by King, DB
She stepped forward without a moment’s hesitation. “I was born for this moment, my lord.”
“Excellent. And you, War Wizard—are you ready to put your life on the line?”
Logan stepped to Marseille’s side. “I’ve never backed down from a challenge. If this is what it takes to enlist your aid, then I’m ready.”
“Perfect,” he said.
Maar closed his eyes and extended his hands, conjuring a swirl of dark red magic at his fingertips. A shout in some harsh language exploded from his mouth, followed by a torrent of serpents that poured out like water through twin holes in a dam.
The snakes rushed from his hands, moving through the gap between Logan and Marseille and the rest of the group. The other backed away from the snake flood, and Logan and Marseille were separated from the others. The snakes, hundreds of them by this point, moved in a circle around the room, Logan and Marseille and Maar and the orcs on the inner side, Arachne and Jaleth and the rest on the other.
“What the hells is this?” Arachne shouted.
“I’m creating a little arena,” he said. “And I don’t want anyone other than these two to participate.”
“Let us battle them!” yelled one of the priests. “We will win, and then you will give us your favor!”
Maar shook his head in disdain. “Another trait that I despise about the orcs—they’re so bossy.” He stepped over to one of the priests, the Archspirit looming over the orc. “You wish to assist me?”
“More than anything, master!” the orc replied earnestly.
“Good.”
With blinding speed, Maar leaned down, exposing his fangs and sinking them deeply into the thick neck of the priest.
“Yes!” shouted the priest. “Give me your power, serpent god!”
When Maar was done with the first priest, he moved to the other and repeated the process, then to the two remaining soldiers.
“What are you doing, lord?” Marseille asked.
“Creating some opponents,” Maar said, his tone casual. “Just wait.”
“I can feel it!” exclaimed the priest, wild, fanatical excitement on his face. “I can…” His eyes flashed with panic, the excitement fading. “What… what is this?”
The other priest let out a howl of pain as he dropped to his knees, the first priest following suit, then the pair of soldiers. They cried out as scales began to cover their skin, massive cobra hoods extending from their necks. Their faces changed, shifting into combinations of orc and snake, their teeth sharpening and their eyes going red. A second pair of arms sprouted from the sides of the soldier orcs, giving them the impression of smaller versions of Maar.
When the transformations were complete, the orcs were gone, replaced by two serpent priests and two hulking serpent warriors.
“There,” Maar addressed Logan and Marseille. “Prove to me that my faithful and the War Wizards are still formidable.”
He stepped back, a pleased smile on his face as the priests and soldiers moved in. The first soldier pulled a huge, orcish greatsword from his back, the blade ugly and serrated and deadly, orange rust caked on the teeth. The second wielded long, sharp-pointed daggers.
“Are you ready for this, Logan?” Marseille asked.
He pulled the axe from the hilt. “Born ready—same as you.”
“Let’s not waste another moment!” shouted Maar as he stepped back and away from the center of the snake-encircled area. “Begin!”
Marseille stayed at Logan’s side as he summed up the battle. The first soldier orc-serpent brandished his greatsword with his top pair of arms, the other soldier wielding twin daggers. There was no doubt they’d be more formidable than the smaller Nagas Logan and his party had already battled.
“Two against one,” Marseille said. “We split up and do the best we can.”
“Right,” Logan said. “Even the odds and help each other where we’re able.”
She placed the end of her blade against her finger. Blood appeared on her palm, and she flicked her wrist, tossing the droplets onto Logan’s axe.
“That should give you an advantage,” she said, rubbing more of the blood on the blade of her sword. “A little blood magic to even the odds.”
“I’ll take it,” he said, his eyes focused on the soldier serpent on his right. “Let’s move!”
Right after Logan spoke the words, the serpent warrior on his side lunged forward, raising its greatsword and bringing the weapon down in a killing strike. The monster’s belly was open for a thrust, but the timing wasn’t right. Logan pivoted out of the way, and the warrior’s greatsword smashed into the ground with a deafening clang.
Logan turned, the enemy blade up close and letting him know it was big enough to split him from scalp to groin if he were to let the beast land a strike like that. As the serpent warrior wrested the sword from the ground, Logan took the opportunity to jab it with the axe head’s tip. But the attack did no good—the blow deflected off the monster’s armor-like scales.
This was going to be harder than Logan had hoped. Already he could sense these serpent warriors were more powerful than the others. Over the back of the warrior before him, he watched as Marseille moved out of the way of a whirlwind attack from her warrior, the blades a blur as the serpent attacked with all four arms. Marseille’s lithe, slender figure would work to her advantage in a situation like this.
A horrible pain blasted through Logan, a sharp, singing stab in his upper shoulder. He glanced to see, to his horror, a snake dangling off the upper right of his back, fangs stuck into his flesh. He yanked the serpent off before it had a chance to inject him with its poison, tossing it aside and watching as it slithered into the writhing circle of snakes around the room. He glanced up to see one of the priests, the orc responsible for firing the snake at him, prepare to conjure another.
Another snake whizzed toward Logan, and he moved his head just in time. Once the danger was clear, he angled his wrist and fired a jet of webbing at the priest. The sticky substance covered the priest’s hands and prevented him, for the moment, from summoning more snakes to launch at Logan.
A hiss sounded, and Logan turned on his heels to see the first serpent warrior approaching, daggers ready for a pincer strike. He jumped back as the monster brought the blades down, and its arms entangled, giving Logan a moment to counterattack. He pulled his axe back and brought it toward the serpent warrior in a horizontal strike, aiming for the inner joint of its lower right arm.
The monster’s scale armor was strong, but not strong enough. The axe blade connected and hacked through, ripping the scales and leaving the arm hanging by strands. The serpent warrior let out a raspy cry of pain, and Logan took the opportunity to put distance between him and it.
Logan figured he had a few moments to take advantage of his strike. He turned his attention to the priest, watching as the creature pulled the last bits of webbing from its hands and prepared for another spell. But to Logan’s surprise, it didn’t wave its hands or fire some sort of projectile. Instead, the priest simply locked onto Logan with its gaze, its arms at its side.
“What is this?” Logan asked.
The serpent priest didn’t answer, of course. And as it gazed at Logan, its eyes piercing and red, something stirred in him. At first, he couldn’t quite figure out what it was. The feeling started as a tingling in his belly, a tightness that spread and spread. Then his heart began to beat faster and faster, his hands shaking.
It was fear. It was terror. And it was taking hold of him more and more by the second. His knees shook, and the urge to drop his axe and flee the battle took hold.
But something about it seemed… strange. Never, not once in his life had he ever run from a fight in terror. The feelings coursing through his body were alien, as if they’d been placed there by someone else… something else.
“Logan!” Marseille yelled as she battled the soldier serpent, deftly dodging its swipes with its greatsword and jabbing her weapon at the monster when she could. “The
priest is casting Nightmare Gaze! The fear you feel now… he’s putting it in you! Fight through it!”
Her words, and knowing he was merely in the grips of a spell, gave Logan the strength to push the fear out of his body. He focused, steadying his hands and concentrating on nothing but the priest, imagining what he wanted to do to the foul creature.
Axe in hand, Logan let out a war cry as he rushed toward the lanky, serpent spellcaster. Now the fear was in its eyes, the reds widening as Logan barreled toward it for the killing blow. The priest tried to cast another spell but didn’t get it off in time. Logan brought the axe down and buried the blade into the creature’s forehead, right between its eyes.
The priest stumbled backward, as if unsure of what had just happened. The blade of the axe took on a deep, red glow. As quickly as a finger snap, the snake priest’s head exploded. Chunks of green and red and gray erupted, splattering over the battle arena and covering Logan in yet another spray of dark gore. The priest fell to the ground, the axe landing with a thud.
So, Logan thought as he grabbed the axe. A weapon imbued with blood magic has the same power as a spell. Good to know.
But as he held the axe, he watched as the red glow faded and faded until it was gone, the weapon in his hands looking as standard as ever.
One-shot deal, looks like. Unless I can gain the power to imbue it myself.
“Don’t forget, Logan!” Arachne shouted from the sidelines. “Your weapon can bear my gift!”
Up ahead, the serpent warrior regained its footing and prepared to move in for another strike, the half-severed arm having fallen off, the dagger dropping along with it. The warrior seemed dazed, but ready for a fight. However, its maimed state allowed Logan a moment to do as Arachne had suggested. Marseille kept the other priest busy with a flurry of attacks, preventing it from getting off any spells. But it was only a matter of time before Marielle mis-stepped. Logan needed to move quickly.
He focused on the spider rune, picturing it on the back of his neck. He felt it begin to tingle, the power moving from the tattoo to his shoulders then down his arms then to his hands. It was there, ready to be placed in the blade. The head of the axe glowed silver and yellow, toxic venom dripping from the edge, just as it had when Arachne had first imbued it with her venom.
Logan grinned, ready to do the bloody work.
The serpent warrior rushed toward him, the greatsword held aloft. The creature brought the weapon down, and this time, Logan parried it with his axe, using all the strength he had to push the greatsword aside. It worked, the serpent warrior stumbling, the missing fourth arm throwing off its balance. Logan had an opening and he took it, swiping his axe head across the monster’s belly.
The blow was nothing more than another glancing surface wound, but that was all Logan needed. The venom from the edge of his axe was gone, all put inside the serpent. The monster stood up straight for a moment, as if confused. It began coughing and sputtering, red flecks of blood spraying out of its mouth. It stumbled forward and dropped to its knees, the poison working its way through its body. The coughs became more severe, more blood shooting from its mouth.
The serpent warrior dropped its greatsword, and Logan decided it was time to finish the job. He lifted the massive blade and held it into the air, bringing it down like an executioner. Once it was on the downward arc, the blade fell by its own weight and cleaved neatly through the serpent’s neck. Its head dropped to the ground in a wet plop, the body collapsing to the side seconds after.
Two down, two to go.
“I’m liking what I’m seeing!” Maar said, his hands clasped together. “Finish this, if you can!”
It was exactly what Logan planned to do.
Marseille was still locked in combat with the serpent warrior and the priest, the priest shooting snake after snake in her direction, Marseille using every bit of skill she had to dodge both the snakes and the blows from the warrior. She was holding her own, but she was going to need some help if she was going to survive this fight.
Logan tapped into his Fenrir rune, the tattoo glowing on his forearm. The rage of the wolf rushed through him, and He shifted forms into the wulver’s shape. His body expanded, muscles bulging and bones shifting while fur sprouted all along his skin. Pain knifed through his skull as it elongated into a wolf-like snout, and his gums exploded as needle-pointed teeth replaced his human ones. In moments, the transformation was done, and Logan signaled its completion with an ear-piercing howl.
He sheathed his weapon, knowing he wouldn’t be needing it.
He locked eyes onto the priest as he launched into the air. And as he sailed in an arc toward his target, a thought occurred to him.
Can I tap into two runes at once?
He focused on Arachne’s mark, picturing it glow. And as he did, he felt his fangs tingle, as if something were gathering inside them.
Venom.
Logan landed on the priest, sinking his teeth into its neck and delivering the full quantity of poison. When he’d done the deed, he pushed off the priest and shifted back into his human form. The priest, its neck covered in thick, dark blood, coughed and hacked. Delivering the venom through its neck must’ve done the job faster than it had done on the other serpent priest.
The monster was on the verge of dying of its wounds and the poison, but Logan decided to hurry the job along. He stepped over to it and tore a dagger from its belt. As the priest gasped and choked, Logan raised the dagger into the air and drove it down through the back of the poisoned monster’s neck. The priest dropped onto the ground and was still, more blood pooling around its head.
Logan turned to Marseille, who flashed him a smile that signaled that with the priest gone, she could gain the upper hand. With expert skill, she parried the blows coming from the serpent warrior. When the beast took a moment to catch its breath, Marseille closed her eyes and tapped into her power, zipping in with her blade and dragging it across the warrior’s neck, then into its right eye. The warrior went straight for a moment, then dropped.
It was over. Logan leaned forward and placed his hands on his knees as he caught his breath, nearly every inch of his exposed skin covered in blood. His armor had been destroyed through the wulver’s transformation, and he made a mental note of this. If he were going to shift into the wolf-like form, he’d need to be comfortable with discarding his armor afterward.
The applause of one person filled the air—one Archspirit, to be exact.
“Very, very nice,” Maar said as he made his way toward Marseille and Logan, the applause continuing for a few moments longer as he took in the scene. “I had a feeling you both would prevail. But I have to say, I wasn’t expecting it to happen so quickly.”
He waved his hand, the circle of snakes melting into a black liquid that seeped down through the brick floor. Arachne and Jaleth and the rest of the group hurried to join them.
“You are pleased, lord?” Marseille asked the serpent Archspirit, eagerness in her eyes.
“For the moment, yes. But there will be much more that I’ll expect from you before you truly have my favor.”
“All I ask is for the chance.”
Maar looked around. “This is the place of my power. And a grand place it was. Hundreds of my acolytes would travel to this place, to pay homage to me. The greatest War Wizards bore my rune with pride, and their power was untold.”
Maar snorted and shook his head. “And now look at this place. Barren, rotting. Hells, it’s not even safe from the disgusting taint of orcs.”
“We will restore it to its former glory, lord,” Marseille said, her tone eager. “I’m sure of it.”
“Perhaps. But there’s still more to be done.”
He pointed a finger at Logan. “Do you know what this place was for, War Wizard?”
“It was, is, a fortress.”
“Correct.” He opened his mouth to speak, but before a word came out, he closed it, as if thinking better of what he’d been about to say. “You know what? It’s bette
r if I show you. Come with me.”
He stepped into the center of the room, then gestured to the rest of them.
“Come. Stand here.”
Marseille hurried over without a moment’s hesitation. Logan shared a glance with Arachne, who shrugged in reply.
“If he were going to kill us, I believe he would’ve done it already,” she said.
Maar laughed. “Just because I’m a serpent doesn’t mean that I’m totally duplicitous. It’s merely a way up. Come, paranoid little spider.”
Arachne narrowed her eyes, the rest of the group making their way with Logan to the center of the room. Once they were all there, Maar pressed a stone on his plinth and, with a grinding and a click, the circle in the room began to rise, the ceiling opening above them.
“What do you know of the War Wizards?” he asked as they rose up, toward the top of the room.
“That they were a mighty band of warrior wizards who channeled the power of the Archspirits,” Logan replied. “They were strong when I lived centuries ago, but from what I am now learning, they were almost God-like centuries before then and influenced the entire western world.”
Maar smirked as they rose through the top of the room, emerging in a vast space that seemed to be a huge ballroom. They continued rising, the ceiling opening above them.
“Spoken like a true clueless novice,” he said. “No offense. If you’re really the last War Wizard, you have an excuse to not know any better. What you said is correct. The War Wizards were powerful, so powerful that every kingdom of man and elf sought to court their favor. But the War Wizards pledged loyalty to no kingdom—only the Gods.”
They rose through the roof, the next floor a massive library of oak and leather, dozens of bookshelves there packed with colorful spines.
“The War Wizards were… the glue that held the kingdoms together,” Maar continued. “They were diplomats, advisors, and warriors, who made sure that the kingdoms were in balance. They were deadly, but they were brilliant.”