But the soothing melody from her lute plucked those claws out and threw them back.
The creature reeled as if struck, its feminine face confused, probably wondering why its mental assault had not worked.
It would not have long to wonder why.
Cenric ran forward, his swerdan appearing in his hands as he lit the blades up with his magic. Fedor had seemed to do a little bit of damage to the creature if the cracked parts of the water like skirt it wore around it were any indication, but Cenric would not let himself be out done.
He would take his own pile of flesh from the creature for daring to use his own memories against him.
Fedor slammed his hand onto the ground, using his transfiguration prowess to mimic an earth elemental magic user’s technique, spikes lancing out to impale it. The lusus was no fool however, seeming to be more intelligent than its brethren as it slithered out of the way, moving in the air much like how a serpent would on land.
It didn’t seem to count on Cenric using the spike as a spring board to launch into the air and slash across its chest with his twin axes, the heat cauterizing the wound but also causing the creature immense pain. It howled as it recoiled back, the black ichor that made up the creature’s blood sizzling and bubbling as the wound burned shut.
Cenric fell slightly, before using the slightly cooled axes to cut into the lusus, allowing him to hold firm on it no matter how much it writhed and tried to flee. Flames spread out from his swerdan, causing the beast to claw at his back, trying desperately to tear him off, but he would not back down.
He held firm as he felt its claws dig across his back in desperation, cutting through his armor and digging into him, but he refused to budge, holding on as he pushed more and more of his magic into the flames, fueling them till they spread across it.
The creature opened its mouth, and Cenric could practically feel the vile magic building up in its stretched maw. It let loose a haunting melody and the teen felt his hands loosen and finally go limp as he fell to the ground.
The claws that had previously scraped against his mind as they tried to force him back down memory lane were like nothing to the new attack. Being physically weak, it relied on its mental abilities to strike, and it seemed as if it had put its full force into a last-ditch attack.
Wretched talons dug deep into his mind and he struggled as hard as he could to stay conscious. Yet it seemed inevitable that he would fail, and as he felt his will to resist lessen with every moment, he knew that it was ove-
His ears rung as he screamed, clutching the sides of his head. He could hear nothing. Not the haunting melody, the cackles of his flames, not even his own comrades as he held his hands up to his ears. However, while his ears failed him, his eyes still worked perfectly.
Next to the crumpled form of the lusus was Demora, standing next to its corpse as it bled out onto the ground. Its head, what remained of it, was a crumpled mess that bore no resemblance to the haunting beauty it once held. It seemed that the sounds from her instrument could be made physical, but from what he could tell, it seemed the Lusus wasn’t the only one affected as a small trail of blood left her ears.
Still, he couldn’t help but feel relief as he shakily stood. As he watched the creature slowly disintegrate back into nothingness, he felt a weight lifted off his shoulders.
But as his eyes traveled to Sir Tsarsko and Sir Finguine doing battle with the strange crow man, he knew what he had to do.
He took one last look back at his comrades, seeing them barely standing after Demora’s attack, before he turned his attention back to the remaining enemy and ran towards the fight.
The crow man would feel the tender loving care of his axes for using that creature against him and his teammates.
He swore it.
Chapter Fifteen
Finguine’s swerdan swung, cutting through air as the strange man, Crow, as the knight had taken to calling him in his mind, lurched out of the way. His opponent was odd, not saying a single word as he fought. If anything, it gave him the creeps.
He didn’t have much time to care about how he felt though as Crow lanced out with a kick, using his flexibility to his advantage. Dark flames followed the path of his blow, Finguine feeling them bite into his armor. They didn’t burn, no, they were like the lusus, clawing and hungry for him.
“Umbral elemental.” He muttered underneath his breath, just loud enough for Crow to hear him. “Quite the talented one, aren’t you? Mastering such a difficult element to this degree?”
Finguine thought he saw a glint in the man’s eyes, as if the being before him could feel pride. Perhaps he could, but he did not mention it as he kept on the offensive. Tsarsko moved forward, using his brute strength combined with the runes that enhanced his strength to try and land some truly devastating blows upon the man, eager to break his opponent. The knight was vicious, seeking to kill Crow so he could save his squires, every punch tinged with an edge of desperation.
It amounted to nothing as Crow flipped backwards several times, avoiding the bite of Finguine’s scythe as well as Tsarsko’s powerful punches, before kicking several times. Balls of darkness traveled outward from each kick, one slamming straight into Tsarsko chest, sending him rolling backwards as he clutched his chest. Finguine’s eyes widened in alarm as the mithril armor that the knights so prided themselves was extremely damaged where his comrade was hit. A slight bit of blood dribbled down the Knight’s lip as he kneeled on the ground, deep breaths rushing from his lungs.
“Tsars-“ He yelled out, only to be silenced as Crow went on the offensive again. He stomped his foot on the ground, using the dark flames to propel himself forward and slam a foot atop Finguine. The knight blocked it with the hilt of his scythe, before thrusting backwards and rapidly spinning the blade. Crow narrowly dodged most of the assault, but he was nicked a couple times by it, several small droplets of blood running down the ragged cloak he wore.
Finguine used controlled bursts of magic to maneuver around Crow, attempting to get one good strike in. That was all it would take, one good strike and the man would be lying on the ground, bleeding out as his limbs were sheered from him.
But his opponent was no fool. He kicked out several times, more balls of umbral magic flying out, forcing him to move out of the way and get in close, or else be stuck dodging them. He slashed downward, intending to rope the scythe underneath his arm and yank upward on it, cleaving the limb from the man.
An upward kick dissuaded him from that tactic, and he was forced back onto the ground. All he could do was guard, his Swerdan not suited to this fighting style. He used a silent propelium to force Crow back and try and cut into him, but to no avail as he quickly teleported a few meters away using that portal of his.
Frustration coursed through his veins. The man was not amazingly strong, but strong enough to stall. And that’s all he’d need to do with that Mnemosiren on the other side of the barrier, ready to tear into the squires. Once it was done with them, it would most likely aid the man who teleported it in, and then they it would be a foregone conclusion to what would happen next.
They would lose, and Finguine refused to even accept that as a possibility.
Tsarsko snarled out as he slammed a fist onto the ground. The earth cratered underneath the blow, causing the Crow to sway slightly, but it did nothing as the opponent watched with what Finguine would call curiosity. Finguine glanced back at his comrade, the man ripping the damaged mithril armor off his chest, the liquid-like metal not repairing itself, and revealing the runic tattoos that ran along his body. Etched all over his arms and chest were dozens of runes, cut deep into his very flesh so they would not fade with age. “Thinking you can come here and attack me and my squires. Kill those under my charge.” The smile that crossed his face was not one of happiness, but rather, that of a predator. “I’m gonna rip you to pieces.”
Each and every tattoo glowed a bright red, a hellish crimson like the knight’s eyes. It took a lot of magic to keep his strengt
h enhancing technique going.
They would have to make the battle quick.
They both rushed forward, the edge of Finguine’s scythe glinting in the moonlight as he sliced and diced, as Crow tried to avoid the cutting edge of his blade. The propelium spell allowed him to go incredibly fast, and try as he might, even the umbral magic user could not avoid every strike. Small trickles of blood poured down his form, but it seemed to inconvenience him little.
He didn’t even attempt to dodge Tsarsko’s strikes. They were as quick as they were brutal. The earth shattered underneath each strike from the sheer pressure, sending the assailant back with each missed blow as he tried in desperation to dodge. Crow used his umbral magic to propel himself backwards and put himself at range with his opponents.
He held his arms out, conjuring up a truly massive number of dark tendrils that formed into umbral blades, suturing the surrounding area with them. They hung above them like birds of prey, eager to tear out their own pound of flesh.
Finguine eyed the area nervously. The propelium spell was draining, and the frequency of the usage to go as fast as he did had left his core aching. Tsarsko looked little better, but the man barely showed it as he simply grit his teeth and bared it, sweat pouring down his form.
Their opponent seemed little better though, as he would only go through with this attack if he was desperate, or else he would have simply begun the fight with it and demolished them.
“It’s down to this it seems.” He glanced towards his comrade with a wry smile on his face, despite the exhaustion running through him. “You ready Tsarsko?”
“What kind of question is that?” He slammed his fists together, a tired grin plastered across his face. “Of course I am.”
Crow stopped twirling and slammed his right leg onto the ground.
The swords descended.
Finguine was like a blur, his swerdan slicing through ethereal blade after ethereal blade, keeping his friend from feeling their sting. He tired, his core aching as he pushed himself to his limits, his body straining from the sheer force he was exerting on it to move as quickly as he could.
But he could not let up.
He would not let up.
Not when Tsarsko’s life was on the line. Not when the last remaining friend he had was in danger. He had known the man for most of his life and wouldn’t let him fall to some freak who hid his face behind a mask.
Beads of sweat dripped down his face as he blocked each and every blow. Tsarsko seemed no better, but the man’s face was hard with determination. He too had something to protect. Finguine knew that, while he may have been hard on his Squires, that was because he cared about them. He saw them as his own children, something worthy of protecting, and wanted them prepared for the difficulties they would face, and be able to face them head first.
And Finguine knew without a doubt, that Tsarsko would not let them die.
Scythe and empowered fists met each blade, matching their power and dissipating them back into the umbral magic that made up their form. They seemed countless, a never-ending assault upon them as Crow continued to spawn more and more, the man’s frame shaking as the signs of magical exhaustion began to show themselves.
After what seemed to be an eternity, it finally ended.
Finguine fell to his knees, heavy rivulets of sweat pouring across his face. His core burned like the sun, harsh and unyielding in its heat. Tsarsko stood tall, but the slight wobble in his knees gave away his condition. Even someone as strong as him couldn’t hide the pain his core was going through.
Across from them stood Crow, still as silent and defiant as ever. He could hear the wheezing of the man through his mask, low pitched as it filtered through the crow-like protrusion. His form shook with every inhale, his back hunched as if he were to fall over at any moment.
A whistling sound filled the air.
Finguine turned, wide eyed as one last umbral blade sailed toward them from behind. He couldn’t dodge, too exhausted to even move as the blade grew ever closer, the umbral magic seeking to destroy him. But it would be denied its desire, as Tsarsko grabbed the blade by the hilt and threw it like a javelin back towards Crow.
It was so quick, so sudden, that the man had little time to react before it tore through his chest like a knife through butter. Flesh parted as Crow toppled to the ground, his body stilling in surprise as he fell, before the pain filled him.
His breath shuddered, no screams escaping his mouth as he laid still on the ground. He would have to be in incredible pain from that wound.
A moment later, Finguine nearly collapsed completely as he was temporarily deafened, the ringing in his ears completely overwhelming his senses. He barely kept himself from clutching the sides of his head in pain, if only to keep a hand on his swerdan in case Crow had any more tricks up his sleeve, but he sorely wished he could as it took a few moments for his hearing to return even slightly.
He looked towards the source, spotting the crumpled form of the Mnemosiren, its head completely pulped by the young woman’s swerdan. A sound based one, a rarity if he ever had seen one, but deadly in the right hands.
Her hands seemed to be the right ones for it.
Though, it didn’t seem to be without side effects as he could see the trail of blood leaking out of her ears. Her eardrums must have burst, being so close to the source of the sound. Though, after seeing what the attack did to the Lusus, that was a small price to pay for such a devastating blow.
Finguine glanced at his friend, and saw his body slack slightly with relief. He even saw a bit of pride in the man’s red eyes, proud that his squires had managed to defeat a mid-tier Lusus and come out of it relatively unscathed.
Full blown knights had fallen before the creatures, not noticing as they were locked inside their own mind as the Lusus readied itself to devour them. That the squires had managed to escape from its mental imprisonment, while not unheard of, was extraordinary in itself.
He saw the Proudhill boy run towards them, swerdan in hand. He was angry, as it usually seemed, but with a look of determination on his face, as if he wouldn’t be dissuaded from his course of action.
The sound of a portal opening wrenched his attention away from the squire. Crow had opened a portal beneath himself, slowly sinking into the ground as the umbral magic carried his wretched form away. Finguine made to move, but found his legs giving out on him, his body having strained itself to its limits during his opponent’s final salvo.
A blur ran past him.
“No!” Tsarsko cried out in desperation as he ran forward. He was slowed by his exhaustion, not able to catch up to the squire as Cenric darted forward. “Cenric get back here!”
Cenric seemed to ignore Tsarsko as he charged forward and lunged onto Crow, raising his axes high as he plunged into the portal after the man. The umbral magic swallowed the both of them, leaving Tsarsko to fall to his knees as his squire disappeared before his very eyes.
Chapter Sixteen
Craeft grunted as his swerdan clashed against Damir’s blade. He forced the man back before taking another swipe but Damir avoided it. It was a game of cat and mouse, and Craeft figured himself the mouse. No matter how much he tried, he knew all he could do was stall as the man slowly fought his way through his defenses, piece by piece.
It was only a matter of time till he fell apart completely.
“Is this all I can expect from a squire?” Damir taunted as he slashed downward with his sword, Craeft blocking the blow, but not blocking the headbutt that followed. The squire stumbled back, before groggily leaning back to avoid the blow. “Pathetic.”
“Shut up!” Craeft yelled back. He couldn’t keep this up for much longer, and would have to resort to his icy armor soon. Something he didn’t want to do, as it would use up a lot of his magic, leaving him exposed once he inevitably failed. “Someone like you, can’t call others that word!”
Damir grimaced as Craeft slashed downward with his blade. The sheer weight of his swerdan against h
is opponent’s blade was starting to cause cracks in Damir’s weapon, something Craeft noticed. And certainly something he’d take advantage of.
He slammed his swerdan into Damir’s sword again and again, the runes along it starting to crackle with magical power as the magic stored inside them was beginning to be released in ways it was never meant to. With one final heave of his longsword, the blade broke apart in a blinding flash of light, a small explosion sending the two of them back.
Craeft’s back slammed into the stone wall. His armor protecting him from the impact, but not protecting the back of his head from hitting the wall. His vision blurred as he stood shakily, bending over for just a moment to pick up his swerdan, before he gazed back at his opponent.
Damir held a shattered piece of the blade in his right hand, holding it as if it were a precious jewel. He returned his attention to Craeft, and something stirred within Damir’s eyes. Like a monstrous piece of himself that had been chained up had suddenly been released, white hot rage burning in his eyes.
The man was a blur. If Craeft thought he was fast before, he was nothing compared to the new beast that Damir had become. Every swipe of his swerdan was dodged, every ice-covered attack did nothing but slow him down as the electricity coursed around his opponent like a mother’s embrace, protecting him from anything Craeft could bring to bear.
He had been right from the start.
He would inevitably fail.
But as his opponent threw himself at Craeft with a ferocity the Squire had never seen, his failure seemed all the more inevitable under the man’s wrath. A dodged blow, a duck underneath Craeft’s blade, was all it took for Damir to lay a hand on his armor.
Every nerve was alighted with burning pain as far too much electricity coursed through them. His muscles clenched and unclenched, Craeft falling to the ground as his legs gave out underneath him. Green eyes looked up at their assailant, the squire’s face stuck in a rictus of pure pain.
Squire Page 16