Rituals Page 21

  The arrows from Fia’s reclaimed horn bow fired as fast as she could keep up, having a profound piercing effect on these gruesome creatures. Fiaria, evading and moving with the agility of the very air, also found herself in control of power she’d never felt before. At times it felt like another presence was guiding her graceful movements and her utterly unforgiving marksmanship.

  Sahja took a deep breath of relief when the first of their reinforcements arrived at their side, helping to push the creatures back into the city streets. Other fronts were adapting to where the demonic forces were spilling into the grasslands and settlements. Watching the living battlefield was absolutely priceless.

  One after another, Sahja’s reclaimed greatsword cleaved through armored monsters like paper complemented by prismatic energies that pulsed through the reclaimed bloodlion. The guardian noticed Fia grin at him. “What?” he asked, kicking a pit brute from his blade. “Your eyes aren’t black,” Fiaria replied, sending an arrow of light through dozens of hellish husks. Sahja couldn’t help but to smile back. “Are you still considered my handler?” he asked. “Always,” Fia answered in kind.

  Trova finished his missions, and he returned to where Enysa and A’mi had taken shelter. A’mi was mixing alchemical munitions for Roju’s supply line while Enysa was icing her nose from where the recoil of a handgun had left its mark. Utterly exhausted, Trova plopped down on a cot.

  A’mi sighed and took less than a pinch of a pink powder. She walked over and forced the powder into Trova’s nostril. The bladedancer sprung up so fast he headbutted A’mi by her own fault. “DAMMIT!” A’mi shouted, rushing to get ice and a cloth. “WHAT THE HELL, WOMAN?” Trova exclaimed. “You can’t go to sleep now.” A’mi hollered, tending to her face. “I was just going to lie down,” Trova declared. “That’s always the first step,” Enysa added in a playful, spiteful way.

  Trova chugged some water and then asked with a sigh, “So, what am I supposed to do around here?” A’mi sat next to Enysa and said, “Well, while this clots, why don’t you take over the lab? Darkdancers know their alchemy, right?” Then the alchemist glanced at Enysa who was visibly restraining herself from laughing at her wounded comrade.

  Trova sighed and went to the tables, reading over what A’mi had been doing. Slyly glancing over her shoulder, A’mi looked for a few more available ingredients. “Am I doing something wrong?” she begrudgingly asked. Trova shrugged and replied, “Not wrong, but not the best.” “You did something wrong?” Enysa remarked with a giggle. “Be nice, Enysa,” the bladedancer said plainly from his station, “and you quit bleeding, so I can go back out there. May as well make use of what you did.”

  Few visually confirmed a stormdrake, but the lightning that filled the sky and struck the ground with divine precision was witnessed by the masses. The magnificent dragons struck the flanks of the demonic horde, leaving charred remains in their wake. The elemental dragons brought a refreshing breeze and rain with them: a storm that began to cover the state, dousing many of the fires plaguing the countryside.

  As the battle in the city continued through the storm, water and blood danced with the movements of combat. The guardians were truly coming into their newfounded strength, serving as a beacon to forces throughout the city. Literally, they’d achieved light-filled auras of their own.

  A group of struggling heroes and soldiers, cornered by a mutated behemoth, watched in awe as the monster was incinerated by a single runic spell of Sahja’s. Some of their other comrades would swear they saw ghostly angelic feathers follow Fiaria into the air, as she leapt onto the head of a siege giant and put three arrows THROUGH its head. In fact, others swore to see such feathers preceding her in other instances.

  After another hour, rain and an occasional boom of thunder were heard. Dema rested from its ordeal while blood with the water trickled through the streets of Kitz. There would always be a unique case of rejoicing, but this would be marked as a unique tragedy among the current war. The population that remained in Kitz at the onset was nearly annihilated with countless dead littering the plains from every side.

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  Refraction

  Y’neros groaned in discomfort as he sat down with the mortality of his body catching up with his lack of necrotic power. Miri’el sat beside him and gave him a hardy pat on his back, spitefully triggering his enormous amount of physical pain.“Okay, girl,” Y’neros grunted, “start with something manageable.”

  The abrupt and guided nature of the girl’s gift was enough to teach her what she needed to know, but she was still curious when an orb of dark energy manifested in her palm. The program was there, but the girl literally woke up into a new reality. Her physical self was still “confirming” these strange things. The expressions she showed now were very subtle. Otherwise, she retained a curious blankness about her. This was at least softened by her naturally kind features.

  “Now, look beyond the dark,” Miri’el stated softly. “Even Dom’rel can’t deny where he came from,” Y’neros scoffed. “Something to add?” Miri’el asked, expecting a reason to smack the man. “She’s not my type,” Y’neros replied. “She’s too skinny.”

  “Are you serious right now?” the angel inquired in disbelief. “Yeah,” Y’neros replied. Miri’el folded her arms and huffed; and as an afterthought, she decided to punch the man in his arm. Y’neros clenched his jaw and forced an immediate outburst. Miri’el refolded her arms and turned her attention back to the hero. “Humorless shrew,” Y’neros uttered in pain.

  The girl focused. Her mind’s eye traveled through the very molecules of the energy in her hand. She began to see the silver linings come and go within the milliseconds of the elemental pulses, soon finding herself confident enough to grab ahold of one of those tethers. The instant she began to unravel the energy her fingertips felt like serrated needles had pierced them.

  Never expecting such a painful sensation, she shouted and held her hand. “This is where a conduit’s conditioning would come in handy,” Y’neros remarked. “Your body would be more adept to physical pain.” The girl curiously examined her hand, not seeing any blood or wounds. “She may be too much of a blank slate, angel,” Y’neros said casually. “She’d need something like the ironskin ritual to be able to handle this process.” “I won’t have any such unholy action,” Miri’el rebuked.

  “Unholy! That’s amusing. What about the ‘shadow’s call?’” Y’neros inquired hintingly. Miri’el paused and looked at Y’neros with a mix of disdain-filled curiosity and frustration. “So, the lot of you really don’t know it all at once,” the former necromancer commented in his own curious manner. Miri’el looked back at the girl first, kindly saying, “Take a break for a bit, dear.” “Or just bugger off,” Y’neros added.

  So the girl gave a respectful acknowledgement to them both and went away. “If you’re lying to me, I’ll personally hand you over to the sort of authorities that even you still fear,” Miri’el stated adeptly. Y’neros smirked. “There’s a native Dema bladedancer that’s gone through every step. Only the nightmare sequence remains. I had a plan for some time to take him alive for such reasons,” he explained confidently. “In fact, you should rest easy, angel. The people you dropped off there are more or less alive because of him.”

  As she thought for a moment, Miri’el bore a hint of helplessness, turning her face away from the man. Y’neros was as savvy and knowledgeable as the devil himself because his fall from the Light had been remarkably similar. This was still a bloody and painful ordeal, but it was also a very ancient “safeguard,” if you will, of Celestial origin. Regardless of what she thought, it would ultimately be above Miri’el’s level.

  “I’m guessing the last of my formal forces have been dead and gone for a bit,” Y’neros said with a slow and ache-filled stretch, “along with plenty of others, I’m sure. I’ll send word for him; he’ll probably get here faster,” he added with a chuckle.

/>   The “shadow’s call” refers to the Celestial, Onyx. With his wife a fallen and dead guardian, Onyx gave his Celestial form in battle long ago. This provided a surge in ethereal phenomenon and a number of elemental aspects to the world, but the dragon called “Melancholy” is most recognized in his creation of the darkdancers.

  His empathy was great towards mankind, knowing quite well the darkness that would plague them in the eons to come. It was once a common thing to find former necromancers as darkdancers; but, over time, the gift of necromancy fell into dark places that offered no return. But no matter how far back you go, the origin of these gifts was “pain” and faith.

  Both gifts were born of shadows that are created when Light and dark interact in the most primitive way, but twists occurred as falls inherently began in these realms of frail balance. Prophecy marks the coming and going of a specific time. This particular one is that of both.

  The warlord’s body, torn apart and mutilated by the flanking hordes, had been found in the aftermath at Kitz. It was a suitable outcome, although far less tangible than some had hoped. Feeling such a wave of disappointment, Trova stood over the bloody remains. “Fuck this city,” he said plainly.

  “Can we burn the place?” exclaimed a dwarven pirate who was a part of the incoming reinforcements. Trova actually liked the idea. “Aye, but let’s hollow her out first,” he replied masterfully. “LOOT FIRST! BURN LATER, LADS! SPREAD THE WORD!” the dwarf shouted. “AAAAAYYYYYEEE!” his cohorts responded, dispersing in various directions.

  Trova fumbled through a desk that had ended up in the center of a city highway, shooing away the spots he was seeing. “Commander?” one of the officers asked curiously. “Does anyone have a piece of paper?” Itching his nose, Trova replied casually, “and a pen?” The other officer took both from his breast pocket and handed the items to him.

  The bladedancer leaned onto the desk, beginning to write an “official” note. He gave his signature and marked it with a legitimate seal of “high command,” handing it to his soldier and saying, “I want you guys to really mess with her.” The officers looked at the note, bearing odd expressions thereafter.

  “This is mean, sir,” one snickered. “Assassination charges?” the other asked. Trova nodded, trying not to laugh. The soldiers shrugged and walked away, flagging down two nearby comrades. Trova glanced back at the mangled corpse of the warlord, contemplating moving the remains outside to rot rather than having it burn in the eventual fire.

  Parties were already going building to building, gutting resources while others followed with fuels and explosives. Trova left the remains where they laid.

  Later, the soldiers approached where A’mi and Enysa were staying, firing several shots into the air outside the bunk. The two girls awoke to the gunfire and shouts of “GET THE TRAITOR!” They didn’t have time to think before the troops, with weapons drawn, stormed the place. The girls screamed as the lot of the masked assault unit shouted, “WHICH OF YOU IS A’MI?”

  Enysa pointed to A’mi without hesitation. One of the soldiers seemed to come from nowhere and placed cuffs on the alchemist. “WHAT THE HELL IS HAPPENING?” A’mi shouted. “I didn’t do anything.” “ASSASSINATION OF A COMMANDING OFFICER,” a soldier yelled intimidatingly. Enysa was physically walled off from “intervening” by a rather large warrior, who was simply leaning towards whichever of the two directions the girl tried to step.

  They took A’mi outside where she was blinded by headlights, putting her on her knees for execution. “WAIT! WAIT A MINUTE, WAIT! THIS IS BULLSHIT!” A’mi pleaded. “You can’t die from that sort of dose, especially someone like him. It’s medically impossible.” The masked soldier, with his pistol drawn, stuttered, “Uh, Uh-uh, ALLERGIC REACTION,” he rebuked before pressing the muzzle to her forehead.

  “SCENE!” Trova shouted. The cuffs were removed, and the shaking alchemist was helped to her feet by chuckling actors. “Now you know the sort of madman you’re dealing with,” the bladedancer joked. “Besides, you guys didn’t get much action.” “We got plenty, you sick bastard,” A’mi replied with tempered malice.

  By the time everyone in Dema had slept at least one night, Kosho returned with a merchant caravan from Asheya. The elemental anomalies had delayed their trek to the point that random bolts of lightning blew off a wheel from each vehicle. Their company engineers felt bullied.

  “At least it looks like we won,” Kosho remarked happily.

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  Surge

  Azal’el and his party were currently on foot, taking note of how the land itself seemed sick. Genri did a double take when he saw a vine sprouting among dried bushes that looked out of place. “Ogg!” he hollered. The warrior came over. “Strike at that vine with your axe,” Genri ordered in a kind way.

  Ogg raised his brow curiously but complied with the request. His axe came down swiftly, and its blade barely lodged into the material. “Shit,” Genri uttered plainly. “A fair portion of Zuhetta’s land has been physically desecrated,” Azal’el stated, “and defenseless. He’s a patient and clever snake.” “Kush’hera would know of this, yes?” Genri inquired of the angel. “Without fail,” Azal’el replied. “She went to turn on her defenses.” “Turn on?” Diisu asked.

  Asheya itself is like an organism--able to quarantine itself from an exterior infection in this sort of case. The azure soil of its mountains was more of a deep purple when the land itself would become “charged.” This was another remnant of Onyx’s Celestial body.

  This massive spot of land rested on a bedrock of otherworldly jet-black diamonds, utterly impossible to mine. Even the terrani elves have yet to achieve more than a flake. The point is, Asheya was considered and created as a counter to such an underworld incursion. It was only recently joined by Shiro through the blood of the phoenix and of the destroyer.

  The initial activation of Asheya would kill every form of mortal life in the 1,400-mile east-to-west span and roughly 600 miles north to south. The power of the upward energy and intense heat would be powerful enough to physically carve a rift between Asheya and the rest of Zuhetta, with the aftermath being an energy-commanded bastion.

  Kush’hera landed upon the ritual platform atop the central mountain, digging her claws into the very rock. The Celestial began to enter a “meditative” state, channeling unthinkable elemental power from the skies and ground. Arcs of lighting and streams of pearlescent nether began ripping through the earth as they formed a pillar that met the very atmosphere of the world.

  The particles were amplified and multiplied as they ran through the jetstone bedrock, creating a shockwave that soared out from the tower. The spectacle ceased the petty wars still occurring there.

  A blinding flash was accompanied by the instantaneous vaporization of four million mortal souls, a gift for some and a curse for many. The Celestial was bathed in lightning and light as she continued carving the very mountains of the borders from top to bottom. Even some of our friends had to run for their lives as the rift slowly grew around Asheya. The very continent shook. Magnificent!

  By the time it was over, Asheya glowed like a great amethyst stone. The awesome powers slowly tampered back, revealing a ravine that appeared to have no bottom, with an expanse that required flight or better to cross. Asheya was now something of an island itself with equal separation from the rest of Zuhetta in every direction.

  Kush’hera, quite pleased with the excitement, exited her meditation and ruffled herself with a fleeting tingle. Charged particles and clouds of dust gently floated down among an eerie hush that followed the event like stars sinking into the created abyss. The energy that Kush’hera immediately retained gave her a rather beautiful sparkle and a temporary radiance that rivaled Raey’s.

  TOO BAD NO ONE WAS THERE TO SEE IT! HAH!

  As Azal’el and his squad brushed themselves off, it suddenly felt as if they were on the clock to make it back around t
o their destination. The dirt beneath their feet cracked as they made haste towards the nearest outpost, which was their best chance to find a suitable ride. It was surreal for the mortals to watch the land itself dying before their eyes and the cataclysms that accompanied it.

  Anri-Vex practically inhaled the necrotic poison that had defiled the states, breathing them out twice as potent. Fresh water would soon be contaminated with unnatural toxins and molds, while the readily available source of corpses served as fertilizer for the encroaching vines. These wastelands would claim the entire northern and eastern coasts of the continent with plenty of space for breaches in the future.

  Most of the demonic presence in the area was truly leaderless at the moment. While they were still bred monsters of blind instinct and rage, they were simply wandering and unorganized. Azal’el knew that advantage wouldn’t last for very long, so it was decided to be particular with engagements and to just “bloody well” run.

  They covered a barren 20-mile trek with a simple throw of an axe here or a fireball there. They were coming into the outpost’s fuel depot with a couple dozen demon corpses in their trail (mostly boring dregs if you must know). There was an armored rescue vehicle that only seemed to have rather large claw marks damaging one of its sides, but there was no damage that was essential to the vehicle itself.

  Azal’el couldn’t drive a mortal vehicle, so he climbed into the back. Diisu got in a jump seat and tightly strapped herself in while Ogg took a passenger seat. Mooroos used the gashes in the back as a shooting blind, and Genri took the wheel.

  They secured spare fuel and were quickly on their way east.

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN