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Chapter 37 Rising arc
🕑 Added 2025-08-06 09:57:13 +0000 UTCPdf and epub versions below. Xathar let out a joyous laugh as they raced past friendly lines, Marcus not sharing in his mount's good mood. A
Pdf and epub versions below.
Xathar let out a joyous laugh as they raced past friendly lines, Marcus not sharing in his mount's good mood. A shield flickered and died, the stone being thrown at a company of his men rolling over them instead of being deflected.
Marcus looked away, knowing there was nothing he could do. Stone wasn’t magical, they weren’t something his shields were good at stopping, and in the end a large chunk of rock traveling at speed was exactly that. A large chunk of rock traveling at speed.
“Glorious,” Xathar bellowed, charging rapidly towards a breach. Imperial soldiers were pushing over the wall, and if they got a foothold the whole line would collapse. His guards were riding with him, but Xathar was much faster than a regular horse. “Glorious, bush mage! This reminds me of home! Home, bush mage! Oh, glorious home.”
He ignored the nearly hysterical horse, which despite sounding five seconds away from going insane, did his job perfectly. Marcus focused on a tier three arcane fireball instead, the sheer heat warping the air, and a shield sprung up to stop the attack.
Marcus let go of his second-to-last defensive matrix, leaving him with just a plain shield, to send out a ripple of magical disruption. The enemy defence flickered, its matrix not weaved tightly enough to sustain sabotage, and fire consumed a dozen souls.
It almost boiled the mud, steam rising in great plumes as Royal Guards closed the breach. Marcus whistled sharply, imprinting a rune of fire into the ground. His guards backed off, this being the fourth time they’d done the maneuver, and for the forth time the Imperials soldiers rushed forth with dogged zeal.
Another dozen souls burned, and this time there was no immediate answer. Marcus left them to it, his guards closing in around him as he got moving again.
It didn’t even take four minutes to get to the next breach. His first front had long since been left behind, a seemingly endless amount of fires springing up and requiring him to stamp them out, and while he wasn’t the only one doing so he was confident in saying he was one of the more efficient.
This time, though, he was late. Half a hundred Imperial troops were pushing over the wall, screaming about glory and blood and duty, and Marcus’ own soldiers were dead or fleeing. The Royal Guard pushed forwards, joined by a party of Knights arriving moments after he himself had, but there were too many.
His warmages were pulled away to defend against a whip of fire, glimmering shields rising up to stop the attack from widening the gap, and all that was left was Marcus. His Life Enhancement soldiers had been sent away a while ago, them being more usefully actually doing something rather than babysitting him, but it did leave him basically alone.
Eight of them. Eight soldiers clad in red and dirtied white, swords and axes and shields in hand. Marcus readied his magic, telekinesis matrices spinning up, and then Xathar just charged.
Marcus swallowed an indignant scream as he was pulled along, wondering if his horse had a death wish, and was reminded Xathar wasn’t actually a horse moments later. Hooves came down with terrifying strength, crushing two soldiers with ease, and the demon threw himself aside a split second later.
The soldier rushing forwards with a spear found it splintering in his hand, the tip drawing a thin line of blood along Xathar’s hide, and the last thing the soldier saw was two horse-eyes gleaming with violence.
Xathar bit down, ripping out the man’s throat, then danced back. The axe missed Marcus by half a foot, and though his experience of fighting mounted was limited he wasn’t that unfamiliar with it either.
His mace crashed against the woman’s shield, wood splintering as she stumbled, and a thin spike of ice entered her neck. She fell, Marcus aiming his left hand to the right as another spike shot forward.
The soldier raised his shield, and couldn't stop much of anything as the telekinetic arm picked him up. Throwing someone took more energy than killing them, and Marcus was rapidly learning stamina mattered in a drawn-out engagement, but just this once he’d make an exception. The soldier screamed as he was flung away, likely to break quite a few bones when he landed.
A small flock of those damned birds descended, screeching loudly, but Marcus only grunted. Aimed his hand at the biggest one, the spike of ice clipping its wings, and the flock retreated when their leader fell. Cowardly things. If only the Empire hadn’t summoned thousands of them.
Their own summons were fighting, killing the birds in droves, but it wasn’t helping morale.
Xathar finished by crushing another soldier under his hooves, and suddenly no one was really all that eager to get close anymore. Marcus’ Royal Guards were closing the breach, cutting through well-trained but relatively fresh Imperial soldiers with brutal efficiency, and the Knights at their side contributed more than their fair share.
Two companies arrived, plugging the gap, and Marcus nodded at their captain. A younger woman, wide-eyed and covered in blood. She nodded back, body moving smoothly despite her shell-shocked look. A Mirranian, and one that seemed to be thriving in war.
His guards reassembled themselves around him, and Marcus set off again. Or he would have, if a summon didn’t appear. One barking out nine words that made his blood run cold.
The Archmage is attacking, we need to stop him.
It had more words, admittedly, such as the fact Elly identified herself beforehand and added a place to meet up, but all that was lost as he froze. Only for a second, the cold swallowing a rising fear, but it was there.
An Archmage. He was going to fight an Archmage.
Fuck it.
He turned to his guards, tone carved from stone. “Go to Duke Helios and assist the nobility’s forces on the third front. Xathar, full speed to front four.”
Xathar took off before anyone could reply, dancing through chaotic battlelines as if he’d been born to it. Demonic horses were not usually this bloodthirsty, Marcus knew. Powerful and untiring and fast, yes, but not whatever Xathar was.
Not that he was complaining here and now.
They raced past thousands of men and women, whole companies moving across the battlefield, and to his belated surprise they were holding their own. The dirt wall was providing good cover, he and Elly had motivated the Empire to employ their mages carefully, and though he would rate the Empire troops above his own, his soldiers were fighting for their home.
It sounded cliche, something written down in his books that failed to convey meaning, but a soul never fought harder than when it protected that which it loved. And while distance would limit the effect, it was easy for the average soldier to see Imperial soldiers burn down their homes.
Kill their livestock, slay those they treasured, take what they have worked years to build. It helped to motivate them when courage and discipline waned.
A thousand stories, a thousand motivations and fears and growing hatred, and he moved past it all. He had his own task, one that required him to fight someone who could turn flesh to stone.
His only saving grace was that the Archmage probably didn’t want him dead. There weren’t any further assassination attempts after the first, and even in battle Marcus wasn’t focused on as anything more than a particularly dangerous mage. No special groups to hunt him down, no personal visits from the Archmage. Just battle.
And Xathar moved on, seeming to all but glide through the chaos and uncaring for Marcus’ thoughts. Some part of him wished the demon was slower, less utterly familiar with moving through a warzone, but only a small part. This was something that needed to happen. Elly and him were the strongest fighters in the Kingdom, and also the only ones who could survive an Archmage.
Potentially. Hopefully. Or we’ll be dead in four seconds and none of this will be my problem anymore.
He banished the gallows' humor as he and Xathar arrived at his wife’s side, Xathar having tracked her almost perfectly. Elly nodded at his arrival, her face calm but body tense, and waved towards the field.
Battle raged there too, but one part of it was clear. The right flank. Only a relatively small party occupied it, though they were too far away for him to get any clear details.
Elly answered his unspoken question after a moment. “The Archmage and his retinue. I’ve identified eight demons, a fire elemental, three Life Enhancement fighters and several other mages. Also a woman who I suspect to be a shapeshifter and a short man who reeks of Life but isn’t using it to augment his body.”
“Type of demons?”
“I’m guessing fighters, assassins and infiltrators, though I only recognize one of them by species. A succubus.”
“Probably brutes and either shapeshifters or felids. Do they kind of look like cats? If so, it's the latter. And if they’re with an Archmage I bet each and every one of them is at the pinnacle of their craft.”
Elly grunted, lifting her bow before dropping it again. He didn’t mock her for it, especially because he wasn’t exactly sure what to do either. Her message had made the Archmage seem like an immediate threat, but apparently the man was just standing there.
She’d probably seen him when he’d first shown up, rightfully assuming he’d attack soon. Which the man clearly hadn’t, and now they were in a vague staring match while two armies tore themself apart around them.
“I’m just going to shoot him,” Elly said, her bow rising again. Life energy collected in her weapon, more than he’d ever felt her use during their spars, and he could swear he heard the wood groan. She let go after a moment, the arrow accelerating so rapidly he lost sight of it, and he glanced at the bolt attached horizontally to her lower back. Elly grunted. “Fuck.”
Marcus focused. “What?”
“The Archmage turned my arrow into… splinters? The projectile looked like it just sort of fell apart, losing all its speed in the process. It got within two dozen feet before he reacted, and a suppressed widening of the eyes seems to suggest he was surprised. It also looked marginally fake, so he might be trained against cold-readers. Either way he’s on the move.”
Marcus peered into the distance, but still nothing. He felt not an ounce of power from the Archmage either, which was terrifying in and of itself. “What’s he doing now?”
“No idea, but his retinue isn’t coming with him. I suggest we counter charge unless we wish to fight him behind our own lines.”
Xathar moved as Marcus lightly spurred him on, Elly keeping pace easily enough on foot. It was enough of an answer, and after a moment they were over the earthen wall. Then over corpses, corpses which Xathar ran over without a single stumble, and the chaos of battle seemed to fall away as they moved.
This was an Archmage. A demigod of indeterminable power, one who Marcus technically owed his life to. Without them the dungeon would have consumed the continent long ago, yet now they invaded his home. Killed his people, burned his lands, and all for a reason he couldn't even begin to guess at.
Archmage Vistus came into view, sharpening as Marcus’ eyes focused. An older man, looking fifty while being seventy, and strong to boot. The Archmage seemed perfectly at ease standing in a battlefield, hands clasped behind his back as flowing robes covered his body, and Marcus weaved his strong-
“Good day, honorable Archmage Vistus,” Xathar bellowed, not slowing his charge for a moment. The Archmage nodded, and with a start Marcus realized the man hadn’t been looking at him at all. The man had been looking at his damned mount. “I regretfully inform you that I have been contracted with the bush mage, and thus must fight against your luminous person. No offense is intended, and I humbly request that you do not come to my Hell to kill me in vengeance.”
Vistus replied with a voice that seemed to come from everywhere, soft but perfectly understandable. “Xathar, it is good to see you are doing well. I take no offence, and promise no retribution. I wish you a glorious battle.”
“A glorious battle!” Xathar agreed, voice turning ecstatic. “Death and blood, bones and corpses!”
What the fuck.
Marcus shook his head, trying to focus as both his mount and the Archmage fell silent. Xathar seemed willing to do his job, so this wasn’t some highly elaborate betrayal, but still. The fuck?
Elly apparently decided Xathar’s familiarity with the Archmage didn’t matter, moving forwards as her sword started to glow green. The Archmage glanced at it, eyebrow raised, and Marcus took that opportunity to link two spatial matrices together.
Space tore in an infinitesimally small line, Marcus straining to keep it steady, and as Xathar moved to encircle the Archmage he aimed it at the man’s head. The attack frayed somewhat as it shot forwards, going from impossibly thin to just very thin, and the man moved aside at the same time Elly struck.
The Archmage actually grunted, the sound more seen than heard, and was suddenly holding a dagger to block Elly’s sword. Marcus’ spatial tear was dodged entirely, slicing through the ground for a good hundred feet before destabilizing, and the man threw a small sphere at him in response.
Xathar moved before Marcus could spur him on, the sphere shaping into a dagger which rebounded off his shields. He glanced at Elly, seeing she was dancing around the man with near impunity, but every time she struck that same dagger was raised to block. The man wasn’t faster, certainly not as fast as her, and yet seemed to have very little trouble defending himself.
The dagger was sporting several deep grooves, but the Archmage seemed unworried. Marcus grunted, leaning to the side as his own dagger reversed direction. Not telekinesis, it didn’t feel like that, but it certainly moved as if it was grasped by an invisible arm.
Marcus focused, creating another small tear when it got close enough. The dagger skipped to the side, dodging, but with a grunt Marcus adjusted his attack. The weapon was sliced in two, falling to the ground with a soft thump.
He took a long second to melt it to slag, just to be sure.
Another attack was weaved, space thinning until he was essentially controlling an extraordinarily sharp sword, and as he sent it to cut off the Archmages’ head again, the man tsked.
“I am aware my moral standing is currently quite low,” Vistus said, destabilizing the spatial tear with a glance. “However, I would appreciate it if my relative kindness to your land and people would be reciprocated with a proper duel, where we test each other's limits before moving to kill.”
Elly thrust her sword at his heart, the green glow intensifying, and this time the man didn’t block. Didn’t do much of anything as the sword sliced through his defenses, shield after shield snapping under the power of her sword, and moments before it met flesh the metal froze.
Temporal energy flowed from the man’s finger, which Marcus ignored in favor of pulling the man’s physical structure apart. Space strained as the man’s flesh resisted, and after a moment the attack glanced to the side.
Deflected. Somehow.
Elly was thrown back, Xathar made a distressed noise as a thin pillar of metal speared him through the head, and Marcus looked down. Grass had been turned to steel, perfectly timed to let his mount's weight do all the work.
He threw himself off Xathar with a mostly smooth roll, landing hard but managing to get to his feet. Xathar vanished back to his Hell as the Archmage dusted off his robe, sighing. “Very well, then.”
Marcus threw himself back, only barely getting out of range as the Archmage detonated an explosion of something. The air felt heavy, but another spatial tear sliced through it easily enough.
It was grasped with a will far more refined than his own, but there the man seemed to have made a mistake. Marcus let go of the matrices, leaving the Archmage with a raw spatial working to wield. It was let go after a split-second, but Marcus still heard the man groan. Elly didn’t care, rushing forwards through the air.
She slowed, noticeably so, and was thrown aside with a careless flick of the Archmage’s hand. The man turned to Marcus fully, a trickle of blood running down the Archmage’s nose.
“Clever,” the man said, not bothering to wipe away the blood. “Allow me to show you a trick of my own.”
Marcus felt himself be pulled to the side before he could even fully interpret the words, Elly’s harsh breathing echoing in his ears. He looked back, finding the space he’d occupied gone. Just, gone. An implosion of air detonated as it rushed to fill the vacuum, a perfect circle of dirt and grass gone alongside it.
His other senses told him what his eyes struggled to comprehend. Transmutation, but aborted halfway through. The shaping of matter interrupted halfway, dissolving into pure energy which vanished the moment it was created.
Destruction. Destruction in one of the purest forms Marcus had ever seen. He looked back at the Archmage, and suddenly the man wasn’t protected by four overlapping shields at all. Instead a thousand small scales layered outwards, rotating around the man and covering every angle.
Marcus himself could split his shield into four, allowing the sections to rotate independently, but this… He shook his head, snapping a spatial distortion around himself as the Archmage whipped a potion bottle at them.
Two ‘higher’ attacks was all he’d managed to ‘master’, both words meaning so very little at all. But two he’d practised, drilled over and over and over until they were reflex more than action. The first was his spatial sword, as Elly had dubbed it. A tear in space so thin it sliced through everything in its path.
It was a work in progress. But as the potion veered off-course, impacting a patch of grass four dozen feet to the side, his spatial shield proved reliable. Survival, as the School of Life had taught him, mattered more than anything. And if the enemy couldn't hit you, survival became guaranteed.
The potion did start to rapidly melt away into the ground, giving rise to a truly corrosive smog Elly rapidly moved them away from, but still. His defence worked.
The Archmage dusted off his robes, nodding to himself. “Commendable. Your reinforcements are here and my Legions have been bloodied enough. Until we meet again, and do give Xathar my regards.”
Elly’s hand flickered to the bolt on her back, covered in cloth Marcus had spent hours sewing runes into, but he shook his head. The Archmage had already turned his back, Elly relaxed, and between one step and the next the Archmage accelerated rapidly.
Only in a straight line, he noted.
Marcus turned back to the battle, Barry’s Demon Knight coming into view surrounded by a hundred corpses, and he sighed as a clap of thunder heralded Gretched’s wrath.
He turned to Elly as he caught his breath, noting with a faintly distressful grunt that his magic was running low. Very low. “So how did you enjoy your first brush with Proper Magic?”
“I’m going to put my sword through his skull and smile as the light drains from his eyes.”
Marcus nodded. “Yeah, I agree. We’re fucked.”
“General Pator says that the Empire is retreating,” someone said, Marcus turning to find a summon looking back at him. “General Pator says that the Empire is retreating. I want a four-leaf clover.”
Elly stared at the dog-sized rabbit and started laughing, which sounded more terrified than joyous, and Marcus patted the enormous rabbit. It preened under the attention, and he decided his own mental breakdown could wait until hers was done.
Afterword
Discord (two chapters ahead)
Author note: Create embedded link for this.
Comments
Beeees!
Yaaaaa, archamges not peeps to fuck with overmuch it seems. I guess to the Archmage this just seemed like a good way to get his troops experience and test the new mage king in battle?? Poor Marcus, just a plaything to the powerful... for now
