar. The fear on her face struck a familiar chord, empowering him. He had been in this position before, just reversed.
Roman clawed forth from the darkness, the Ifrit’s dark heart reluctant and unwilling to let him go. He fought forward, prizing every ounce of himself away from the chaotic fire and heat, desperate to be whole again. His thoughts pulled together. He became Roman again.
DaeGeroth shouted, the word striking him with a tremendous force, his flesh cracking and scattering to the wind. Roman flexed his wings and stepped towards him, the stinging fire, his chaotic will, threatening to break apart, only the strength of his will holding it together.
DaeGeroth wove his hands again, thin threads of light appearing in the air. A tremendous blast of wind slammed into him. More ash burst into the air, the flames, his dark essence, spattering out. The heat bled away. Roman grunted and pushed forward, flapping his wings against the gale, his claws scoring the ground.
A skewering spike of ice shot from the ground, followed by another, piercing his leg and abdomen. Roman staggered, the pain cutting into him deeply. Molten fire bled forth, weakening him but melting the ice at the same time. DaeGeroth worked his magic in layers, ice spikes and branches forming an insurmountable wall of death and pain. Roman leapt into the air, clearing the Nym’s wall by a claw’s breadth.
He landed with a crash of snow and sod, and laid Alina’s unconscious form on the ground. DaeGeroth spun another thread of magic, this one thicker and brighter than any before it, but Roman wouldn’t, no, couldn’t let him finish. He dug his claws into the ground and sprang forward, his wings surging powerfully. He caught DaeGeroth’s arm before he could finish the thread, the magic burning brightly between them.
“You….can’t…stop…me,” the Nym snarled, “this world will be mine! Roman barely heard him. He was looking over the creature’s shoulder, to where Dennah lay in a heap in the snow. She looked still…so horribly still.
“I will!” Roman roared back, his voice fire and smoke. DaeGeroth slammed a fist into him, the blow cracking his scaly flesh. Roman caught his wrist as the Nym reared back to strike again, the green-eyed demon’s other parasitic hand digging into his flesh.
Fire burst forth, bathing them both, but for some reason it didn’t scorch DaeGeroth. Something…some power, protected him. The Nym started to feed, his parasitic power pulling on Roman’s will.
“No!” he screamed, fighting the arm away, but DaeGeroth wrestled back, showcasing impossible strength.
“I am too strong, even for you,” the Nym hissed, driving his hands back into his body.
DaeGeroth’s leeching hands dug deeper inside him, and then the truth of it struck. He was going for Roman’s heart. He leapt straight up into the air, driving his shadow wings down again and again, terror and panic pushing him. The Nymradic clawed deeper inside, his fingers extending towards Roman’s heart, where the Ifrit’s dark essence beat strong and true.
He climbed until the tallest treetops hung far below, and tucked his wings, letting DaeGeroth’s weight tilt him forward. Roman sank his cinder claws deep into the Nym’s body and in a swift, violent motion, propelled them towards the ground.
They plummeted, striking the ground with a thunderous crash, the impact dislodging DaeGeroth’s hands. Roman struck hard, opening the Nym’s pale face. But he didn’t see the green-eyed demon, only Garon – the sallow face always pulled tight in anger and disappointment. He struck again, the face snapping back around, his hands diving in for his chest once more.
No! Roman stomped on his left arm, pinning it to the ground and caught the other. They wrestled for a moment, the memory of Greta springing unbidden into his thoughts. He saw he
r lying motionless amidst a sea of death, her blue apron a fleeting glimpse of life passed by.
“You killed her!” he snarled, his tail snaking around DaeGeroth’s right arm. He pulled, claws tearing and fire churning. The Nym’s eyes, not Garon’s eyes, widened in fear and pain, his arm popping loudly, and then ripped free.
Roman staggered back as dark blood spattered the snow. Writhing black tendrils snaked out of the ruined limb and dropped into the snow at his feet. DaeGeroth flopped violently, his voice a chorus of broken, anguished screams. The inky tendrils crawled into the gaping, bleeding shoulder just as the Nym lurched from the ground, and before Roman could stop him, bolted into the trees, a thick mist covering his escape.
Roman dropped the severed arm into the snow, the fingers still twitching, and loped over to Dennah’s still form. She groaned as he rolled her over, but her eyes didn’t open. He carefully scooped her into his arms, and turned north. Arrin appeared between the trees a dozen paces away. He couldn’t see the gnarls, but he could hear them. They had scattered, but would not stay away long.
Roman bounded forward, his wings unfurling, but paused. Alina lay a short distance away, the cold fog creeping in from the woods and threatening to swallow her whole. He struggled with a moment of indecision, until a beast howled somewhere in the trees, a second quickly responding. Animals, feral, hungry animals.
He ran, scooping Garon’s daughter off the ground, and leapt into the air, driving his wings down. Roman pulled at the air, leaving Bardstown behind, the snow-covered landscape opening below him. Dark, fast beasts raced along the countryside beneath him, stopping to howl to one another, or claw at the sky. There were more of the creatures in Bardstown than he could have imagined, and now they were loose.
He caught an updraft of wind and soared higher, his shadowy wings billowing in the cold air. Roman could feel the Ifrit’s dark presence burning away at the edges of his resolve, fighting to topple him back into the smoke and fire – to take control. If it did, Dennah and Alina would die. Roman didn’t know how long his strength would hold out, but he did know that he had to get them as far away from Bardstown as he could.