Life

by Rosie Scott

  Calder screeched, grabbing at his head with both scaled palms. The cry devolved into a confused hiss, before he backed away from the railing drunkenly, his thick tail the only thing keeping him balanced. After a few tense moments, he pulled his clawed hands away from his face, staring out over the city as if seeing it for the first time. I understood what he was going through. Every sense was magnified. His pain was dulled. Right now, I was sure he thought he could do anything. He probably felt unstoppable.

  Suddenly, Calder rushed toward the bow of the ship on all fours. My heart pounded in my chest as I realized he meant to jump straight from the quarterdeck of the massive ship to the crowds below. Such a fall could kill him, high or no high.

  What have I done? The thought felt distant and uncharacteristic of me, but it was all I worried about as Calder leaped from the ship as if committing suicide. I'd meant to aid one of my greatest friends by giving him such knowledge, but it could just end up getting him killed.

  And then, just as my eyes burned with the fear of losing him, Calder grasped onto a thick rope which hung loosely from the battleship's gantry. From this distance, I hadn't even seen it. With his heightened senses, he knew exactly where it was and when to grab for it. He slid roughly down the rope, thick scales protecting him from the burns which sought to ruin his hands. Halfway down the side of the battleship, he swung toward its hull with a jerk of movement. Once his feet hit wood, he launched himself forward with the combined strength of his muscular haunches and the high.

  Calder flew over a number of dwarves on the dock, both arms outstretched and talons glimmering. When gravity finally pulled him to the ground, he landed on a group of foes, creating a crater of bodies in the midst of an army. He wasted no time, crushing one man beneath the heavy weight of his blood-kin before grasping another foe's head between his massive jaws, twisting quickly. The woman fell, dead of a snapped neck. Calder rushed forward through the crowds, leaving a trail of bodies even though he fought alone.

  I'd never seen anything like it. Necromancers were extremely powerful. The beastmen were extremely powerful. The fact that Calder now had access to both made him a monstrous berserker hybrid of the sort I'd never considered.

  As the dwarves were faced with a necromancy-wielding reptilian beast, their morale was further depleted. I had to remember that my own knowledge of the beastmen came from traveling and living among them. Here in Hammerton, many dwarves were still ignorant of the fact that the beastmen weren't a race but a group of skilled alteration mages. Someone like Calder was sure to upend everything they ever thought they knew, further adding to their panic.

  “KAI!” The scream was so abrupt and angered that I felt paralyzed with confusion and anxiety. My eyes darted around the cobblestone streets, looking for the culprit. “KAI SERA!”

  I did not recognize the voice, but I did recognize its tone. Inhuman and hollowed as if the voice traveled through great depths of stone. Whoever was looking for me was a god, and he was furious.

  Azazel's eyes found mine in the midst of battle. He gave a short shake of his head as if to say he hadn't yet seen golden eyes in the crowd.

  I decided to seek the god out. If he wanted a fight, I would give him one. Azazel and Nyx both rambled protests as they followed me farther into the center of Olympia, fighting off dwarven soldiers as we went. The god continued screaming my name, his voice echoing down cobblestone streets. Though the crisscrossing bridges above the roads of Olympia had been mostly clear throughout the battle thus far, hundreds of dwarven soldiers now approached from the walkways of the upper city as if an elite army had just been summoned from the mountains themselves.

  The elite soldiers were more heavily armored than any I'd ever seen. Their armor was mostly metal, requiring immense strength just to wear, and their heads were protected entirely by thick helmets. The last time I had seen such an armored helmet was the Knight of Celendar who had lost his life to Malgor years ago, but these helmets put that to shame. Instead of slits for eyes, there was a layer of what appeared to be protective glass in the upper area of the helmets, keeping eyes safe from projectiles while allowing the soldiers visibility of the battlefield.

  Glass? For a helmet? That made little sense to me. With enough force, the glass would be able to shatter. Until I learned otherwise, I would consider the design a weakness. It was still a weakness that initially worked against us, however. Azazel stood right beside me, but he didn't even try to puncture the helmets with his arrows.

  One of the elite soldiers stared directly at me, picking my bright red hair out of the crowd. He lifted one heavily armored arm to point at me. “Tyrus! The half-breed is here!”

  Tyrus. Given all of our intel of the god, his presence here was not surprising. Metal-working. Forge. I tried to connect his identity to his potential strengths and powers. I decided that the magnificent heavy armor of the elite soldiers had been built by the god in anticipation of this fight, and most of the dwarves also had access to weapons I did not recognize. The weapons had long, steel pipes that resembled a cannon, but they rested instead along the right forearm of each soldier, attached to the limb by the metal armor itself. It appeared to be controlled by a trigger which extended into the armored hand, and the back of the weapon was connected to a large tube which extended past each soldier's arm and to their back. Each elite soldier carried the immense weight of a pack on their back made out of light metals. The packs didn't seem to be able to be easily opened, which made me wonder what their purpose was.

  The weapons were immensely complex and utterly foreign to me. I'd never seen a weapon which required an entire set of armor and its own carried supplies so I couldn't begin to guess how to combat such a thing. Tyrus had clearly been working hard at preparing Olympia for this day.

  As if he knew I thought of him, the god waddled slowly out onto a beautiful stone bridge which crossed over the inclining main street just ahead. Azazel hit the side of my arm to alert me to his presence, but I already knew. Tyrus took the form of a dwarf, but he carried himself with such confidence and strength that he immediately stood out from the rest. He wore the same heavy armor as his elite soldiers, though he'd taken extra care to adorn his with gold and various symbols. The pack on his back was so large it towered above his head. He, too, had one of the odd cannon-like weapons, but his was even more complex. Between the cannon and his armored hand was a smaller metal pipe which was just long enough to be even with his wrist, pointed to his palm. At the back of the weapon's secondary function was yet another tube which dangled by his side, attached to a metal canister that hung off of his hip.

  The majority of Tyrus's face was obscured by his armor, though I could see just the outline of his eyes through his protective helmet. They were on mine and surrounded by the slight wrinkles of an arrogant smile. Another dwarf with armor just as prestigious wandered out onto the bridge to be beside him. This soldier's armor did not have any weapon attachments, and though I could not see the soldier's face, I knew it was a woman given the armor's wider berth for her chest.

  Azazel hit my arm again slightly and said, “Kai. Two gods.”

  “Two gods?” I murmured, building enervat in both palms.

  “Tyrus and the woman beside him,” Azazel replied. “Both have golden eyes in those helmets, and I won't be able to reach them with my arrows.”

  “I won't be able to get a damn hit in at all with that armor,” Nyx added on my other side. “My daggers and throwing stars will be useless. These bastards are like walking weapons.”

  “Everyone has a weakness,” I replied, even as I desperately searched my brain for ideas.

  Tyrus lifted his left hand out over the bridge, pointing one heavily armored finger directly at me. Turning his hand over slowly, he taunted me by curling the finger toward him multiple times in a row, encouraging my attack.

  My nostrils flared at his arrogance. Both enervat spells flew through the air, and the black magic exploded once it hit the heavy armor just above the stone railing o
f the bridge. Tyrus and the goddess beside him merely stood still as the black magic crawled over their heavy armor, seeking vulnerabilities. I was dumbfounded when it found none, fizzling out uselessly. Seeing my bewildered face, Tyrus began to laugh, the noise echoing within the confines of his helmet.

  I regenerated the life shields of my friends and I before I decided on a plan B. My heart ached with sadness as I prepared a lightning storm in both palms. I hadn't used the spell since Jakan's death, and I hated using it now. I hoped more than anything that it would be a bane against the mostly metal armor of the elite army.

  I rose both hands over my head, and the skies above the gods began to darken. Now that Tyrus knew he had intimidated me, he started his attack. He lifted his right arm up at an angle in the air, directing the odd weapon into the sky above our heads. His armored hand pulled the trigger, and a mini cannonball shot through the air, whistling as it hurtled toward the ground at our feet.

  “Scatter!” I screamed at nearby allies, my heart shattering my ribs. Tyrus's weapon didn't just look like a cannon. It was a cannon. The god had created weapons and armor the likes I had never dreamed possible. I hurried to back away from the ammo's trajectory, but it was difficult to tell where it would land.

  Then, I was pushed so hard to the side I fell to the ground, skidding over cobblestone from the force. I had just enough time to see Azazel standing where I'd been after shoving me safely out of the way. His senses were so much better than mine, for he knew where the cannonball would fall. He'd saved me from its path, but he was risking his own life to do it.

  I screamed at him, my terrified voice rattling off of stone before the cannonball exploded at Azazel's feet. The hit shook the cobblestone beneath my hands until they went numb. Azazel flew violently backward through the air, his protective life shield broken before his body crashed into the side of a stone building. Only when I realized that my best friend was covered in black goo did I notice the ammo had broken open when it had hit. Calcint was everywhere, seeping into the cracks between cobblestone and splattered over all nearby soldiers, dwarven and Alderi alike.

  I shook with rage and fear as I stood from the ground, my eyes desperately on Azazel sitting in a lump at the bottom of the wall. I waited for movement, the harsh strikes of lightning from the nearby storm I'd summoned punching the sides of my skull, causing an agonizing headache. I was terrified Azazel was dead. Not only because he meant the world to me, but because I knew I wouldn't be able to control destroying all of Olympia if he was. I'd told myself time and time again I could never lose control like I had at the Battle of Highland Pass, but I wasn't stupid. I knew that my overwhelming power combined with my god blood's insistence on seeking vengeance and destruction would override any of my brain's logical protests.

  My ears rang as another cannonball exploded mere meters away, and my life shield was sprayed with thick calcint. I tore my eyes from Azazel's body, finding that my lightning storm was nearing completion, and yet all of the elite soldiers still stood on the overhead walkways, firing hand cannons into my allies below. A bolt of lightning sizzled as it encapsulated the goddess standing beside Tyrus. When it retracted back into the sky, she still stood, unharmed.

  “That's fucking impossible!” Nyx screamed, her eyes uncharacteristically alarmed as she watched it happen beside me. Her words mirrored my thoughts, but I wasn't speaking. I turned back to Azazel.

  Azazel was moving to stand, though he was much slower than usual, groggy from hitting his head. The dwarves nearest him took notice. They'd left him to lie at first, thinking him to be dead. Now that he was trying to return to battle, they swarmed him, desperate for an easy kill.

  Two death bombs shot out from my palms before I remembered summoning them, returning the energy of dozens back to me. These dwarves fell from the spell quickly, not as protected as the soldiers of the elite unit who still rained calcint over my soldiers. We needed to retreat from this area. Covering us in calcint was a clear sign that they wished to use some method of burning us all alive.

  But I would die before leaving Azazel. As I made my way to him, I leeched from the dwarves until my head swelled with the agony of a mighty high. I raised the dead next, bolstering our numbers. Then I leeched more, shooting orbs of black between my minions until tears of pain streaked down my face. Nyx fought beside me, pushing back dwarves who sought to inhibit our progress.

  Azazel was surrounded. Both karambits were in his hands, blurs of black in thin air as he tried to defend himself from the onslaught. But he was slow and injured. An ax was swung toward his side, and blood splattered over his boots as it dug into the flesh and armor beneath his lowest rib. A blade was forced toward his gut from behind, and I watched with horror as it burst through the front of his torso armor surrounded by sprays of his blood. A desperate yelp of pain reached my ears from Azazel's usually calm and collected voice, and my determination grew.

  Givara la mana reservur. I funneled the abundance of energy from my high into the building life spell of my right palm. The white magic swirled with such intensity that it appeared solid. My headache started to dissipate as my immense power was drained, and then, I gave the spell permission to take from my life.

  Work. Work. Work, damn you, I cursed at it, feeling the magical barrier over my palm start to tremble with power. I'd never before felt such strength from white magic. I begged for that to mean my theory was correct. If there was any time to test Azazel's ability to get a high, it was now when he was seconds away from death.

  I paralyzed a dwarf who blocked my path to Azazel, and the woman fell at my best friend's feet, leaving his side vulnerable to my magic. My head was cluttered with vague prayers as I forced the spell to him, desperate to save him.

  It was as if time stopped. Everything important to me hinged on this one moment. My breaths echoed in my head even louder than the firing cannons as I watched the life magic sink into Azazel, bombarding him with the energy of dozens upon dozens of lives all at once. Some of the dwarves surrounding him turned to fight me, chipping away at my shield as I paid little mind.

  “Aggh!” Azazel's sudden scream was almost unrecognizable with its strength and amplitude. Newly clear black eyes darted through the foes surrounding him. Azazel let his karambits hang loosely from the finger holes of both handles, and he built two different alteration spells in his hands. The first one gave himself a shield to resist magic, and the next was the sparkling emerald green that meant to paralyze.

  The robust green energy exploded at his boots, spreading out in a circle around him. All of the dwarves surrounding him were paralyzed at once and went still, uneasy on their feet as gravity coaxed the bodies to fall. With simple flicks of his wrist, Azazel grasped the handles of his karambits again and spun so quickly he was a blur, reminiscent of the way Anto used to fight. But Azazel had no arm blades. My mind sought answers, but then my best friend stopped his spin. Both karambits were glistening with blood and dripping fresh tissue, and the group of dwarves surrounding him were all dead from gouged throats. He'd managed to kill a handful of dwarves even before their paralyzed bodies could hit the ground. As Azazel's chest rose and fell with heaving breaths of adrenaline, the bodies finally fell in weighty lumps around him.

  Dear gods. I was right. Azazel was experiencing an energy high that only necromancers had ever known before him. His ordinarily superior senses were further amplified. As his black eyes moistened with pain, I realized the high was as painful for him as it was for me. But he paid little mind to both of his bleeding wounds as if suddenly forgetting they were there. The only pain he currently felt was in his head, where the immense power I'd granted him was opening doors of possibility.

  I felt faint with both a lack of energy and overwhelming awe at what I'd just discovered.

  I can make my friends immortal. Memories of the deaths of loved ones flashed through my head like flipping pages of a nostalgic book. Bjorn. Theron. Ricco. Vallen. Jakan. Anto. Ciro. The heartbreak from losing them was still raw, but
as I watched Azazel tear through foes with renewed strength, I felt determined to change the fates of those still alive. Though I was fatigued, my body trembled with excitement. Many people in the world attributed their existence to the gods, but none of the gods alive could create life. Now, I was the only one able to prolong it.

  “What...” The word teetered off as Nyx watched Azazel fight like a madman. “What did you do to him?”

  “I gave him a high,” I replied breathlessly, before raising the volume of my voice to our allies. “Retreat!” I yelled, as more clay balls full of calcint exploded in the streets. Assassins and beastmen alike were covered in the sludge, vulnerable to fire. While I'd been paying attention to Azazel, Tyrus and the goddess beside him had left the bridge. The elite soldiers still covered the walkways above us, bombarding the streets with calcint and throwing weapons. My eyes darted around for the gods, and my heart nearly stopped when I finally found them walking down the main road toward my allies.

  The goddess raised her armored hands, and between them grew a ball of solid metal. Instead of shooting the earth magic toward us, she pulled open the metal pack on Tyrus's back, depositing the ball into it. I connected the dots. The hard packs were for storing ammo, and Tyrus had designed the hand cannons to reload from through the tubes connecting the two. As long as the goddess still lived, Tyrus would be a walking cannon with unlimited ammo.

  “Retreat!” I screamed again, my voice rising over the battle in the streets. The beastmen and Alderi were trying to heed my order. The beastmen who could fly rose up into the air, where they were targeted by the elite army's hand cannons. Some of them dodged the hits, but some were hit, falling back to the streets in bleeding masses of broken bodies. The majority of the other allies were surrounded by foes and unable to move. If I were ignorant of the ways of the gods, I wouldn't have thought that Tyrus would light the people aflame in the streets. After all, many of his own allies were covered in calcint as they fought with our soldiers. But I knew the ways of the gods. Tyrus didn't give a damn about any of them.