Chapter One Hundred Twenty-One: ‘Thy boiling will...’

Marcos hardly had time to understand what was going on. He’d noticed Shenado and Chergoa giving each other strange looks, and then Shenado gave him a private and incredibly vague warning that something was about to happen, but then Emiliana was suddenly slashing at thin air and apparently tearing bloody chunks out of it.

Shenado grabbed his shoulder, and he felt the undead vigor burn through him. This wasn’t his first experience with it, as he’d been practicing periodically, but it was certainly the first time he’d had to actually use it.

He wasn’t sure what to do. He merely watched as Chergoa bolted over to Emiliana, who was already spinning around to kick a second invisible opponent.

However, when he saw a spiked block of bluish-white metal crash into her and slam her against the far wall, Marcos didn’t require any more information. His mother’s training took hold, and he reached for the firearm that Emiliana had discreetly given him after Luzo.

Marcos fired at thin air, aiming where Emiliana’s targets had been. Spurts of blood guided his aiming as he moved toward Ramira, who’d started shooting even before he did. The little girl was on the move as well, trying to avoid the cluster of metal spikes that were shooting up from the floor.

One of them found her. It skewered her shoe, and she screamed as she fell to the floor. In the next moment, Marcos was there, scooping her up with one arm and pulling her out of the next spike’s path. But there were still more to evade, and one of them caught his left leg, which it then began coating with newly materializing metal, trying to slow him down.

Marcos dropped to the floor with his sister still in his grasp, scrambling to shield her with his body.

That was when the room heaved, throwing everything into confusion, and briefly, Marcos thought there’d been some kind of explosion or earthquake.

And then he saw the crystalline spears. The area by the door was completely filled. Glassy pillars, so numerous and densely packed that they almost looked like a wall. The only anomaly among their brilliantly clear bodies was the blood, long streaks of crimson, splattered and dripping and pooling on the floor.

He looked around for Lord Asad, thinking it must’ve been the Sandlord’s doing, but instead, he saw his father, standing at the foot of the bed he’d been using only moments ago. It hadn’t been glass. It had been ice.

“Pa!” said Marcos. He wanted to rush over and hug him, but he was still mindful of Ramira’s injury. By the time he made it to his feet again, he realized that something was off.

His lord father was just standing there, silent, face drawn downward. Axiolis was still attached to his back and also saying nothing.

Emiliana was closest and approached him first. “Papa?”

No response.

Shenado floated over to Zeff now. ‘Unbelievable,’ she said as she inspected his face. ‘He’s still asleep.’

Marcos didn’t understand. “What?”

‘Your father protected you unconsciously,’ said Shenado. ‘I’ve heard about things like this happening, but I’ve never seen it myself... Wow.’

‘Instinctive knowledge and awareness,’ said Chergoa, hovering up behind Emiliana. ‘You don’t need to be a servant to possess those things. Still, I am quite--’

Ramira’s muffled cries interrupted her.

“She needs help!” said Marcos.

‘Bring her over to the bed and take her shoe off,’ said Shenado. ‘Emiliana?’

The older sister was already rifling through the far cupboards for supplies. Chergoa told her to try under the bed, where she found a first aid kit. Emiliana took over for Marcos in sterilizing and dressing the wound.

Of all the things their mother taught them, Marcos had always thought this would be the least valuable. He’d figured that once they became servants, they would have no need of such skills, but now he saw how wrong he’d been.

As Emiliana finished her work, Chergoa picked up the conversation again.

‘What do you think? Should we leave or stay put?’

‘We seem to be safe for the moment, but we don’t know enough about the situation to be sure. Asad and Dimas are both relatively close. We should meet up with one of them.’

‘Agreed,’ said Chergoa. ‘Em, how’s about you help Big Papa Elroy here walk with us?’

Marcos watched Emiliana place a hesitant hand on the man’s back. She had to take the lead, but just as Chergoa had said, Zeff began to keep pace with her.

Marcos picked Ramira up again and then stopped. “Uh. There’s still a wall of ice in the way...”

“Papa?” was all Emiliana had to say, and the ice dematerialized. The bodies of Zeff’s victims were still not visible, Marcos noticed, but there was so much blood that it dripped from the ceiling and splashed against a dozen red puddles on the floor.

With her arm around one of Zeff’s, Emiliana led everyone out of the room, and together, the Elroys left blood-soaked footprints as they made their way down the hall.

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Dunehall was finally in sight again. The constant assault from every direction made it feel like he was running underwater. He’d tried launching himself on platforms, only to be knocked off course and forced back to the ground. He couldn’t remotely make out what was hitting him. In the low light, it was just an indistinguishable flurry of shit, but he had little doubt that it had all been materialized.

The shield did its job, though, and he pushed onward, recreating his full plate armor each time it was destroyed. On that front, he was also seeing progress. At first, the armor had only lasted a few seconds before being melted away or exploded apart, leaving his shield-strengthened flesh to weather the brunt of the force; but now, the armor was lasting longer, and while Hector had a vague idea why that was, he didn’t have time to stop and question right now. He only knew that he wanted his armor to be stronger and that his soul power was making it happen.

‘Garovel,’ Hector thought in the middle of a fully armored sprint, ‘can you sense Asad yet?’

He waited, but there was no answer.

‘Garovel!’

A pair of deep piping noises demanded his attention, and Hector rolled through a picket fence to his right, out of the way of two destructive paths that dug up the sidewalk and sent chunks of dirt and concrete and splintered wood flying past him.

Hector pushed on through the debris. If he couldn’t rely on Garovel, then he would just have to find Lord Asad himself. He materialized a cloud of iron dust ahead of him in order to scout out for any more invisible opponents in his path.

There were at least a dozen.

Hector summoned a field of spikes over the whole area but didn’t stop moving for a moment. With a flourish of his free hand, he annihilated a path for himself. His opponents were already doing similarly for themselves.

‘...Agh, Hector...’

‘Garovel?!’

‘Go to... shards...’

‘Shards?’

Another string of explosions stole his attention, nearly knocking him off his feet. He stumbled through a wall of smoke and fire but found his balance again and kept stomping onward. He’d nearly reached the underground entrance.

‘Garovel?’

The reaper did not respond.

Hector racked his brain as he ran. Shards? What shards? Was that supposed to help him locate Asad? How would--?

And it hit him. He knew exactly where to go now.

The doors on the underground entrance flew from their hinges as Hector bulldozed through and stormed up the nearest staircase. It was time for another cloud of iron dust, he decided, and sure enough, there were plenty more hostiles waiting for him down the next hallway.

There was nothing for it, he supposed. He just had to push through. He leaned even farther into his run and prepared to weather still more shit.

Something changed, however. In an instant, all of his opponents were suddenly visible. It happened so suddenly that he lost focus and nearly stumbled.

A path of destruction caught his shield, which took the attack admirably, but the impact still put him through a wall. He brought down a line of bathroom stalls and landed on his back.

Hector knew he didn’t have time to stay down. He rolled off the pile of lavatorial debris he’d made and sprinted for the door, but a string of explosions sent him through another wall instead. He could hardly tell what was happening, but he could hear acid hissing against his armor and feel the fumes burning his nostrils. He found himself in a darker room this time, perhaps some kind of storage closet, but he didn’t get the opportunity to check, instead hearing that deep piping sound closing in again.