Suggested Listening

Elruin weaved her way forward, toward the main gates. Cali's house wasn't far from the barracks, the two places she was most likely to be. Nearby, one of the soldiers was dealing with two opponents. They didn't see Elruin approach from behind, nor did they expect the black bursts of energy that pierced their skulls from behind.

She had to admit their armor was impressive, though. If she hadn't had surprise on her side, they might have still been standing. Wherever they got this equipment from, it was superior to what the city guards wore. She resolved to ask Juna what the policy was on taking equipment off enemy soldiers, instead of bandits. Or not-quite-dead soldiers, as was the case with the two brain damaged men on the ground before her.

She didn't have time to take anything now, so she kept running toward where she hoped to find Cali.

As she ran, she took the opportunity to make pot-shots against any of these invaders that wasn't paying attention. Some fell, others remained standing, she didn't waste the time to see what happened to them next nor was she prepared when a fist came out of nowhere.

She didn't realize what had happened until she was laying in the dirt, with a dagger wedged into her stomach. Her first thought was how disappointed Cali would be that she ruined yet another outfit. She saw another dagger coming for her, so she brought her hands up, and was rewarded with a knife now sticking into her arm. Better there than the face it would have hit if her reflexes had been slower.

With little choice, she sang, and blanketed the area in darkness. In the inky blackness, she was safe, though she knew she was drawing attention.

Agony in her guts, she shifted just enough to avoid a third dagger. She'd seen a fighting style like this before, with Calenda, though this guy didn't seem to have any way to track her in the darkness she created.

He was, however, invisible to her lifesight.

In the darkness, she scooted back until she was hiding in the nook under a porch, where at least she was sheltered from flying knives. Hemmed in, she could do little more than wait until someone who could or didn't need to see through her darkness would come. Given what she'd done to several of their men, she doubted she wanted to know what they'd do to her for revenge.

A thump and the splintering of wood signaled a third knife had been launched. She didn't have time to waste.

She gripped the weakened air sarite in one hand, and the knife in her stomach. Clenching her eyes, she began to drink of what little remained of the shard's life-giving strength, then yanked the dagger out of her stomach as hard as she could. She cried out in pain and directed the healing magic as best she could to stop the bleeding.

Wounded, exhausted, but unlikely to die in the next few minutes, she watched two life signatures approach the shell of darkness she'd crafted. A burst of flame streamed through, dispelling much of the unnatural shadow before it struck the building she hid beneath. They were going to burn her out. She'd have to run, while wounded and being pursued, or she'd stay here and die in the fire.

She glanced around, and chose the most bizarre of third options. Singing the song of anger and rage that she developed using squirrels, on yet another squirrel. The animal was agitated and terrified by the conflict going on around them, so she played on those emotions by reducing the fear and increasing the hate in the rodents tiny mind.

"Merat!" It pounced out of its tree upon the woman soldier. Enraged by magic, the little rodent proved its nut-eating teeth were for more than just show by biting deep into her eye-socket.

When her partner turned to help, Elruin fired another death bolt at his back. Not enough to kill this one, but it slowed him down long enough for the squirrel to escape his grasp.

Another crack-pop of wood, another knife. This one, however, hummed with magic.

Elruin scrabbled away, right before the dagger exploded into thousands of tiny fragments of metal. They pelted her back, no single one deadly, but only because they hit her back instead of her eyes. Worse, the shattered wood that was formerly the stairs to the porch had been reduced to tattered remnants of that couldn't slow down further attacks and would burn fast once the flame reached it.

She changed tracks, just some, and sang to her other mind-altering magic, amplifying the power of the shell of darkness she created. It spread outward while she poured everything she had into it. Those with weak minds screamed, retreated. She scrambled from her smoldering hiding place with the hope that the knife-thrower was amongst them.

The squirrel, driven to preternatural hatred toward all things bipedal, ignored the effect and went for the other victim in easy reach. He, too, screamed when the animal reached his face. He grabbed the animal by the tail, tried to swing it away, only for it to bite his finger and use the momentum to wind up on his back. It ran back around, and up into the protective helmet. More screaming, as another eye was claimed by the demon-rodent.

She felt a flicker of energy, then sensed a figure appear. Alive, but exhausted to the point of near-death by abuse of magic. She wasn't in much better shape, metal needles wedged in her back, leaving her back wet with blood while the pain in her stomach was not going to go away soon. Perhaps she should have broken the weak shard down for a permanent healing potion, it would have made her life so much easier.

A surprising burst of speed and power came from the wounded man, who caught her, gripping both her arm and her throat. She tried to kick away, but even wounded, it was still the strength of an adult man against that of a child.

His song was full of destructive energy, necromantic energy at that. She felt it wrap around her, try to invade her body and rip away her living energy. It licked at her skin, but failed to find purchase save to attempt to steal power from her sarite.

He realized his mistake one second too late, as Elruin tapped into her magic and gave him everything he asked for and more. Life and death were entwined forces of reality, more alike than different. Nothing could live without death, nothing could die without life, and the use of a vampiric attack on someone who radiated death energy was suicide.

His mouth opened, a silent scream followed moments later by his lips cracking and falling apart like cheap concrete. Dessicated tissue crumpled away like old mud, leaving behind nothing but a skeleton crumbled into mess of dust, a number of thin knives, armor Elruin couldn't hope to wear, and one shimmering black crystal.

In spite of her injuries, Elruin grabbed the newborn sarite shard, the first she'd ever seen come from a human. It was a cold, gluttonous thing that would not stop trying to steal her life energies, but it might prove useful. She kept it in a pouch away from her other sarite, just in case.

As the darkness trailed after the wounded necromancer, a blood-soaked squirrel squinted in the restored light. It reached into the helmet of its own victim, and pulled out the remaining eye. It, too, had been hardened by the power of pain and necromancy, and it was delicious. It went to gather the remains of the other eye for later, as squirrels were known to do.

Suggested Listening

In another part of the city, the enemy converged on the green, preparing a united front against their defenders. Dozens of men and women, numerous mages, and two dozen of the gigantic coyote-like beasts known as morks.

"Men!" The leader of this group shouted to his side, while his female partner stood, arms crossed, the social nicety to their female soldiers that his orders were also her orders. "Form up and create a line around the temple. Do not attack unless attacked, as the Great King Claron has offered amnesty to the priesthood who does not resist." It was an egotistical fiction, the belief that this cluster of rabble stood a chance against an accomplished priesthood. Their goal, instead, was to prevent civilians from retreating to the sanctuary of the church, lure the defenders out, and give justification to future retaliation against the church.

An old woman walked tall and without fear toward them. "Excuse me, child, you're in my way." She addressed him in the crudest way possible that couldn't be called obscene.

It was a provocation, and one he had to answer or lose face before all his men.

The morks saw the trap for what it was, though they could not guess the particulars. "Dangerous." "No fear." "Smells of ambush." "Illusion?" "Impossible." Not known for bravery, they began to back away from the rest of the team.

"Cowards!" The commander faced the woman, sword drawn. "Leave now, hag, or taste steel."

"After twelve children, all of whom thought to make their poor beloved mother gratitude meals, I'm sure I've tasted far worse." She stepped closer. "You should take better care of your blade. When was the last time you oiled hunk of rust? And my dear Urst would have a word to say about your poor form." She knew nothing about sword quality or combat forms, she never had, but she did know how to insult a man to violence.

"Silence!" He brought his sword up in a wide arc, a showy attack rather than an efficient one, so all his men could see the blade when it stopped with a hollow thud against a childlike face.

Rena smiled at the poor, foolish man. "That was the worst mistake you could have made."

Lyra was not sapient, but she recognized when someone tried to harm her human. A casual swipe of her hand sent the sword, and limb which held it, sailing off toward the wall. The metal of his armor was gossamer to her talons.

He screamed, and one of the mages in the crowd made the mistake of launching a burst of lightning at the ancient dryad. Electricity still dancing through her eyes, Lyra hissed at the offending mage, and came to the conclusion that these annoying strangers were unwelcome in her lair. Her hiss expanded outward, became a call to all living things in the city. She was their queen, they were loyal servants.

She smelled the scent of the necromancer who was friends with her human on some unusual beasts, and determined they would be left unharmed by her commands. Otherwise, all strangers were to be driven from her territory.

Clouds of insects moved to intercept everyone that smelled of those in front of Lyra, biting and stinging as they could. Most would die in moments, scoured even by weak magic, but in many cases they were the distraction the defenders needed to retaliate. The wind turned arrows back upon those who fired them, pebbles moved beneath their feet, and the horses and war dogs turned upon their masters. Dozens fell, not knowing why nature itself had risen against them.

Those who stood before her suffered a much crueler fate, when her power rushed through the greenery beneath their feat. Each blade of grass now straighter, stronger, and sharper than any blade of steel. They fell screaming, their feet pierced whether they wore leather or steel shoes. Hands and legs shredded when they, too, met the deadly grass.

Wounded, maimed, and crippled they were reduced to laying in grass that showed no mercy by allowing them to survive. They would not die, but they would never be able to care for themselves again in their lives. The poison added by the dryad would render healing magic useless upon them forever.

Those that remained standing annoyed the sadistic bug-plant-monster. With a whisper to the wind, and a sweep of her hand, dozens of leaves shook loose from a nearby elm. Each shot forward with the speed and accuracy of an arrow, slicing their way through armor, flesh, and bone. Those who were standing joined their crippled comrades in the dirt.

Lyra stood amidst the pile of bleeding, dying bodies while watching the morks flee for the walls with tails literally between their legs. The beasts were just that, beasts, mere creatures of the wild who knew their place in the hierarchy of the natural world. She was the apex predator, they were intruders in her den, and what led them to this place was less important to them than their lives. She would allow them to live, so the stink of their fear would dissuade other beasts from intruding upon her domain.

Besides, a more powerful beast by far approached. Lyra kicked up a storm of flower pollen, leaves, and bugs to defend her in a cloud of choking death, then turned her head to face the coming threat.

Suggested Listening

Claron struck like a comet through the cloud, flaming armor burning away anything that came close to him. His sword struck out, blocked by Lyra's forearm, while the land beneath their feet cracked with the force of the impact. For those few close enough to view the clash, it must have looked absurd to witness a small child holding back the full power swing of an adult man in heavy armor.

To those who comprehended a fraction of Lyra's power, it was terrifying. The ground had shifted to support the dryad, because she could not stand against the blow without assistance.

She rushed forward, lashing out with claws while being fended off by Claron's shield. He was on the defensive, but he was a forge mage, a powerful defense was his comfort zone. The shared shockwave of their collision, and the earth magic both called upon to serve them sent ripples across the physical and magical battlefield.

Pops and snaps signified that the city would cave before either of them did, as a segment of the wall collapsed into a pile of rubble. The sarite shield flickered, weakened but still functional. Both Lyra and Claron decided they could not afford to continue using such attacks; there were beasts in the wilds which matched them in in power, which would come if they drew this out too long.

Claron swung, Lyra leapt out of the way, and the earth exploded beneath their feet. Claron stumbled back, blinded in the plume of dust and rock.

Lyra did not need her eyes to fight. She could hear him, she could feel him, and she could smell him. She rushed in, taking enough time to move into a flanking position. Claron howled in pain when her talon slid through his side, rupturing his kidney and leaving her venom inside.

Then her skin erupted into flame, the man's blood converted into magma powered by expended and lose life essence. The flame spread, grew, and Lyra made the decision that any wild animal in a trap would make: she severed the burning limb from her body.

The two spun to face one another again. Claron bleeding down his back, while Lyra had her arm amputated at the elbow. As initial exchanges went, Claron suffered the worse for it, but neither was in a strong position.

Claron glanced around at the gathering forces- allies and enemies alike. He liked to think of himself as a smart man, and one who knew when he was about to make a mistake. He felt he could win against this unholy beast, but doing so would leave him exhausted and vulnerable even to the mere mortals who waited for their chance to strike. Retreat, too, would ruin morale and leave that dryad to continue her rampage through his people. They were the deciding pieces of the battlefield, they would determine the war's outcome.

He drew upon the depths of his reserves, and the spell he hated more than any other. Sacrificial Flame. His blood erupted into energy, his wounds translated into enhanced magical strength, and the power ripped through his body. He would survive the spell, if exhausted. He was confident the dryad would as well, though he would be happy if proven wrong. The spectators would retreat to a further distance or die.

He expended his most powerful ability to claim just one life, but it was the one that mattered. Lyra now stood near the other side of the battlefield, her flesh charred by the power of Sacrificial Flame, but it was charcoaled remains of a skull in her hand which had been his goal.

Lyra held what little remained of her former human. To her, the battle was over, and she'd lost. Still missing a limb, she walked away from the battlefield to find her new human.

To the men and women who witnessed this event, the battle had only just begun. A stream of lightning in the shape of a woman bolted across the molted soil that had once been a park. Her blade struck Claron's, and he shook in place as all the energy rushed through him to discharge into the ground. "Ugh!" He gasped, but managed to parry the next blow with his shield. "A fine hello, Sister."

"Traitor!" Juna kicked out, slamming his shield, but it was her knocked back by the force of the blow.

"Traitor? I am the Chosen of Emperor Enge!" Still bleeding, Claron readied his defense. "To defy me is to defy your god!"

"Let's test that theory, shall we?" Lord Garit walked onto the crunching glass of the battlefield. "A gamble. The Lords of Arila against a wounded so-called chosen one. If we lose, we acknowledge Enge has chosen you. If we win, you die a dog's death."

Claron grinned at his sibling's offer. "I admit, I'd be disappointed if this went any other way."