jmclarke
patreon
Chapter 630: Everything and More
🕑 Added 2023-07-14 23:27:57 +0000 UTCEarlier, an arrow scraped through Alex’s greater force armour, a throbbing line of pain had seared his body, burning flesh on his right side like a fireplace poker had been rammed into it.
Stone fists like cudgels rushed past his ears; Uldar’s statues missed his head by mere inches, any of those blows could have turned it into a red slurry.
Most folk would have fled, screaming.
But Alex was not most folk.
“Come on!” he taunted, dancing around a blow before teleporting through a swarm of arrows. “You stupid bastards, stop trying to hit me and hit me!”
Another fist shot past his face, missing it by breaths; he reached up, grabbing the offending arm, teleporting Uldar’s likeness hundreds of feet away, leaving it upside down on the rain-soaked earth.
He returned to the fight, drawing on more of Hannah’s power, though doing so was becoming harder.
He had never called on it repeatedly before, but, for this battle, it seemed he was calling on it about as often as his heart beat in an hour, pushing himself to the limit, and at times, well beyond it.
He’d been using the Mark each time, squeezing as much as he could from his remaining power, even as he threw his energies against the barrier around the escarpment.
Slowly, he felt the power adapting to the First Apostle’s barrier, finding weaknesses. With time—and the Mark’s help—he knew he could break through it.
But, considering the situation, time was one thing he had very little of.
Things had worsened on the battlefield and they now looked desperate.
Theresa, Vesuvius, Grimloch and Brutus were pushing back, but more Watchers were falling. Some were dead, some grievously wounded.
The four of them had been fighting like demigods, trying to hold back what looked like the end of the world as Uldar’s most devout wielded divinity, blades, and zeal, with abandon. But, as mighty as the strike team was, tearing into the enemy with a ferocity out of legend, they were fighting a gruelling, perhaps even, losing battle.
Grimloch roared in pain as divine flame sprayed over him, heating his armour, drying his skin. His breath wheezed from between blood coated lips, pink froth running down his chin.
Theresa bled from a network of wounds that criss-crossed her body; her teeth were clenched in determination, staining red; life enforcement steeled her, otherwise she would be long dead. But, she fought on, the Twinblade blurring as it carved through all comers. Brutus’ howls ripped the air as a white light lanced into his armour, he returned the favour, severing the offending hand from the wrist of the priest who had cast it.
Vesuvius’ shell had cracked, red trickled from it, the familiar bellowed in pain as much as rage. Tyris held a long blade, swinging it, trying to protect her familiar.
Hogarth and Svenia desperately defended Isolde, bleeding badly, yet staying by her side. Khalik’s forehead bore a jagged wound that ran along his eyebrow, dripping blood into his right eye, threatening to partially blind him. Najyah attacked Uldar’s servants with her talons and beak.
Watcher Hill’s left arm—struck by a heavy mace—hung uselessly from her shoulder.
Every blood-drak was dead.
All hound engeli banished.
And the Heroes’ battle was hardly going any better.
The First Apostle was a Chosen of Uldar with over five centuries of life enforcement flowing through him.
Baelin might have swatted him like a fly.
But, there was no Baelin here to swat anything.
Burning with divine blessings, he’d shattered one of Drestra’s wings, forcing the dragon from the sky. She’d plummeted through the air, picking up momentum, coming close to impalement, but Alex came to her aid, teleporting her away from the ancient Chosen.
Now, with her injured wing held close to her body, she seethed with rage, fighting desperately alongside Thundar, Cedric, Hart and Claygon, trying to bring this monster down.
If they looked battered to anyone observing, it was because they undeniably were; their clothing was slick with their own lifeblood, and if it weren’t for Alex’s teleportation and Cedric’s healing miracles, the Ravener might be celebrating its victory as the Chosen, Sage, Champion and possibly the Fool, lay dead in this secret valley at the hands of the First Apostle and his followers.
Claygon was in an even worse state.
His stone had cracked and was peeling away in clouds of white dust. Metal inlays had been torn apart. Through crevices running along the golem’s chest, Alex watched the glowing light of his core.
He had to get him out of there.
But, as he prepared to teleport him away, Claygon spoke in his mind.
‘Father…stay back!’ he cried. ‘I have…to do this…let me fight! He’s too dangerous for you to go near!’
“But—” Alex started.
A sudden flood of heat came from behind him, warning him, making the young wizard jump to the left and vanish as a double-helix of fire pierced the air where he had been.
“Surrender, Holy Fool,” Izas said, hovering above Alex, surrounded by a nimbus of magic. There was no expression of triumph on his face. No hatred. Just…a look of pity and sadness.
Which sent Alex into a rage.
“We don’t need your pity asshole! Save it for yourself! You want to give us something? Maybe stop trying to kill us!” he reached into his bag, teleporting around Izas then tossing booby trapped potions at him from all angles.
A wall of wind rose around the Third Apostle, crushing the bottles, dispersing the mist.
Alex cursed.
As much as he hated to admit it, this Izas was a very skilled wizard.
“How is it you are still able to teleport, holy Fool?” the old man asked. “Does it involve Hannah Kim?”
“Go to every hell!” Alex teleported behind him, pulling off his cloak and flinging it at the priest’s head, trying to blind him, then vanishing as a gout of fire sprayed from Isaz’s hand, consuming the cloak.
“Uncooperative. Perhaps an example must be made.” The Third Apostle turned his hand toward Alex as the power of flame flared in his palm.
It abruptly changed direction.
And fired.
Before the young wizard could react, flame spiralled into Claygon’s back, dissolving stone, melting metal.
The golem stumbled.
And the First Apostle appeared, driving a fist sheathed in divine power into the pit of his gut.
Stone burst.
A massive hole blew open in Claygon’s trunk.
Alex screamed, teleporting to him, but he was already gone.
The First Apostle was too fast, blasting the golem, launching him at the escarpment, right in the midst of a horde of Uldarite statues. He grabbed at Alex’s shirt.
The young wizard vanished, staying clear of the priest.
“Hmm, troubling,” the First Apostle acknowledged, as he casually defended himself from Hart’s strikes. “This action will draw much of Uldar’s energy through my soul, but…needs must. I here now speak another interdic—”
“Wait!” a high voice cried, the word carrying over the battlefield.
All paused.
All turned.
There, launching himself from a window in the escarpment, was Saint Merzhin.
He was just as Hart and the others had described him. Small. Child-like in features and stature, with the air of someone trying to shoulder a burden that would have buckled most men.
Floating down in a column of light, he cried out with desperation. “Stop fighting! In Uldar’s name, there must be peace!”
Landing lightly, he suddenly stiffened, screaming as crossbow bolts pierced his side, driving the breath from him. He still kept moving, one hand pressed to his side as the other ripped the bolts free, letting his wounds heal.
Holy warriors came through the window after him, divinity cushioning their fall.
“First Apostle! My friends! We must stop this bloodshed!” Merzhin shouted, running past Claygon and the statues of Uldar. He approached the First Apostle. “Every death here is another victory for the Ravener! For evil! We are all Uldar’s children! We must stop this!”
He passed near more statues of Uldar.
“What’re y’doing?” Cedric demanded.
“Get back!” Hart screamed.
“Where’s Carey?” Drestra roared.
“Why isn’t she with you!” Alex shouted.
The First Apostle sighed. “I would have thought that you, of all these Heroes, would have understood, Merzhin. We are all Uldar’s children, yes. But sometimes…elder children must bring their disobedient siblings to heel.”
A statue began to move.
One near the Saint.
“Look out!” Alex yelled, teleporting to the Saint whose holy symbol sang like a choir of voices.
The statue of Uldar clipped the rail thin man, drawing a scream of pain as Alex disappeared with him.
They crashed to the ground a hundred feet away. “Where’s Carey?” Alex grabbed the Saint by the shirt.
Merzhin coughed. “She…she said…she needed her bag…needed something in it…stayed behind…will follow.”
“Needed something from her—” Alex started.
Then his blood turned cold like the coldest of winter days.
“No, no, no—”
He looked up at the escarpment, then he felt it.
That terrible power.
A flash came.
He looked at Claygon, so near the escarpment, trapped by the statues of Uldar.
He reached for him.
Then the world turned to heat and flame.
There came a popping sound and Alex heard no more. Brilliant light burned his eyes. The scent of singed hair reached his nostrils. A jolt consumed the village, the shockwave—barely blunted by the holy stone and barrier of Uldar’s Rise—catapulted him backward.
His ears were suddenly ringing.
The world felt like it was upside down.
The ground shook as though Uldar himself was punishing the land.
And then….nothing.
“No! No! What have you done!” Distant screams and the sound of wailing came through the ringing in his ears.
“Our holy place! Uldar’s home on earth!” someone else screamed.
Though his senses still spun, Alex turned, looking up at Uldar’s Rise.
Shock gripped him deep within his core.
At least a quarter of it was no more, completely incinerated.
It was as though a titanic rock-eater had taken a bite out of the upper part of the stony rise, leaving a boiling, gaping wound of lava in its side.
“The children!” someone screamed in despair.
“They’re in the chambers beneath the escarpment!” someone else shouted. “We have to go to them before the fire spreads!”
“Fire…?” a dazed Alex murmured.
Then he saw it.
The entire village was engulfed in a column of flame, burning hot enough to melt stone.
A terrible truth hit him.
Carey was dead, she couldn’t have survived an explosion like that, no one could…
Not even Claygon.
He felt like he was choking. His chest hurt.
“You…” he forced himself to his feet, his teeth clenching so hard, they could’ve cracked.
The First Apostle was on his feet, but his eyes were fixed on the escarpment, his face looked lifeless.
He stood there, pointing at the ruins of his home.
“You…you…you..” Alex’s voice was barely a whisper.
Rage consumed him, mixing with grief and pain, until all fear fled his mind, replaced by naked hatred, like a hunger that must be fed.
He’d never felt a hate so strong.
Or felt a stronger need to make someone pay. To cause pain like him and the rest of them had caused. To take away what they valued. And not care one bit what the Mark did to him.
Silently, Alex reached deep inside himself, grasping at the dregs of the Traveller’s power, teleporting himself to the First Apostle’s side.
Still in shock, the ancient Hero froze when Alex appeared near his shoulder and seized the arm pointing at the escarpment.
He knew that the First Apostle would resist teleportation, but what if teleporting all of him wasn’t the goal, what if he only wanted to take just a piece of him, something he valued, something he used to bring pain. The young wizard made his decision.
Concentrating all his energy on the man’s arm, he felt the Mark scream in his mind, crushing him with every failure it could muster.
His mind felt like it was being ripped apart from the inside to the top of his skull.
His eyes throbbed.
He felt like he was suffocating.
His head thundered.
Blood dripped from his nose.
But he didn’t care.
With a howl of exertion, Alex dropped his full weight on the First Apostle’s shoulder, twisting the arm at the joint, yanking it like a wishbone, then, he vanished.
With the arm.
And nothing else.
Two howls of anguish pierced the twilight sky.
Alex howled, crashing to the earth on his hands and knees, his body wracked with spasms as his mind exploded. The arm twitched beside his hand. The Mark rampaged through him in a way it never had before. He retched and heaved, vomiting on the ground. His every nerve was ablaze.
But through his suffering, he could dimly hear the First Apostle.
The priest howled in agony. “Why? Why? Why?” Was all he kept saying, repeating the single word over and over as blood spurted, washing his side and the ground below him red from the raw wound that spurted at his shoulder. “How can I chann—Argh!”
Hart slashed at him, hitting him across the back, preventing him from stemming the blood flow with divinities as he barely managed to roll with the blow, stopping himself from being skewered.
Cedric stormed in, smashing the elder Chosen across the face with his greathammer.
“You killed my friend, ya piecea shit!” Thundar’s crossbow bolt pierced the First Apostle’s leg.
Drestra’s claw tore at the man’s other arm.
Now, he was the one fighting for his life.
“Fool! You are no Hero! You and your ilk were a mistake! Look at how you’ve destroyed this most sacred place and harmed our holiest of leaders, no other in Thameland can match him!” Izas screamed. Alex suddenly felt his presence close to him, channelling that fire.
And there was nothing he could do.
“Alex!” Theresa screamed in the distance.
“I love…” the young wizard murmured.
The Mark raged through his mind, pinning him to the ground.
Isaz’s lance of flame came down.
Then Alex was gone.
Embraced in warmth.
Tingling arms held him.
“I have you, Alex,” a gentle, posh voice said.
“What?” he stammered. “It’s impossible.”
He looked up, eyes resting on a figure of light. A figure who wore the hazy remnants of a familiar face.
Carey London smiled down at him. “Only one of us dying today, or that’d make my sacrifice ever so pointless, wouldn’t it? I don’t have much time, so we have to work quickly. Merzhin will help us.”
“Mer-Merzhin?” Alex stammered, looking at the battlefield where the Saint was rising to his feet. “But he—”
“Have a little faith,” she patted his shoulder.
“Yours is the folly of man! You have grown away from Uldar,” the Saint’s voice spread over the battlefield.
“What are you doing?” Izas demanded.
“You all have!” Tears poured down Merzhin’s face as his eyes hardened, watching Izas with utter rage. “You claim that the First Apostle was the holiest man in Thameland. That is wrong!”
His voice echoed with the wrath of a god.
“He himself said that I am closer to Uldar! I am Uldar’s living Saint!” he shouted. “And though I am not as skilled with his divinity as you, I don’t need skill for what I must do! Just strength and authority! With the authority placed in me, by holy Uldar, I revoke this interdiction! Let my will be heard!”
There was a wave of power that swept through the valley.
“No!” the First Apostle shouted.
Alex felt it.
Magic returned.
Priests were caught off-guard when the Generasians and Heroes struck like cobras, burying them in an avalanche of spells. The aeld staff screamed with joy, strapped on Alex’s back.
Izas howled, “You blasphemers! Holy Saint, none have betrayed Uldar so thoroughly since the General’s Folly! You—”
“Be…quiet!” a gravelly voice said.
The war-spear that was once Zonon-In’s, shot from the flame burning over the village.
The blade flew, severing Izas’ arm.
The priest called out for Uldar, but he didn’t seem to answer as the arm catapulted through the air.
“Now…you match…your master…” The voice boomed from the fire.
Clanking sounds grew louder. Something immense was approaching.
‘It….it can’t be,’ Alex thought. ‘Is it…is that you Claygon?’
“I have…returned father…” The voice reverberated through the flames. “I was…born from clay through a dungeon core’s power…”
A four-armed silhouette appeared in the column of flame.
“Through…a Ravener-spawn’s power…my clay hardened to stone…”
Fire-gems burned in the silhouette’s head and hands.
“And now…through a dungeon core’s flame…stone is tempered.”
Claygon emerged from the fire.
Light reflected off his body.
A body that was now all iron.
###
Author's Note
Hello twenty-four cool fools, almighty chosen, wise sages, and mighty champions! Thank you for your support!
And here's the follow up. So, the secondary twist with Carey. Let me just say that if you'd known how much I loved the 1982 film Conan, you might have predicted what happened with her in this chapter.
That's all I'll say. But some of you DID guess right and quite close!
Also, I am so excited for something coming up. I can't say anything now, but you'll understand in about three or four chapters.
Oh boy, will you ever understand.
Cya tomorrow!
Comments
Jeremy
This chapter is fucking awesome!!! I want 20 more right now!?!!
shaun
Freaking awesome!!!
