McNeil’s blade arced in powerful spinning swipes, a blur of motion that danced around his green-armored body as he hacked his way through demon after demon. The Skirlack had thought this cheap tactic of theirs would catch his army off guard, but they were the Imperial force of Karminia, and they were never off guard.
McNeil was grace and poise given form as he gave himself over to the dance of combat. It had been too long since he had engaged in a major battle such as this. With every singing swing of his folded, curved steel, the emperor proved why it was he who deserved to lead these men, why it was he who had earned the throne his brother had squandered.
He focused solely on those enemies advancing upon him from the front, caring not a whisper for those behind. Belladon was watching his back, and he had almost as much confidence in her abilities as he did his own. He could hear her descending into battle, the sound of her broadsword slicing the air, carving through rubbery demon flesh, and the sound of those bulky, red bodies hitting the ground, never to move again. She was a true force of nature, and he was lucky to have her loyalty.
Then there was Baus. He fought off to the side, a large battle-axe easily held aloft in each hand. He was brute strength personified, using his girth and reach to power through his opponents. But there were no cumbersome or sloppy movements. Baus struck with the precision of a practiced surgeon, severing arteries, bludgeoning nerve clusters, and snapping joints in just the right way so as to disable an opponent with one blow. Baus knew every centimeter of the human body, but their opponents were not human.
McNeil had wondered if demon physiology differed much from that of humankind. The amount of success Baus seemed to be enjoying told the emperor that perhaps humans and Skirlack had something in common after all. The tide of battle was swinging their way. An experienced warrior such as McNeil could sense it in the air. Then, his attention was drawn to the city as a flash of red electricity lit the night sky.
It seems as though the Dragon-Lord has made his move, he thought, carving through three more Skirlack warriors with a satisfied smile upon his face. Then, the light from the full moon that shone across the battlefield vanished. McNeil tore his gaze to the sky and cursed behind a snarl as he leapt back and away from an advancing Skirlack soldier. The sky was filled with Aleksandryan airships, creeping through the heavens toward the battle.
There were four massive vessels leading the charge and nearly a dozen smaller ships roughly the size of the one created from the inventor’s plans. As the first dreadnought reached the outskirts of the conflict, large doors opened along its underside. From this new opening, there came projectiles like steel arrows twice the size of a man. As they fell amongst his soldiers, they exploded in a flash of green, incinerating Imperial and demon alike. The remaining dreadnoughts moved into position, their underbellies opening much the same, and from them all, there fell steel-encased death that tore through the battle indiscriminately, rending Skirlack and Karminian flesh and bone to ashes.
McNeil cursed and fell back, driving his remaining opponents away with an intricate flail of defensive swipes. Belladon was at his back.
“Your Excellency, it has begun.”
“Indeed,” McNeil hissed back.
“What is keeping our reinforcements?”
“Perhaps they finally have decided to betray us.” As soon as the bitter thought left McNeil’s lips, a green burst exploded against the hull of the lead vessel. The ship lurched to the side as The Heart of Casid came into view, launching similar projectiles from its bow. It was flanked by nearly twenty airships of Grassan, which all opened fire from a series of cannons that channeled the magic of the mage crew members within.
McNeil smiled. Everything was going according to plan. Now, the Dragon-Lord had to live up to his end.
“Three approaching from the port side,” Mitchell called out, throwing a variety of switches along the central console.
“I see them,” Michael replied, jerking one of the tall levers to his left. The ship veered off to the right, giving the port side gunners an unmissable target in the form of four Aleksandryan warships. The Mage Smiths who made up the bulk of The Heart of Casid’s crew took aim and fired as if of one mind, pumping their magical energy into the new guns Mitchell had seen retrofitted into the vessel’s armory. Michael had been proud of his brother and his willingness to allow what he referred to as “magical nonsense” aboard his ship in the name of their mission. He chalked it up to personal growth, and it made him happy.
The Grassani airships spread out along either side of them, flanking their squad leader as they set out to engage the enemy. Michael knew the smaller Aleksandryan ships were not a major threat. It was the four capital dreadnoughts that posed the truest danger. Taking them down would require a concentrated effort, and there would be no dragon to pull their buns out of the fire this time should they fail.
“Oh, wow, I didn’t think this was going to be so…urp!” Deana gagged behind them, latched into the command chair. Michael turned briefly to see the young healer turning a light shade of green at the sudden violent jerking that accompanied such an aerial battle.
“Don’t throw up all over my ship,” Michael called back over his shoulder.
“Your ship?” Mitchell asked incredulously as he threw down another series of switches, which halved the power coming from the engines. Michael responded immediately, throwing the helm sharply to the side, cutting a close turn in order to intercept two more enemy vessels.
“I think the time is right, brother dear, to determine the ownership of this vessel,” Michael replied, completing the complicated maneuver while maintaining his jovial, teasing banter.
“I thought that was already determined.”
The mages opened fire, damaging one of the Aleksandryan ships while shredding through another. Mitchell fired the engines to full power once more, and The Heart of Casid lurched suddenly forward.
“Ohhh, now you’re jerking this thing around just to torture me, aren’t you?” Deana whined, gripping the armrests for stability. Mitchell and Michael laughed together.
“If she vomits in your ship, you’re cleaning it up,” Mitchell said.
Michael gasped. “I think if this ship belongs to anyone, it’s you. I mean, it was your genius that created it.” A shudder of cannon fire exploded against their hull, cutting through their casual jokes with a jolt of real panic. Michael examined the various gages on his console and saw that all was still functioning as normal. Still, they needed to focus up. This vessel could take a pounding, but it was not invincible.
Michael looked over at Mitchell, who sat pale and serious. The brothers nodded to one another, years of familial companionship forming words from their eyes.
“Hang on, Deana,” Michael said, a tense edge tightening his tone. “Things are about to get hectic.” Four hands expertly pounded along the intricate controls, and The Heart of Casid plunged into the fire.
Valentean’s world was a flame-soaked storm cloud of chaotic rage. He squared off against one of the Skirlack behemoths, leaping up to slam one fiery fist into its strong sternum. He was satisfied when he felt it crack. The monster stumbled back, tripping over its own legs as it collapsed with a ground-shuddering smash. In the seconds it would take for his foe to rise once more, Valentean scanned the battlefield, and he was amazed at what he saw.
His allies fought like true warriors. The chaos of warfare had hardened them from the capable humans he had met into fierce combatants who bounded into the fray, leaving bodies and broken bones in their wake.
Nevick was raw power defined. His mastery over the internal benefits of mana were apparent as his legs, arms, and chest inflated periodically to deal crushing, hammering shots that splintered bone and tore flesh wherever they landed. And then, they would deflate once more when the big man needed to evade or advance with speed. He had honed his rare gift and perfected its use. He was charging at the second behemoth, distracting it until Valentean could dispatch the first.
Nahzarro was a crackling cage of magical might. His whips moved at such speed it was as though he were surrounded by a caging dome of lightning. The Skirlack soldiers were keeping their distance, and the hounds closed around the newly crowned king. However, even their speed and unpredictable angles of attack were no match for the jolting arcs of superheated cord that struck fatal, cauterized gashes along their heads, spines, bellies, and throats.
Then there was Maura. Grace given form. Speed given purpose. She was a tornado of movement, a whirling flash of violence. Her green, glowing blades carved long, bloodless, smoldering lines of death through the flesh of the Skirlack soldiers, who had made her a priority. Despite the fiery rush of chaos hardening his heart and numbing him to much of the positive emotion he had once enjoyed, Valentean could not help but feel a swell of pride at Maura’s progress. She was, after all, his first and only pupil.
Shooting his arms forward, Valentean shot balls of fire at two Skirlack soldiers who had foolishly attempted to advance upon him, while dropping low to sweep the legs out from another that advanced from behind. Before the creature could fully fall, Valentean, illuminated by the burning bodies of its fellows, shot a flaming kick into the demon’s chest. It flew back at the feet of the rising behemoth, the gaping hole in its chest burned shut.
The animus warrior dashed forward, determined to meet this foe head-on. A leaping side kick forced the gargantuan demon to take a stumbling step back. It caught itself by planting one foot behind and swung its massive arms and claws at this incoming threat. Valentean practically danced around its lumbering strikes with ease. He jumped, vaulting off the giant monster’s knee and planted both boot soles in its chest. An explosion of released mana energy threw the combatants away from one another. Valentean landed gingerly on his feet while the Skirlack demon crumpled to the ground in a smoking heap.
“Valentean!” Maura cried out. He turned his attention toward the blond human as she tossed one of her Grassani daggers to him. Valentean caught the foreign weapon in one hand and began to pour the fiery magic of chaos into it. He could feel the various gears and bits of machinery whirling in response to the gathering energy, and soon the blade itself came ablaze.
This moment took him back to the streets of Lazman so many months ago. At that time, he was battling one single Skirlack soldier, the beast that had nearly taken Seraphina from him. Maura had thrown him one of her weapons on that night, and he had used it to carve swaths of hellish vengeance through the creature’s flesh. Now here they were, once more battling the Skirlack on a much grander scale than before. But their tactics remained unchanged. Valentean took a small measure of comfort from that.
He threw Maura’s borrowed instrument at the oncoming behemoth. The flaming blade soared through the space between them like a comet, burying itself in the monster’s broad throat, passing seamlessly through and erupting out the back of its neck. Valentean filled his body with mana and dashed along the once familiar street of his home, flashing past the creature’s collapsing corpse as he caught the triumphant dagger by its handle.
Turning back to the raging battle, Valentean ran toward the behemoth’s death throes. The creature struggled momentarily on its knees, and Valentean leapt up and vaulted off its shoulders, soaring into the clear night air while tossing Maura’s dagger back to her. She spun out from between two Skirlack soldiers, jumped up, and caught the blade by the handle while simultaneously kicking one of the advancing monsters in the face.
Valentean landed and rolled to a stop beside Nahzarro. Slamming his fists into the ground, the animus warrior summoned an explosion of crimson flame that erupted from the street, scorching a pack of Skirlack hounds. Nahzarro continued moving, never stopping for an instant as his educated strands of electric carnage soared around Valentean, striking several quadruped demons who were attempting to flank him.
With the momentary reprieve granted from Nahzarro’s expertly placed offense, Valentean looked off toward Nevick, who continued to struggle as he stood toe to toe with the remaining behemoth. Nevick and the creature were grappling, and the big man’s body was inflating in response to the creature’s strength. Valentean could see two groups of incoming Skirlack soldiers trying to rush Nevick from either side, and fireballs flared to life upon his palms.
Valentean hurled the crackling projectiles at his foes. They struck the ground on either side of Nevick’s struggle against the massive demon, throwing their burly, crimson bulk away, granting Nevick the ability to kick out with one leg and drive the behemoth back. He turned and gave Valentean a short nod of thanks.
“Nevick!” Valentean called out, dashing forward with speed the wind itself would envy. Nevick leapt back away from the behemoth, knowing precisely what Valentean had in mind. It was an idea the young animus had come up with as a potential double team assault should the two of them ever find themselves fighting back to back like this. Valentean leapt straight at Nevick, who caught him at the collar and waist.
The big man’s arms tripled in size as he spun with Valentean before heaving him toward the behemoth with all the force of their momentum behind it. Valentean soared through the air, extending his arms out in front of him. Flames spread along his body as the behemoth grew closer and closer. Mana energy sparked along his extremities, turning the animus warrior into a rocketing flash of red and green. He struck the behemoth in the torso with such speed and strength that he easily tore flesh, melted muscle, and incinerated bone. Valentean ripped out through the monster’s back, flipping forward and landing in a crouch as the beast fell, dead. Flames still covered every centimeter of his body, and as he stood, he momentarily basked in their prickling heat. Then, he pushed the chaos back down, trying to remain alert and at the ready. The flames evaporated as he turned back to the battle. Aurax, however, was waiting for him, standing so close that Valentean was momentarily revolted by this nose-to-nose view of the demon’s hideous red flesh and yellow eyes.
“You think you’re winning, fool,” the cleric hissed through dagger-like teeth, which ground together in annoyance.
“I am.”
“Continue to believe that, Shogai, for while you continue to dawdle here, your father burns.”
“What?”
“You heard me.” Aurax stepped back and away from Valentean, pacing as he spoke, enjoying the twisting knife plunge that his every word tore into The Rosintai’s guts. “Your fool human father is being put to death as we speak. Soon, the kiss of the Goddess will erase him from this world, just one more sacrifice to Her holy rule.”
“Where?” Valentean roared, his eyes exploding with crimson light. The chaos had reached up from the pit in his stomach, which formed as soon as Aurax’s ominous threat had worked its way past the demon’s cracked lips.
“In what was once the central hub of Kackritta. But even you are not fast enough to stop the holy rule of law from being enacted on this night. Your father will burn, and he will die screaming and cursing your name. I hope you reach him in enough time, Shogai, because I want you to watch his flesh blacken. I want you to see his life essence explode in a fountain of blood and ash!”
As flames began to build around Valentean’s fist, Aurax’s face momentarily dematerialized as one of Maura’s ornate daggers exploded through his forehead. It soared over Valentean’s shoulder, embedding itself in the heart of a Skirlack soldier that had been advancing on him in the confusion. Maura jumped through Aurax’s body, bleeding from a gash above her right eye, face smudged with dirt but relatively unscathed.
“Valentean, go!” she shouted over the din of battle. Her selfless statement momentarily drowned out the shrill fury of the chaos, and Valentean hesitated, looking out at the battle. “We have this under control. Now go!”
The animus warrior tried to convey in one stare just what this moment of kindness meant to him. He wanted to speak to his friend, to thank her, to assure her he would be back, but the swirling forces within his heart and mind silenced him, and all Valentean could manage was a short nod. H
e turned his fiery glare to Aurax momentarily. The demon cleric smirked at him, a humorless smile that was gleefully anticipating watching Valentean fail. The white dragon gritted his teeth and leapt into the air, an explosion of fire pushing him into the sky as he rocketed toward his father’s execution site.
Hold on, Father. I’m coming, he thought. But the voice of the chaos had returned louder than before. This time, it spoke in the voice of his father, the very man he was determined to rescue. Only now, the voice was distorted, unnatural, and cruel as it repeated a mantra Valentean had long believed to have been expunged from his life.
“Everything dies, Valentean. No flame can burn forever.”
“Well, alone at last,” Maura said with a smirk, tightening her grip upon the daggers as she looked Aurax up and down. The demon smiled cruelly at her.
“Not quite alone.”
A Skirlack hound leapt at Maura from behind. She dropped to her back, planting both feet in the creature’s belly, vaulting it away. The animal burst through Aurax, momentarily dissolving the cleric like smoke before his body flowed back together. The hound landed and jumped back to its feet, crouching for another attack, but Maura had expertly placed it in the path of Nahzarro’s whips that exploded down through the creature’s spine, snuffing out its life.
As Nahzarro and Nevick continued to battle the thinning horde, Maura caught her breath and flashed a mocking grin at Aurax.
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