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Book 3, Chapter 14: Deathflare Blast
🕑 Added 2018-04-25 12:28:02 +0000 UTCNecromancer and Co., Book 3: The Underearth
Chapter 14: Deathflare Blast
[Sam]
Sam ran across the halls, following just behind Adam and Lynn. He pulled on the magic in his body, and with ease, he manipulated it, melding the magic into his muscles—strengthening them to keep up with Adam and Lynn. They rushed forward, Alen’s words in mind. He was handling something with that other party member apparently, and Sam silently congratulated him in his head.
Now all they had to do was get out of here. His mana thrummed within the container that was his body, cycling all around it unlike Alen’s magic, which felt like a calm, bottomless sea, or Adam’s, who felt like an inflating balloon constantly threatening to burst out at the slightest agitation.
His was a river—moving and cycling, changing and improving him with every loop. At the same time, it was also dough, a soft form ready to be molded into anything he wished. Sam let the magic flow out of his pores and reached out. His mana snaked through the maze of corridors and passages, scanning for any threats. It was a lot easier to focus when the search area wasn’t so big. He silently thanked himself for making Mana Sense in his head.
“You’re welcome, Sam,” he replied, nodding.
Adam looked back at him. “What?”
“Turn a left my dude,” Sam said, ignoring his question. “We’re getting close.”
“How about Dieter and the others?” Lynn asked.
“We’re like, really far ahead. I don’t sense them in my range,” he said. “Let’s wait before we enter the room or something. I don’t want to get collapsed on by these guys, know what I’m saying?”
“No,” Adam said. “Not at all.”
Sam shrugged. As he ran, he traced his hand along the walls. Dusty, he winced, carelessly wiping the dirt on his new cultist robes. They were nice. With the color, it didn’t stain easily. He was never wearing white again. Ever. Not after that grape-juice incident. He shuddered, pulling his rolled-up sleeves down over his arms. He directed the group to move around another corner, cutting across what looked like a mess hall to enter another set of hallways.
They rushed through, and he raised his hand. “Stop!”
His two party mates stopped and gave him a look.
“Okay so like,” he started, “we’re reaaally close to the room where they kill babies and slash goats’ throats. Let’s wait here for the others. I don’t want to like, get killed by some OP dude as soon as we go in there.”
“Fair enough,” Adam shrugged, the magic around his body wearing off. Sam noticed how the pressure seemed to build again, waiting to be released. Looked like Adam really wanted a burst-y build. His next spell is bound to be much stronger than normal, Sam noted. Makes the magic that follows a bit weaker though. He should make like, a dam or something. To keep the pressure from going past a certain threshold. He paused. A dam. Adam. Hah.
He looked at Lynn an examined her. Immediately, he felt his Mana Sense recoil. As soon as it had entered a general area around her, the magic he sent out was drained—absorbed. She looked at him. She knew.
Sam shrugged at her. “What’s up with your magic system, Lynn? Your magic keeps eating mine.”
“I’m a tree,” she simply said, nodding once.
“That line will now be forever attributed to you,” said Adam. He smirked at her.
“I’m not pretty like butterfly-boy admittedly,” she said, shaking her head disappointedly. “I’m just a plain ‘ol tree.”
“Excuse me,” Adam said. “My magic’s literally me edging myself until I decide to let it out. Don’t you dare compare it to something as nice as a butterfly.”
“You’re right,” Lynn nodded. “Horsefly, then.”
Adam glared.
Sam grinned at the sight. Lynn had been around them long enough that she assumed every word she didn’t recognize was about something vulgar. The first time Alen had used the word gesticulation around her? Hilarious. Sam conjured some ice in his hands and tossed it into his mouth, a habit he had formed. His ice was tasty as all hell, and crunching on it was just so satisfying. Just for sure, he conjured another and ate it, wiping his wet hands on his robes.
“Where are all of you? We’re close,” a voice said, in his head. Sam identified it as the lizard dude that Alen talked to a lot about the chosen stuff. It was cool. He’d have been down to be a chosen too if a cult wasn’t after them.
“We’re close as well. Can you meet us at the hall adjacent to a mess hall in the area?” Adam asked.
“These halls are confusing,” Razzan’s voice said. “We cannot find you without wasting time. We must hurry.”
Adam looked at him. “Sam?”
“Go’ idh,” Sam replied while chewing on the ice. He reached out with his Mana Sense, the blanket of magic flowing through halls and passages. Hidden passages and crevices, missing doors and concealed rooms. Finally, he found them, a lizardman at the lead, with five others trailing behind.
“Deyhr at dhee uh,” Sam swallowed. “They’re at the halls somewhere to our left side. Tell them to take a right and keep going straight. We’ll meet up with them at that point.”
“Aight,” Adam said.
Lynn nodded and stood up, patting her clothes free of dust. Sam started running ahead without giving them a look. They were fast, anyways. They would catch up to him easy. He passed room after room, until one more came up ahead. Unlike the rest, the lights were on—torchstones flickering within. Sam peeked in and met the eyes of one of the cultists.
He was on the bed, covered in bandages, evidently wounded.
Sam approached him and the cultist stiffened up, before relaxing when he saw Sam’s robes. He sighed.
“Why are you not with the rest of the congregation, brother?” asked the cultist.
Sam paused. “Congregation?”
“The congregation,” the man said, exasperated. “Today is the big day. We’re preparing for salvation, for it is coming. The Dark One is about to rise. It is only a matter of time. I can’t believe I’m going to miss it. I’m a failure. Do me a favor, brother. Attend it in my place. Do not be asleep when He rises.”
“Oh,” Sam said. “I was probably asleep when they announced it. You know me, good old sleepy… Sammy.”
The cultist frowned. “I’m sorry. I don’t know who that is.”
“Of course you don’t,” said Sam. “I’m always asleep, remember? Anyway, where is the congregation? I’ve been hearing about it all week, so I wanted to go for once. I thought I’d find it in the sacrificial room, but it seems it isn’t taking place there?”
“No,” the man said. “It’s taking place in the Eye.”
“Where is that?” Sam said, tilting his head.
“How could you not know where the Eye is?” he asked, annoyed. “Are you really one of us? How could that slip from your head? It’s the most important place in the headquarters.”
“Oh I know what that is,” Sam said. “I was just wondering, you know? What if they like, moved it?”
“That’s impossible.”
“How would you know? Are you one of the higher ups? Have you ever seen it not move?”
“This is ridiculous.”
Sam opened his mouth to speak, but a voice beat him to it.
“It is indeed.”
The voice reverberated out from behind Sam, deep and reminiscent of ripples in a calm lake. He stiffened, resisting the urge to whirl around in surprise. Slowly, Sam turned to face the figure who had spoken. It was a large man, standing over two meters tall, he loomed over Sam, his large shark’s head gazing down at him as if he a transparent sheet. He was robed in a garb of black, held up by a golden sash. It reminded Sam of a karate-gi. The man’s eyes were of the same color. The sclera were black, but within the infinite darkness of the Kivotl man’s eyes were two saucers of gold. His irises pierced through Sam, and immediately, Sam associated a single word to the man before him.
Danger. Absolute, terrible danger.
He involuntarily stepped back. The shark-man looked down at him. “An intruder, huh? What race are you? Xargith? Kaer?”
Sam felt his pulse rise. The cultist on the bed behind him was trying to stand and salute. Sam angled his body, keeping both of them in sight. He stayed quiet, not answering the shark-man’s question. Too injured to stand, the cultist gave up, instead resting on the bed and giving the Kivotl man a weak nod.
“Greetings, Lord Slayh,” he said.
Sam felt goosebumps rise from his skin. Slayh. Vexxaron had briefed them, and the name was something the lizardman had paid special attention to. Slayh the Diviner—a founding member of the cult, and one of its higher-ranked members. Silently, Sam opened the blue screen of the Egg Chat and sent Adam a warning.
Slayh glanced at the cultist. “Thank you, Dhur. It seems we have an intruder in our midst. Lay back down. Rest,” he said, before looking at Sam. “Again, I ask. Young man, who are you?”
“Are we going to have to fight?” Sam asked.
“Depends,” Slayh said, shrugging. Despite the long, black oriental robe he wore, Sam could practically feel the power rippling beneath those robes. “I prefer not to. Tell those friends of yours that you’re contacting to come over here. There is no use fleeing from me… human? Hm. Interesting. Are you a new arrival?”
Sam’s eyes constricted into little dots. He hadn’t said a thing! How did this guy know? Intruder could be guessed, his calling for reinforcements could’ve been determined by his body language. He could’ve just made a mistake? But guessing his race? One that didn’t even exist in this plane of existence? People had always called and assumed him to be one of the Kaer—just one that didn’t exactly come out right. His thoughts rapidly passed. Slayh the Diviner. Divination magic. Oracle? No. Precognition? No—
“I see,” Slayh interrupted his thoughts, his large form blocking the door. From behind him, the forms of Adam and Lynn sprinted into the hallway. Slayh ignored them, continuing. “So you are a new arrival, but you didn’t come recently. It seems you aren’t from here either.”
“Sam!” Adam called out. He drew his sword, dagger lurking underneath his robes.
Slayh turned halfway, regarding Adam and Lynn in the hall. “Ah, your colleagues have arrived,” he said. “Tell me, how did you three get to the Underearth? Are there entrances to the surface that we aren’t aware of?”
Adam shared a glance with Sam, blade at the ready. Sam shook his head at him. Don’t. Adam grit his teeth and lowered the sword. “Who are you?” Adam asked.
“Ah,” Slayh let out a sound. “I nearly forgot to introduce myself. I am Slayh. It is good to meet you, Adam. Your friends? Lynn. Sam. I see. I hope we don’t come to blows at such an important day. It would be such a shame to stain these hands before the coming of the Dark One.”
Lynn looked evidently startled. The three of them looked at each other, thoughts spiraling into a mess of words and possible actions. All seemed like bad ideas. Before they could decide on anything, Slayh raised a webbed hand.
“Do not attack,” he said. “Final warning.”
Adam clenched his fist. “So, what then? We’re supposed to just let you take us prisoner?”
The shark-headed man shook his head. “Prisoner? No. From your reactions, you have no way to return to the surface, yes? But you wish it so, am I correct? We have a way.”
“We know that,” Sam slowly said. “It’s why we’re here.”
“But you are not here with the intention to work with us, are you? You’re clutching at straws. I know this.”
“How can you be so sure, huh?” Adam challenged.
Slayh smiled, flashing his dozens of razor sharp teeth. “I know things.”
“He’s Slayh the Diviner,” Sam said. “Everything checks out.”
“My reputation precedes me,” said Slayh. “Though I am sure none of you know what exactly my magic is?” He gazed at all of them. “I see. Good.”
The cultist behind Sam spoke up, voice hoarse. “They will be easy prey for you, lord.”
“Prey?” Slayh looked offended. “The main objective of the Cult of the Dark One is to return to the surface with the Lord, but secondly, we prioritize turning people over to our cause. We are sympathizers of those trapped in this prison with us, brother. We are not mindless killers. These three already don our robes. Why not give them a chance?”
“We aren’t joining your side,” Lynn spoke slowly, pronouncing every syllable with an uncanny sharpness. “You’re a group of lunatics kidnapping and murdering innocent people.”
“It is for the greater good,” Slayh said. “A sacrifice for our races to leave this hell.”
“You were sent here for a reason. You angered the gods.”
“Our ancestors angered those spiteful beings, elf,” Slayh spat. “Why should we continue to be punished like so for a crime we didn’t even commit? The words you speak are full of self-righteousness, but have you never considered why we do what we do? We are desperate to leave this hell. Even more so than you lot are. Don’t forget that there is not only your truth, but mine as well.”
She pursed her lips. She glanced at the two people with her. Could they take this man on? They had no information of what he was capable of, merely his name and appearance. Slayh the Diviner—the most mysterious member of the Cult of the Dark One’s higher echelon. Sam opened his mouth to whisper into the party voice comms. “Do you—“
“—guys think that we can take him on?” Slayh finished, swiveling his head towards Sam. His golden eyes glinted eerily in the dim light of the passages. He shook his head. “I am afraid not. If we engage in combat here, now, you will all die.”
“So what, you’re making us fucking join you? You can read minds, right?” Adam asked, his face dark. “You should know the answer to that already.”
“I cannot read minds, but you are evidently… reluctant to join us. Converting to our side would be the best result,” Slayh said, “but even if you do not join, the least you could do is recognize the cause we fight for before we come for each other’s throats. Even in the battlefield, respect for the other side is important. Surely, you are in no rush to die?”
“Can we…” Sam started.
“Tell the rest of your colleagues?” Slayh finished. “Of course. Tell them to come to the Eye.”
“You’re just gathering us up to kill us all in one place,” Adam said.
Slayh smiled, and for a second, the ferociousness in his eyes reminded Adam of the obsidian-skinned Seith. The Kivotl man motioned around them, referring to the entirety of the cult. “In this place, you are already as bunched up as you can get,” he said.
Sam grit his teeth and pushed his hand down, motioning for Adam to stop. His friend reluctantly pursed his lips and lowered his head. Sam glanced up at Slayh. “Where do we go?”
The Diviner grinned wider.
“Follow me.”
—o—
Alen stood outside of the wooden doors, glancing through the hallways left and right. He was nervous, he felt. He probably looked nervous, even with the hood that cast a shadow over his features. Hell, even though he was stronger than before, he wasn’t even sure he could match up to Seith. The feeling of danger he’d felt coming from the man was real, and yet, there was also a distinct sense of familiarity.
He couldn’t see it back then, but now that his strength had increased, Alen could feel something like a string that connected him to Seith. Maybe it wasn’t even Seith, but something else. He wasn’t even sure anymore. It was vague—a small bump in the back of his mind.
Clenching his fist, he shook his head. He wouldn’t fight Seith today. He felt too weak—too unprepared. It wasn’t enough to fight someone who could very well be at the later ends of the thirtieth threshold, or worse, at forty. Maybe he was assessing the man too highly. It was possible. However, with the rapid growth he experienced hunting monsters day and night in the Underearth, how could he say that Sieth couldn’t do the same? He had a cult to lead, but he was ahead of Alen by whole years.
“How much longer, Roland?” Alen asked, listening in to the sound of things being shuffled around inside of his friend’s quarters.
Roland didn’t say much in response. He didn’t say anything at all, really. One of the new perks of his stay in the cult was making him even more silent. Alen quietly cursed under his breath and extended his Mana Sense as far as he could. It snaked past a turn in the hall then paused like a mutt whose leash had just been pulled. His current limit was a bubble with a radius of fifteen meters, nowhere near what Sam could reach.
He was satisfied, though. It was a massive help in sensing hidden foes, and even though his magic system wasn’t compatible with the spell, the amount of recon it gave him when he stretched it to the limit was a benefit he preferred not to do without. Not that it didn’t have its disadvantages as well, of course. He didn’t have a means to hide is probing like Sam did, so anyone who was good at magic usually spotted him as soon as he did them. This wasn’t even taking into the account the drain it had on his magic.
Verifying that nothing was there, Alen pulled it back. As soon as his Mana Sense receded, the door behind him opened, and Roland stepped out fully geared. Alen gave him a look.
“I hope you know that when I said I’d shove my dick up Seith’s ass, I meant that I’d give him a shit day,” said Alen. “We’re here to ruin his little ritual, not fight him and his gang. We’d get slaughtered.”
“If I could take them on a fight, I’d have escaped long ago,” said Roland.
“Fair enough. What’s with the gear, though?”
“My storage bracer is full. I took the rest of what I could carry.”
“I see, well—“
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Egg Chat:
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Sam: problem cant use partyvoice chat slayh the diviner here
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Alen immediately felt his body tense. Slayh was someone ranked up high—someone on Seith’s level. His thoughts spun into action. Were they fighting? Where were they last? Headed to the supposed ritual room. Were they caught? Where were Vexxaron and the rest?
“Alen?” Roland asked, voice resounding under his wolf-like mask.
“We have a problem,” Alen blurted out, response hurried. He immediately sent messages into the chat, asking Sam what was happening. His friend didn’t reply. “Shit!” Alen cursed, moving the screen away. Before Roland could say anything, he pulled up the voice communications channel.
“Vexxaron! Dieter! Razzan!” he shouted into it, and immediately, a voice rang out.
“What is it?” Dieter asked, voice stiff and low. “Was there a confrontation? We have some of the other chosen gathered, but they’re weak. We’re headed to the portal now. Kara’s with us, but... no, forget it. The rest have been taken away. We’re about to escape. Meet us.”
“No, listen, it’s not us, but—“
“Slayh doesn’t want to fight,” a voice said, and all parties immediately stopped. It was Sam, speaking. “He’s taking us to the Eye. I’m with Adam and Lynn.”
“What the hell is happening?” Alen asked through the comms, pacing forward. Roland silently followed, marching beside him and listening on to the talk.
“He knows you’re here, Alen. I can’t say anything else. He just wants you all to go to the Eye. He says we’re already bunched up enough. I think they have a way to attack us all.”
“I think he’s bluffing,” Vexxaron’s voice said. “You’ve been captured?”
“More or less,” said Sam. He paused. “I have to go. He’s telling us to stop.”
“Don’t go to the fucking Eye,” Adam said. “Run like hell.”
Momentarily, the sound of someone calmly berating him snapped through the channel, a voice Alen couldn’t recognize. Before it cut off, however, he caught the last thing said.
They’ll come.
Slayh? Alen felt his magic boil inside of him. Captured. He split up from them, and his friends got captured. Slayh the Diviner? They were damn right to name him that way. They were definitely coming, and the bastard knew it. Alen looked to Roland.
“Change of plans,” he said.
Roland was already walking as he asked, “We’re going?”
“Of course we’re fucking going,” Alen said, walking beside him. Their steps slowly became faster, almost in sync. “That dumbshit shark predicted it, so why should we disappoint him?”
Roland wordlessly nodded, eyes like steel. They were running, now. The halls flashed past them, and Alen called upon the stats he’d been increasing to go faster. Roland was naturally stronger, slowing down to run just a few steps ahead of him. Alen pulled up AutoBone and the bone shards of some of his summons. He began to edit them. Slayh was most likely used to fighting creatures from the Underearth, so he had to change them. Diviner. The name rang loud in his mind. Divination magic was troublesome. Precognition? If so, how far could he see into the future? Mind reading?
He bit his tongue, clearing his thoughts. He had to calm. He couldn’t panic against enemies of this caliber. Roland was sprinting just ahead of him. Slayh had seen through his friends’ disguise so abruptly that they weren’t able to warn him, so mind reading was a safe bet. It was dangerous. Alen was directly countered by types like him—people that could read his commands before they reached his minions. He needed a solution or—
Or maybe Slayh couldn’t read minds at all?
“Damn,” Alen hissed, would he have to rely on his summons’ muscle memory instead of micromanaging every single one of them like he usually did? Swarm tactics, maybe? Or hit Slayh with attacks so fast and powerful that most divination magic would be useless? He didn’t have much of that in his arsenal besides his death affinity. A voice interrupted his thoughts.
“I know you’re coming,” Lynn said, “but will I be able to convince you if I tell you to leave?”
“Give it up,” Alen told her. “You know me enough to guess exactly what I’m thinking right now.”
“Is it ‘I’m going to look so cool when I barge in there to save everyone’?”
“Something of the sort,” Alen smiled. “You better be ready to clap for me.”
“Mm.”
Alen closed the voice comms and noted the change of scenery as the halls changed once again. They were glass again, the floors made of crystal that twinkled with different lights. The torch-stones had disappeared, and the rainbow colors flashing below his feet lit up the bottom of his face, casting a shadow over his bright emerald eyes. Alen glances out of the window. It was foggy through the tinted glass. Where the hell had he seen this before? Why was it so familiar to him?
The passage got wider, larger. The glass on the walls were depicting scenes of carnage—gods and beings shrouded in light bleeding and broken as a massive creature loomed over the lands of the Playground of the Gods.
It was dark, and despite the still glass, the depiction of the massive creature continued to change and shift, never whole, never visible. It was as if it couldn’t settle into a single form. One second, it was small, and the next, it was larger than the planet itself. It was everything and everyone one moment, and nothing at all the next. Alen felt his head ache just looking at it, but he couldn’t take his eyes away. The corners of his vision were darkening—creeping closer.
A faint sound was ringing in his ears, incessant and persistent. It almost seemed to have a quality to it. It was almost discernable, but at the same time, it was a puzzle he couldn’t hope to solve.
Finally, in an instant, all the sensations flooding him disappeared, and Alen found himself on the ground, pain stinging his cheek. He looked to Roland, who stood over him. By the way his hand was suspended, Alen realized that Roland had slapped him. The orange-haired warrior nodded. “Your eyes are clearer now. Are you yourself again?”
Alen staggered up, and by the time he was on his feet, the muddiness in his head had faded as if it was never there. He looked at Roland.
“It happens to everyone who comes here,” Roland said. “I’m sorry I forgot to tell you.”
“No,” Alen said, mind reaching to say something that never left his mouth. His thoughts were somewhere else. “No,” Alen repeated, “it’s okay. Let’s keep going.”
Roland nodded and broke into a sprint. Alen followed after almost without thinking about it. He kept feeling a nagging sensation at the back of his head, like something was tugging at him. A voice rang out from his mind.
It seems I have a visitor, Selerius said. There was an edge to his voice Alen wasn’t familiar with. The lich hadn’t spoken in a while, but Alen could feel the tension in his otherwise calm words. It isn’t showing itself, said Selerius. Do you feel it, necromancer?
Alen nodded silently. He knew. Of course he knew. It was there, after all. He could feel it.
It wasn’t something he could point out. It was vague, like mosaic. It wasn’t real, it wasn’t tangible, and yet, it was so firmly grounded in reality that its existence was fact. It didn’t feel alive. It felt like an idea—something posing as an autonomous living creature. It subconsciously pushed itself to the back of his mind, rendering Almost unaware of its existence despite the fact that he knew it was there. Everything about it was cloudy, but Alen knew one thing for sure.
The Dark One was watching him.
Alen’s thoughts suddenly blanked. He shook his head. What was he thinking of again? He looked at Roland who was ahead of him. He was headed to the Eye with Roland. Yes. That was it. They were coming to the Eye because the others had been captured. They were almost there, by the looks of it. There was light ahead, and the walls had changed to the same material as the floor, softly casting light into their faces.
Finally, the curving passage ended. Ahead of them, a large, cathedral-like room rose up high into the ceiling, which was enshrouded in darkness so thick that it couldn’t be seen through. Pews and long benches extended out in a large half circle, surrounding a single stage in the middle of the cylindrical room where five figures stood, surrounded by a sea of people sitting attentively in the seats around them. As he entered, Alen’s feet tapped against something that wasn’t stone, and he felt himself tense.
Slowly, he looked down.
He saw his own reflection in the floor. It was made of transparent glass, and hundreds of meters below it, the castle hidden in the sea of fog of the Cloud District stood. Even farther down was…
“The City of Pillars,” Alen said, his voice echoing throughout the room that was silent as death. In response, an amused voice rang out in turn.
“I must say,” Seith said, “I never thought we’d be invaded first.”
Alen looked up at him, and Roland did too, face emotionless. Seith saw this and smiled, motioning around the room. All eyes moved to them. Kivotl, Minno, Xargith, even some Kaer were assembled, watching. Seith continued. “I knew the two of you had a connection with each other. Slayh figured it out with his magic, but I never knew my own disciple would betray me at such a day such as this.”
“I was planning on betraying you later today if that makes things better,” Roland said, voice low and controlled. “I just happened to change my schedule.”
“It does indeed make things better,” Seith said. He looked towards Alen. “I see you’ve grown to be quite formidable, little mouse. The fluctuations of your power are even stronger now. Are you here to fight me?”
Alen gave him a level gaze. “Where are my friends?”
“Slayh went off to fetch them. They should be here shortly.”
“I am already here,” a calm, deep voice said, and Alen tensed. It had come from behind him. Why hadn’t he noticed it? Slowly, Alen turned and locked eyes with a massive shark-headed Kivotl. Slayh. Alen clenched his fists. His palms were sweaty. His Mana Sense was extended as far is it could reach. There was no way he would miss someone like that. Slayh moved past him, and Sam followed after, cradling his arm. He was injured. He gave Alen and glance and shook his head, stopping beside him. Lynn gave him a bitter smile and stood next to him, giving Roland a nod.
“Long time no see big guy,” she said.
“Lynn,” Roland replied, eyes never leaving Seith.
The man in question grinned at them. “This right here is what our group does, everyone. We bring people together, and together, we will leave this place!” he said, gesticulating out towards the crowd. They cheered, and he nodded, satisfied. He looked back at Alen and his group, who stood at the far back. Slayh had moved up behind them, blocking the only exit.
Seith motioned to a few empty seats at the front. “Perhaps you’d like to listen to our talk? The time is nigh, and the portal will open tonight, and it would be best if you were on friendly terms with the hosts, no?”
“The chosen have already been rescued,” Alen said. “You can’t open the portal. We can find another way.”
“Our races will not spend even another year looking for a way. We are done. Finished. We are leaving today, little mouse. As for the chosen, We are already finished with them,” replied Seith. “No matter where they go, they will fulfill their roles.”
Lynn looked up at him. “And that is?”
“Sacrifice,” Seith said. “It is only a bit of life force. One might even get lucky and survive.”
Alen shook his head and ignored Seith. He looked to Adam. “I think they’re suspicious of us enough now.”
Seeing the look on his eye, his friend groaned.
Alen looked to Roland. “You still have that vibrating shockwave shield?”
Roland nodded. Alen smiled, and behind him, Slayh tensed. Slowly, the shark-man began to pull on the massive, spiked baseball bat-like weapon strapped to his back. Alen ignored him and looked at Seith.
“You know, the Dark One spoke to me last night. He told me to tell you about it.”
Seith frowned. “You mock me, little mouse.”
“No, seriously. He said it was really important,” said Alen.
The man on the stage crossed his arms, looking down at him. “Fine, then. Say whatever you have to say. After that, we will be enemies.”
“Great,” Alen nodded. “Roland?”
The same time Roland moved, Slayh pounced. He raised the club over his head and roared, “Stop them!”
Seith reacted. They were too late. Roland bent down, then lightly tapped his shield against the surface of the reinforced glass floor. A single hum echoed out as everything seemed to slow down as if time was running through mud. Alen raised his head and looked straight at Seith, eyes shining.
He roared, “He said that you guys should hire a better fucking architect! And that your face is ugl—”
Boom!
The floor around them shattered. Gravity dragged them down. Alen dropped, and a gigantic black club missed the top of his head by mere inches. The wind roared in their ears as they dropped towards the Cloud District, the castle regal in its place above everything else. He felt the grin plastered on his face. Strangely, he was unafraid. Laughter echoed out all around him as he fell.
A wave of white hair flashed into his vision. Lynn. Laughing even as she fell, she punched his shoulder. “That wasn’t even a pun!”
Hearing it, Sam and Adam erupted into an even louder laughing fit. Alen flashed her a grin as he took her hand and summoned a parachute from the back of his robe. They slowed, and tendrils of keratin shot out of his clothes, latching onto the rest of his group. Gently, they landed on a garden by the side of the large castle.
“Shut up. I was cool as shit,” he said, looking around at everyone else. The roof of the castle was dyed blue by the crystals above, and on the ceiling of the large cavern hung the headquarters of the Cult of the Dark One, looking down on the city with its single eye at the center. Even from where he was, he could feel Seith’s smoldering gaze. Alen looked away.
“Let’s get out of here, yeah?“
“He’s coming for us,” Roland quietly said.
“What?”
“Seith doesn’t take insults we—“
A boom interrupted him. Their group quieted down. Slowly, their heads turned to look at the crater that had formed on the surface of the garden’s grassy surface. Calmly, Seith stepped out.
“You know,” he said, “I was thinking that maybe the cult wouldn’t have to invade the city and kill a few people to help supply more life force to the Dark One, but I’ve changed my mind. I’m feeling like taking a few lives today.”
He raised his hand and pointed it at Alen, palm splayed in a very familiar way.
“What was it you called it again?” he asked, and Alen’s pupils constricted as he felt a very familiar mana type gather in the man’s hand. Seith smiled at him, eyes dark. “Ah, yes. I remember now, it was—“
Alen whipped his head around to face everyone else. “Ru—“
“—Deathflare Blast.”
A pillar of obsidian and silver flames exploded from his hands and devoured the entire garden, silent as death. Like a tidal wave, it was on them in a flash, ready to consume all that he cared about. Alen moved, and a low, guttural roar erupted from his throat.
Everything went black.
