Necromancer and Co., Book 3: The Underearth

Chapter 17: A Blue Canvas

[Alen]

“Uh, anyone nearby?” Alen asked, pressing down on the button as he stared down at Slayh below. His horde had the man surrounded, and it seemed like such an easy task to drown the man in his pack of undead, but Alen knew that a person who could stand on the same height as Seith would be no one to scoff at. He stared down at the Kivotl man, and Slayh’s dark eyes stared back up at him.

“You are not attacking,” Slayh spoke, and despite the distance between them and the beating of the Matriarch Gorebat’s wings, Alen could hear his voice perfectly; taunting, goading.

“No, you,” Alen replied, his hand moving through multiple screens. His undead were positioned mostly at the front, facing off against the fanatics that refused to attack. They had a defensive perimeter set around them, and the simmering glow of the shields they erected would be difficult to pierce through without expending a large amount of mana. That was something Alen could not afford to waste at the moment. A voice came in through the party’s comms.

“Sam here. I’m close to the Lodge. I can see you on the Gorebat from down here.”

“Lynn. You two are at the Lodge? I’m on my way Alen. I’m with Roland and Adam.”

“Yo,” Adam greeted, followed by a grunt of confirmation from Roland.

“Big problem here,” Alen said. “Slayh’s come here alone and I am very sure that he’s here to kick the shit out of my ass. Hurry up. If any of you can get here first, then—“

Slayh spoke up, “If you aren’t going to come, then I will finish my business here first.”

“Oh, I’ll come, just you wait,” Alen shouted down from above. Slayh ignored him and started walking towards the Lodge. Alen stopped.

“Hey,” he called out, “what the fuck are you doing? You’re here after me, right?”

“Far from it,” Slayh replied, walking up to one of his Boulder Crabs, which loomed over the man menacingly. “Our target is to reap as many lives as possible. You are not important enough to supersede that initiative.”

“Fuck me,” Alen cursed, before speaking into the party chat once more. “He’s after the refugees in the Lodge’s safehouse. Hurry up guys. Get here as soon as you can. I’m going to try and stop him.”

“Don’t die,” a voice said, but Alen was too focused on his horde to notice the speaker. He waved away the screen. Slayh approached the Boulder Crab, and Alen had it sit still. Ignorant, Slayh walked right between its legs, and just as he reached the center, Alen whipped his hand down.

Boom!

The pavement crumbled. The Boulder Crab smashed down with the whole weight of its body, its abdomen simultaneously lighting up with vicious Deathfire. The thunderous boom rang out, and Alen clenched his fist, causing spikes of chitin to explode out from the crab’s underside and smash further into the pavement. His summon rose, tendrils of dust rising up from the crater below it.

Slayh walked out unharmed. Skeletons rushed at him. One swung its sword, he ducked, and his elbow smashed into the summon’s jaw, blowing its head apart. Another stabbed, and he twisted, snapping the attacker’s elbow with his forearm. Both summons began to bubble up violently, and Slayh grabbed the large masses of bone matter and smashed them together in front of him, blocking a volley of arrows Alen’s other summons loosed.

Alen began to swoop down on his mount. His eyes flared ferociously. “Detonate!” He commanded, and the two skeletons began to crack, Deathfire swirling within the mass. Slayh threw them towards the archers, intending to blow the line apart.

Spikes of bone matter stabbed into the ground from the skeleton’s legs. More summons surged behind them, shoving their torsos forward to aim the skeletal cannons at Slayh.

Skeletal Detonation.

Amethyst-colored claws burst out from the ground where Slayh stood, but he was already leaping up into the air. The shotgun blast of skeletal shrapnel missed him completely. Alen felt his mana pulse. The claws, pointed up, exploded as well, sending Deathfire-lathered bullets toward Slayh. The Kivotl responded by grabbing the maul on his back and swinging, shattering the initial volley. The shards that flew past him bubbled up as well.

“Again!” Alen roared, and the shards exploded, aiming for the man’s back. Slayh twisted with uncanny timing and bashed it apart as well. Alen smashed into him with his Matriarch midair, and its fangs sunk into his skin. They pierced, but not nearly as deeply as Alen expected them to. He aimed his left hand down.

Deathflare Blast!

Just before his spell was loosed, a webbed hand shot out and grabbed onto his wrist. Slayh pulled, and Alen was helpless as he was tossed off his summon. The black flames wildly spilled out from his palm as he spun in the air. Some of it splashed into Slayh who paid the injury no heed as he grabbed the Gorebat’s head and pushed.

Alen fell towards the ground. He rolled, dispersing the force of the fall. He looked back, and a shadow loomed over him. Slayh, falling from the sky, Matriarch Gorebat in tow.

Boom!

The massive skeletal bat crashed into the pavement, head sinking into the stone from the impact. Slayh spun, maul breaking past the skulls of the two Kavarith lunging towards him. The Huruk riders pounced on him, but he stepped to the side, avoiding the two spears. The handle of his maul snapped the neck of one, but he was too late in dispatching the other. It exploded, and the bone shrapnel grazed past his back. Slayh had twisted in the last second, minimizing the damage.

A pack of Rock Dogs rushed at him as Alen stood up a distance away, covered in dust and sweat. Slayh let the dogs bite into him, their unaugmented bites and claws doing little damage. He killed each one systematically as he walked towards Alen.

“Where are those black flames?” Slayh said, killing another summon in his advance. The little wounds on his body were already healing, closing up.

“You’re pretty strong against them,” Alen said, backing up and filling the gap between them with summons. A swarm of Gorebats surged in and lashed at Slayh, wings covered in Deathfire. Slayh swung his maul and killed many as they passed, but many small, lacerated wounds covered his body, scorched by the black flames. Alen noted that those wounds were healing a lot slower than the others.

“Your flames are merely weak,” Slayh said, his maul shattering a Boulder Crab’s right claw. The left one exploded and he calmly sidestepped, avoiding it. The massive crab lunged, and its mandibles dug into Slayh’s neck.

“Weak,” he said, as he grabbed its face with his hand. Cra-a-ack! Rifts spread throughout the shell of the crab, and it shattered before him, falling to the ground. “Weaker than Seith’s. Much weaker.”

“Well, he’s a lot higher on the thresholds than I am,” Alen replied, blocking off Slayh and letting his mana tick back up. Forty two percent. Forty three.

Slayh shook his head. “That is not the cause.”

“And that would be..?”

“You do not hunger like he does,” Slayh said. “Your desire is strong, but it does not drive you as strongly as it does Seith. He is a starving orphan willing to sacrifice everything for his next meal. You? You are a beggar on the street.”

“I always envisioned myself as an unemployed homeless man,” Alen quipped. Forty six. Forty eight. “Could you cut me some slack and fuck off, then? You don’t look like someone who bullies homeless people.”

“You will find that your assumptions are wrong very soon.”

“Really? I like to see the good in people.”

“You will find none in me.”

“Even if I ask nicely?”

“Even if you ask nicely,” Slayh calmly responded, snapping the neck of a leaping skeletal Rock Dog with his bare hands. Pieces of bones and teeth began to rain all around him. Alen’s summons began to back off. Forty nine percent. Fifty.

Alen looked up at him, eyes sharp as magic arced between his fingertips. “Guess I’ll have to be rude, then.”

Necrotic Blessing: Deathfire. Skeletal Detonation.

A massive explosion of black flames and shrapnel tore through the street. Slayh jumped through the rising smoke, but Alen was faster. The Kivotl man looked up, eyes wide in surprise. Alen locked eyes with him as he pushed his prosthetic arm to the man’s chest.

Deathchill Grip.

Slayh snapped the arm off at the elbow, leaving it stuck to his chest. Alen punched him in the face with his other hand. Darkwater Surge. Water filled to the brim with the mysterious obsidian and ivory magic surged out like a tidal wave into Slayh, seeping into the wounds all over his body and destroying the cells faster than they returned.

Deathchill Pulse.

The two spells activated almost simultaneously. The Darkwater froze within the festering wounds, expanding like millions of tiny, icy needles that only served to tear the flesh open further and further. Alen raised the remnants of his snapped right arm. It began to bubble up. A webbed fist blew through the smoke. His arm detonated. The fist smashed into his chest.

Crack. It was audible as soon as the fist connected. Alen was blown away. He flew across the shattered pavement. He crashed through a house, through the tables, the pantry, and came out the other side, where he roughly skidded to a halt. He looked up, blood caking his face. Multiple cultists surrounded him. Their magic flared and their weapons shone, ready to strike him down. His chest was shattered, and he’d flown straight into their formation.

“Hell,” he managed to choke out, before the attacks mercilessly rained down on him.

A crater was formed where he stood from the massive barrage. Smoke rose like violent fumes. It began to fade, and in the center, a single suit of armor rose, suspended in the air by keratin roots stabbed into the ground.

Cultists rushed towards him. They didn’t get far. As soon as they got within three meters of him, they fell to the ground screaming. A wave of frost swept through a large area around the crater, and as it reached the peak of its expansion, it rushed back and swept through once again. With it, it brought back a large amount of green motes of light. It all sunk into the armor, which stood in the middle of it all. Standing. Unyielding.

It began to melt. Enamel and bone matter sloughed off the mass, falling to the ground. Black, booted feet followed, lightly landing. Fanatics rushed to surround the crater, watching the single person standing in the middle. Even as they stared, his entire body let loose cracking, snapping noises as his bones readjusted themselves beneath the knitting, regenerating flesh.

Alen felt his mangled chest snap back into place with the influx of life energy from Drain Vortex and Deathchill Pulse. He glanced back at the cultists, and they stiffened, involuntarily stepping back in fear.

A divide formed in their ranks as Slayh stepped through the hole in the house Alen had crashed through. His stomach had a large gash on it. It was bleeding profusely, lacerated and full of still-burning shrapnel of Deathfire. His face was a mess, the skeletal structure of his skull showing through where the Darkwater had melted through the flesh of his face. The smaller wounds on his body were also festering, showing signs of varying degrees of necrosis where the Deathchill and Darkwater had rampaged through.

Alen didn’t miss the slight falter in the man’s step as he reached the edge of the crater. He knew that this wouldn’t last long, however. It seemed like this monster’s vitality regenerated faster than even his magic. It was a war of attrition, and Alen felt like he was losing. Slayh looked down at him, and despite his situation, Alen stared right back.

“I thought you were heading to the safe house?”

“Plans are liable to change.”

“They really are,” Alen agreed, nodding. “It sucks. The other day, I wanted to go out to buy some groceries, but Lynn decided to—“

“Enough,” Slayh declared. “No more of your delaying tactics.”

“I was just making small talk.”

“You’re dangerous.”

“I think I’m pretty nice.”

Slayh began to descend from the top of the crater. “My magic allows me to slowly grasp how my opponent fights. Even Seith, who stands above me, is wary about sparring with me for fear of my abilities. But you, you are—“

“Cool?”

“—unpredictable. You fight like a normal necromancer one moment, a coward in the next, and a frantic madman right after. I cannot read you. This makes you dangerous to me,” Slayh said, pointing his maul at Alen from across the crater. “Therefore, you have forced me to acknowledge the threat you pose to our goals. You will have to die here today.”

“I can’t say I’m a fan of this development,” said Alen.

“Believe me when I say that neither am I,” Slayh shot back. He took a step forward. Alen tensed. Just before the two of them clashed once again however, a single snowflake drifted down to land on Alen’s hand. He glanced at it, when suddenly a powerful gust of wind flew past him. The temperature dropped. The ground began to hiss and crackle as ice crept over the dirt and rubble. Alen looked up to see the backs of two people, icy mist swirling around their forms.

White hair, black leather armor. Reliable back, cool demeanor. In front of him stood Lynn and Sam, ready to face the unstoppable Diviner himself.

“You know, I thought I had to do the whole passing out thing again,” Alen said, grinning.

“Don’t worry,” Sam reassured him. “It’ll still happen anyways. Only difference is that we’ll be here to save your ass right after.”

“I’ll make sure to do it gently when I throw your body to safety,” said Lynn.

“My heroes,” he grinned. “My mana’s horribly low right now, so I’ll be taking a seat back until I become useful again. Adam and Roland?”

In response to his question, panicked shouts rang out from behind. A low thrum reverberated across the ground as the edge of the crater on the other side ruptured and began to slide down the slope. Roland slid down and started walking out of the rising dust, crossing the gap with shield and blade raised. A dagger flew out past Roland’s shoulder. Slayh caught it by the blade.

The air expanded. A figure appeared. Adam slashed down with his other blade.

Slayh took a step back and raised his arm, blocking the attack with his limb. It sunk into his flesh and stopped short of slicing into his ulna.

For once, his shark’s head seemed wary as he looked at the five of them. Slayh locked eyes with Adam. “You’re different from before,” he noted.

Adam grinned at him. “That’s ‘cause this time, I’m going to kick your ass.”

Slayh flung his arm back and Adam jumped off, a trail of dust behind him as his feet dragged across the dirt. He waved his hand, and his dagger reappeared in his left hand. Adam began to circle him. He stopped in place to stand by his foe’s back. The rest followed suit until Slayh was surrounded. Front, back, left, right, the four of them encircled him.

Alen nodded and retreated to the top of the crater where he mounted his Stone Drake. He looked out over his summons. They would provide just a bit of support at most. He had to get back to fighting shape soon. The rest of them would handle Slayh.

Now it was his turn to watch.

—o—

Roland felt his blade become heavy in his grip. His palm felt moist beneath his gloves, and his a single droplet of sweat slowly traced the outline of the side of his face. There, he stood in front of Slayh, who was observing each and every one of them as they moved to surround him. Watching. Analyzing.

They had to attack soon; attack before this man could use his strength to its full extent against them. Roland didn’t need to signal them. Sam struck first.

Ice raced across the ground, curving in an unpredictable pattern to form into a wave of icy spikes. They stabbed towards Slayh, and the Kivotl countered, smashing the ice apart with his maul. Roland began to move towards the man slowly, inching forward and scanning the way the tides of battle churned relentlessly. Lynn shot arrows of ice at him, and Slayh dodged, wary of their power. Adam was there, waiting. He pounced, blade arcing downwards. Slayh knocked his arm to the side with a well-placed elbow.

Sam’s ice crept out from under Slayh, and out of nowhere, a pillar shot up from the thin sheet of frost, slamming towards the man’s chin. Slayh angled his head back and let it pass, stepping behind it to take cover from Lynn’s arrows.

The arrows pierced through and stabbed into his skin. Weakened by the pillar, they didn’t go far. He snapped them off with the shaft of his weapon, all the while simultaneously blocking Adam’s blades with uncanny precision. Lynn shot an arrow at Sam, who blocked it with a large chunk of ice. The arrow melted into the chunk as if shot into water.

It flew towards Slayh. He smashed it with his maul, and the moment his weapon made contact with it, the rune Lynn’s arrow transferred to the surface of the chunk exploded violently, into hundreds of sinewy tendrils. The vines reached out to grab onto him, but Slayh tore through them like paper. He smashed his maul out in a circle and Adam barely teleported out of the way before he was struck. Sam summoned two large blades of ice around him. They began to spin rapidly. He hurled them at Slayh.

The Kivotl man twisted his body at the last second, the two blades passing harmlessly past him. Adam teleported in behind him, and Slayh reached back to grab onto his arm. He smashed Adam down towards the ground like a doll, but the latter disappeared right before the impact.

Roland felt his eyes constrict. Now!

He rushed forward, stabbing his sword out. Slayh began to twist his body when Roland copied his movements, turning the stab into a feint. He bashed his shield into Slayh’s broad back. The fish-man stumbled, bones creaking from the ensuing vibrations ringing across his body. Roland cut him on the side with his rune-filled blade, passing through the flesh without any resistance.

A massive boulder of ice crashed down from above him and immediately smashed Slayh into the ground. Adam, who had teleported above the glacier drive his sword into the back of Slayh’s shoulder. He teleported away right before the maul smashed into him. Slayh began to stand when three blunt-tipped arrows weighing over a ton each slammed into his torso, shattering like an artillery shells on impact.

He took a step back and Lynn kicked him from underneath his jaw, causing his head to rock up. She stabbed an arrow underneath his armpit. It exploded into flames as she jumped away.

Roland slashed into the resulting cloud of dust and hit nothing. A maul slammed down and he blocked with his shield. It dented at the impact, and Roland felt his arm go numb from the sheer force of the strike before he was hurled away. A small pile of thick snow caught him, stopping him in place.

Slayh rushed out of the dust like a freight train and reached an arm out towards Lynn. She sidestepped, but Slayh responded with a feint of his own. His hand shot up instead, where it grabbed onto the newly teleported Adam’s leg. He pulled the teleporter down and smashed his body into the elf. The two of them tumbled away across the dirt.

A horde of Gorebats descended from the sky and engulfed him immediately, each lathered in a coating of Deathfire. Slayh smashed his maul into the ground and dispersed them with the resulting shockwave. There, he stood, surrounded by enemies and undead waiting to strike. Even as he stood, he determined how each person around him fought, and slowly, he was beginning to grasp the necromancer’s style as well. Those scorpions of his were no doubt digging towards him from below now too.

He was starting to read them, but he wasn’t doing it fast enough. Slayh glanced over them all one last time before he lowered his raised maul.

“I’m leaving,” he said, then turned to leave.

Everyone around him immediately paused. Alen, who was preparing to bring down another barrage of bats was immediately struck dumb as Slayh turned his back and calmly began to walk off. Adam threw a dagger and teleported in front of him.

“What, you’re running now?” he asked.

“Yes, and you will not stop me,” Slayh said, staring him down.

“Oh yeah? We have you surrounded, and you’re injured. You’re running because you’re scared. You’re running because you’re losing,” Adam mocked.

“Indeed,” Slayh confirmed. “Coming into battle with your lot now will not benefit the Dark One in any way, and it will only waste precious time. Move aside, human.”

“And if I don’t?”

“I’d like to see you try not to.”

The two of them stared up at each other, once again prepared to clash, when Roland raised his arm at the back. “Stop,” he said. “Let him pass.”

Adam frowned at him. “But we got him,” he argued.

“Slayh is no pushover,” said Roland. “If we fight him here, we might be able to beat him, but trust that he’ll take at least one of us down before he dies. It isn’t worth it. Let him leave.”

“I recommend listening to the traitor, human,” Slayh said, glancing back at Roland’s stern face.

Adam glanced at Alen and the rest of them. Alen shook his head and Sam shrugged.

“Fine,” he said, lowering his blades and sheathing them. He stepped aside.

Slayh walked past him immediately without saying a word. As he reached the rim of the crater, he raised his arm to the rest of the remaining fanatics. “We’re retreating,” he said, “it is almost time, and nothing good will come of staying here.”

Alen watched the rest of the cultists lower their weapons. They returned to formation and began to march away. He’d—they’d won. They defended the safe house, but it sure as hell didn’t feel like a victory.

He looked up and watched the flashing lights in the Cloud District fade. The battle was over.

A person landed on the head of his mount. Zidash. “Did we win?” Alen asked.

“With these many deaths, this is nothing short of a tragedy,” he said. “The Cloud District has betrayed us. Some of the masked attackers were part of the military controlled by the city’s governing group. It explains why no help has come despite the events that transpired today. I knew the Father and Casith had a rough relationship, but this…”

“Yeah,” Alen said. He didn’t know much about the city’s politics. Hell, he hadn’t even met either of the people Zidash just mentioned. His summons transmitted information to him, and he nodded. The horde parted, and a group of Kaer approached, led by Dieter.

Alen noticed how Razzan and Vexxaron were missing and frowned.

“Hey man. It’s good to see you. Where are the others?” Sam asked, looking past Alen’s hoard.

“Vexxaron never met up with the rest of us.”

“And Razzan?”

Dieter’s face darkened. “Voluura,” he growled. Slightly behind him, a girl of the Kaer stood. She was thin and looked fragile. Her eyes had large bags underneath them, and she looked like hell. Alen suspected that she was the reason Dieter decided to attack the cult’s headquarters in the first place.

Sam in front of him pursed his lips and looked away. Answer enough.

“We managed to defend the top district mostly,” Alen pointed out. “Slayh retreated after he fought us. This part of the city is safe—well, at least for now.”

Dieter blankly nodded at him and moved past Alen and his mount, the sentient ball of flame on his shoulder looking more deflated than usual. Alen mentally sighed. They were all tired. Really, as insensitive as it sounded, he just wanted to get this over with. Too much had happened in too small of a time frame. It was almost unreal.

Alen began to mobilize his summons, spreading them over a large area to keep track of any potential threats that might make its way towards them. He sent a group to the middle district and focused on them. The information would come flowing soon.

“I’m thinking of opening a milkshake place after this,” Sam said, and Alen blinked as he noticed his friend who was now standing beside him.

“Why milkshakes?” he asked.

“It just seems chill, you know? None of this stuff. Just me, making milkshakes and maybe ice cream and selling it to kids in some random village,” Sam replied, a small pile of snow coalescing in his palm. “I think I’d be happier doing that.”

“Yeah,” Alen said. A moment of silence passed before he spoke again. “You know, you don’t have to settle down in some rustic old village.”

“What do you mean?”

“We can travel. See the world out there without all this fighting. Enjoy ourselves a little. Spread your milkshakes across the continent. Form a band. Go camping. The simple stuff. The fun stuff.”

Sam looked up at the cavernous ceiling of the Underearth and placed his hands in his robe pockets. He let loose a breath. “I always liked singing,” he said.

“What would we name the band?”

“Something about eggs.”

“Omelette?”

Sam laughed. “I can live with that.”

Alen grinned and took his phone’s casing out from one of the pouches the employee from the Lodge had brought out. He pulled the keratin lid off and looked down at the cracked screen of the device beneath.

“I wanna find a charger for this thing,” he said. “I miss my music.”

“We’ll add it into the checklist my dude.”

“Priority numero uno?”

“My milkshake enterprise takes that spot.”

“Understandable,” Alen nodded. He put the phone and its protective casing back into the storage pouch, which he deposited into his robes. He looked down at Lynn and Roland, who was watching Adam juggle his weapons around. Every time one of them threatened to fall from his hands, he’d teleport them right back and resume the cycle as if nothing happened.

He jumped off his summon. They still had things to take care of. People to save and all that. Honestly, he was tired of all the fighting, but he wanted to do it. He wanted these people to see the next day.

“Hey!” he shouted, and the group turned to look at him. “Let’s—“

Thrumm.

A vibration echoed through the entire city. Alen felt it pass his body, reverberate within his insides and rattle within his soul. Everyone around him stopped and tensed.

Thruuummmm.

It came again. Humming, vibrating. It was a persistent noise, the effect lingering long after its passing. Alen felt a chill run up his spine. Something was wrong. Something was coming. All the instincts contained in his body screamed at him to run. Run away as fast as possible.

Feedback came from his summons in the middle district.

A hole. A hole had opened up in the middle of the lower district, and his summons were flying right above it. Like a massive sinkhole, it gaped and swallowed everything in its path. It expanded, and what was in the center became much clearer.

A passage. A hole. A pit. Twisting, cavernous walls that snaked and warped its dimensions like an abstract mosaic. Pillars of stone connected one side to the other. Alen recognized it.

It was the entrance to the Undearth. It was the hole they had fallen into on the first day.

Problem was, it wasn’t heading up. It was going straight down. It was going straight down, and whatever was down there was slowly climbing up.

Thruuuuuummmmm.

The sound beat against everything it reached. As it passed through him again, Alen paled. This sensation was unmistakable. It was the sensation of being watched. The sensation of walking through the woods alone at night, knowing that something just past the brush was staring right at him. The sound wasn’t a noise or a vibration.

It was a sensory function.

He looked at the rest of his party and saw the same looks on their faces. His connection to the summons flying above the pit were abruptly cut. Alen’s gaze looked out over to the distance.

Parts of the top district closest to the center of the city were beginning to crumble and fall, sucked into the pit in the center. The winds began to blow in the same direction, gradually strengthening.

The damn thing was sucking the city in.

“Run!” he screamed, before bolting towards his summoned Stone Drake. The rest followed. They began to climb and board it. The people in the Lodge ran back to the building in a panic. Alen’s summon ran past the rest of his horde. Gorebats flew behind him, tearing a small piece of bone from the corpse of the Matriarch Gorebat. The piece fell into his palm.

His Stone Drake rushed past the Lodge and entered the edge of the top district. The side of his face felt hot.

Alen looked up.

On the ceiling, a hole had been torn open. On the other side of it, Alen saw blue and white. Sky. Clouds. Sunlight. The sun shone down on his face for the first time in over half a year. He felt his breath catch.

“Alen!” Lynn shouted, snapping him out of his reverie. She pointed, and he followed her hand to see the expanding rift in the center of the city. The area around it was dark and gloomy, and it was only getting darker by the second. Something was rising up from the pit.

“Fuck,” he cursed, looking down at his mount. “I can get us out of here. I have a way to reach that hole. I just need time, and pray to the fucking gods, some luck.”

He took the Matriach Gorebat’s bone shard and slammed it down into the Stone Drake’s head.

God, he hoped this plan would work.