A second overnight chap, goodnight ppl

___________

12. A Weakling’s Will

Safety was a relative term. For a sinking man, it meant the land. For a suffocating fish, it meant the water. Even so, Boris decided that he would lay some ground rules for the term. Maybe even write a tome discussing the application and limitations of the word. If he emerged safe, that is.

Diana’s “safest” route led onward precariously, throttling his sense of excitement with apprehension. He gripped Sikata firmly around the neck, stooping forward in balance. The forest warped before his eyes, trees twisting and turning at awkward angles as Sikata rushed between them. He felt the air whip across his clothes, threatening to pull them apart. He felt the ground swirl and swoosh, disorienting his direction. And Sikata sprinted with a pace abrupt and unpredictable.

Everything felt hostile, ready to consume him. Stares dug into him from all sides, eager, savage and vicious. He stooped lower, sticking to the back of Sikata’s head as he turned to scan the surroundings unsuccessfully. They vanished too fast, never giving him a glimpse into darkness.

‘Do not touch my ears, human!’ Sikata growled. His grizzled ears sparked as Boris drew back, hands still taut around his neck. Sikata obviously disliked Boris, evident from his growls and grudging. Diana was the only reason he had agreed to carry the boy, reluctantly.

‘Prickly old wolf!’ Boris scowled internally.

Behind him, Diana sat comfortably, her eyes alert to every detail. Boris felt a bunch of intent stares as Diana stood up, knees bent just enough for balance. “Whatever you do Boris, do not let go,” she cautioned firmly behind his neck. Boris nodded and squeezed the vessels in his hand, cramping them against Sikata’s neck. He could feel other monsters close by.

“Dodge!” Diana roared as Boris felt his skin tingle, a pack of predators upon them. One shadow plunged from above as Sikata shifted sideways. It had black dense fur and sharp green eyes. Diana swiped a dagger through its extended arm, severing it in a small splash of blood and a deep echoing shriek. Then she pushed Boris down with herself, as a flaming green mass passed above them, charring the tree ahead.

Boris could barely register the monster that lay behind them, dark black with seven appendages, four arms, two legs and a tail. Only six remained after Diana had severed an arm. “What are they?!” Boris afforded a question as the monster vanished from sight. Instead, he felt a strong jerk of Sikata’s turn, throwing him off to one side. Then Sikata swerved again, leaving Boris hanging by an arm, his body waving with Sikata’s movements. Sweat rained down his body in danger, pulse quickening, breath shaky.

A strong pull wrested him back just in time to let two smaller silverpelts dart by their side. “I told you not to let go!” Diana warned him. He heard a curious howl from Sikata, which he interpreted as a snort. Then he saw four similar monsters up ahead, their eyes hooked upon himself. The two smaller silverpelts charged at the outlying ones, their body clad in lightning as they pounced upon and tore through the enemies.

Sikata sped headlong through the fray, a blast of air resounding as his feet prickled with lightning. He let out a roar that flung the monsters dozens of meters away. Trees cracked against their bones, bark splintering, and they fell unconscious. Boris watched as Sikata continued his way unaffected. He reminded himself not to pick a bone with the spirit guardian.

“They are helter-skelters,” Diana responded once the silence regained, “and they were hunting us.”

“Weren’t you an empathizer? Driving away monsters, taming them and such?”

“I am an empathizer. That doesn’t mean I can just break in or threaten every being of the forest. The stronger ones have a stronger Will, and are a nuisance to subdue. Why should I over strain my senses when I can take them down by easier methods,” Diana corrected him.

“And they attack us while we are being escorted by the king of the forest?” Boris voiced his second doubt, spurning Sikata.

‘They are not my subjects and I am not a king. Your kings are savage dictators; I am a guardian, a protector, and not of humans,’ a deep rumbling voice answered. ‘Do not taunt me human, my tolerance runs thin.’

Diana shook her head and Boris shrugged, grasping a tight hold in case Sikata decided to throw him over.

“How long have they been so reckless Sikata?” Diana diverted the issue.

‘Not long. Argyvael has loosened his reins and they are running amok between territories,’ Sikata replied as they climbed up. Rocks sprouted in the ground and vegetation thinned to a carpet. The trees still held on, their thick roots creating small mounds of softer earth littered with herbs and smaller plants. ‘He seems to have disappeared, and these invaders have come through unwarned.’ There was heavy suspicion in Sikata’s voice.

The Shadows of Sik looked closer now, more daunting and majestic than before. They rose into the clouds and beyond, hiding the peaks from sight. Boris traced them down as they fell, giving in to the greenery that encroached them below. Rocks and ridges all conquered by the resilient tenacity of grass, creeping ever onward with knotted trees that followed it.

‘We are here.’ Sikata came to an abrupt halt as he said so. His claws dipped into the ground with ease, shredding through the grass as he skidded.

Boris jumped off before the inertia could throw him, running alongside to stop slowly. He eyed Sikata with an accusing look but the spirit guardian ignored him, turning to Diana. She dismounted comfortably.

“Where is the hideout?” Boris asked. There was no such thing visible.

“A mile south from here,” Diana replied, “let us go.” She plucked an arrow and drew it against her bow, stepping into the wilderness.

“He isn’t coming?” Boris pointed towards Sikata, while fetching his own bow out.

“It’s not his territory anymore, Argyvael rules here. They don’t like crossing each other,” Diana answered.

‘That is not so,’ Sikata grumbled behind her, ‘We honor each other’s territories strongly.’

Diana looked at him knowingly but said nothing. Sikata let out a small disapproving growl, ‘Consider my help a payment for the favor Diana Silverdeen. I need them removed and repentant, or you could kill them.’ He turned to walk away but paused a few steps later. Peering over his shoulders, Sikata drew a sharp glare into Boris, ‘So long human kid. I pray we never meet again.’

Boris watched him disappear as suddenly as he appeared, praying the same.

_______________

“Who is Argyvael?” Boris asked as they made their way through. They had been walking for a while but avoided confrontations with most monsters.

“Another spirit guardian,” Diana answered while ranging for monsters ahead, “lives higher up among the Shadows of Sik but he hunts down below in these parts.” She shot an arrow into a treetop, revealing a curious eight-legged monkey that screeched but ran away.

“Another wolf?” Boris asked about Argyvael, frowning to imagine more of Sikata’s kind.

Diana held a finger to her lips.

‘The scent of blood,’ Boris realized, the air smelled of wanton death.

He scrunched his eyes to focus. The hideout was in plain sight, marked by the corpses of bandits that circled the cavernous entrance. They approached cautiously, soft somber steps and crouching stances. They stopped before the puddle of blood that was seeping into dark crevices. It was fresh blood and the wounds were clean and fatal.

“Someone already killed them?” Boris remarked bitterly at the scene. They had just journeyed through half a day of severe discomfort to find their job done.

“No,” Diana rebuffed as she used her ranging magic, “someone is killing them, still inside.” She analyzed the corpses and the surroundings, seeking signs to identify the avenger. There were barely any, this was done by someone really skilled. Diana adopted a serious visage to ponder.

“Boris,” she turned to face him, “You are waiting outside. Stand guard, you can easily deal with a few bandits of this level if they come.”

“What?!” he replied with frowning disbelief.

“You are waiting outside pup,” Diana impressed harshly, “there might be someone far more dangerous inside and I don’t need your blood on my hands.”

“Fine,” Boris grouched, turning his face away in disappointment.

“Do not attempt to follow me, is that clear?” Diana reasserted.

“Very clear,” Boris replied robotically.

“And stay vigilant, if I send a signal, you abandon everything and run,” Diana cautioned him just in case the worst happened.

“Okay,” Boris accepted with a sigh. He curtailed the sarcasm from reaching his voice. There was no way he would abandon her here, not even if his life depended on it. He watched Diana disappear into the dark cavern and waited. He stretched his senses to the limit, trying to feel her presence. It was almost inexistent. She left neither sound nor smell when she scouted.

The only thing Boris recognized was her Will. She had repressed it to a faint aura but he knew her well enough to feel it. She reeked of danger from the first time he had met her. When he could feel her no more for a time, Boris stepped in. ‘I am not following you,’ he justified, ‘and I did wait outside.’

Boris walked slowly, waiting for his eyes to get attuned to the darkness. His left hand continually touched the wall, brushing softly against its contour to find the way. He regretted not bringing a torch, there were no fire spells without Diana. He had tied up a stock of branches and lit them up. They burned haphazardly, creating more smoke than light. He didn’t have much in the way of safe fuel.

Boris turned his nose away and crouched in, holding the branches high. They poured a few embers on the floor, casting specks of glowing dust upon the uneven rock. Every step was a cautious attempt to feel the ground, and avoid any danger contained within. He found a few more corpses inside, observing them for anything useful. Amulets and gauntlets were useless, as were swords and shields. That curious bottle though, seemed to be useful. Boris uncorked it to peer inside and felt a strong, disorienting smell rise up.

“Oh shit!” were the words as he hurriedly corked it back and stuffed it in. But it was already taking effect, Boris felt the dizziness as he stumbled back. His back pushed hard against the wall while his arms flailed about, hitting things and places he did not know. Then the ground gave way as the wall swiveled, and a hole engulfed him. Boris fell.

The scream did not emerge however, just died inside his throat. Boris found himself searching for support as he dropped through the trap, probably ending in spikes or boiling acid. His mind was still wobbling and it was difficult to find foothold. He hit his legs hard in desperation, trying to retard the fall. The shoes abraded against the tunnel with a grating noise, but his grip was weak and his body unsteady.

The exit was already coming into view and his mind was rumbling idiotic measures.

‘The walltricks!’ he remembered as he fiddled with a pouch. The ball jumped from his hands as his back grazed and ached from the fall. Boris smashed his foot hard against the wall in half frustration. The kick cracked the falling ball into pieces and a dense liquid overflowed. It stuck to his legs like superglue and pulled on them, arresting his fall. Then it stretched like gum, straining to contain his weight while he toppled upside down. Boris immediately pushed both hands against the wall, grabbing a small hold before the gum tore. Then he corrected his posture slowly, his legs gaining a foothold in the tunnel and scraped the gum before it hardened solid.

The walltrick was something he used to trap monsters, a mass of annoyingly sticky glue that turned solid over time. The secret ingredient to walltrick was what he called yuck. Specifically, the sourfill spiders had a cavity that was… yuck!

‘Safe!’ Boris heaved satisfactorily after the effort. Taking a moment to calm his breath, he peered up the dark twisted tunnel way. ‘No way can I climb back up all the way.’ Then he looked down to find a faint light at the exit. After a moment of hesitation, he started the descent. The tunnel curved to a horizontal mouth near the exit and Boris peered out cautiously.

To his surprise, there were neither spikes nor acids here, just another hollowed recess with plenty of other openings.

‘Then where is the light coming from?’ Boris scanned the recess to find a source of light in one of the openings, another tunnel that led deeper inside. He wandered in. The tunnel took a comfortable incline as it sloped downwards, the other end glowing bright and blinding. Voices were faintly audible. Boris crawled along its length in caution, his bow ready to launch an arrow. He met no resistance along the way.

The voices grew louder as he advanced. There were high-pitched squeals of children and monotonous voice of someone chanting. Someone was giving orders. “All eight in turns, stab the heart and let it flow.” Boris rushed forward as he heard that, stopping just short of the end.

The end of the tunnel dropped into a large underground chamber, near the roof. Torches lit the walls and a giant flame pillar stood in the center. Opposite to him, a ledge led down crude stairs. And down below was a horrendous sight. There was blood, so much blood. And corpses. Boris felt his pulse quicken as he tried to make sense of the scene.

An elevated platform with eight monoliths around it. To each was tied a haggardly child, with unkempt hair and green sickly skin. They were all dead, sleek daggers stabbed into their chest overflowed with blood. It dripped down the cruel gutters and formed a glyph on the platform. More corpses lay around, innocent people who had been killed for an abominable ritual. Most of them were humans of different ages, with a few that Boris regarded to be mixed-bloods.

The stench of blood and the scene almost caused him to retch. Boris held his mouth, lest he reveal himself. His eyes fell on the glyph. A hexagram circumscribed and inscribed with circles. The runes turned blood red and encroached the center. There, he saw a last survivor. A small, weak elven child bent over in fear. Muffled screams sat on her gagged mouth and tears overflowed her red eyes. A mage in black robes set a black blade on her throat, chanting without guilt.

‘They will kill her!’ a strong anger swelled within Boris. His bow was ready. The bottle he had procured sat nearby. Dipping an arrow into the ominous liquid, he ran a scrutiny through the chamber. ‘Fifteen people, twelve warriors, three mages.’ There was panic evident on all their faces and madness dwelled in their eyes. They had yet to realize his presence, but it wouldn’t be long. The first arrow would give him away in open light.

If he had looked above, he would have noticed another cage. One with a large snow-white hawk inside it. However, just as the people below never noticed him, Boris never noticed the hawk. But the hawk did, with sharp, keen eyes. It stayed eerily quiet.

Boris took out a few smokescreens and seedthorns, shifting them to near the edge. He poured the rest of the bottle’s contents carefully over them, while cautiously pinching his nostrils closed. The poisonous liquid seeped in, accumulating inside them. ‘I will give you a taste of your own medicine.’

When he was done, he took aim at the mage who was about kill the child, calming his breathing, cooling his nerves. His hand shivered then steadied itself. His breath wavered but softened and his eyes honed in. Time stopped. Emotions died. Instinct took in. The mage now held the blade to light and spoke aloud, “O Lord Solomon, by the right of servitude, grant us thy blessings! By the blood of &^(*—

The mage garbled his words. An arrow sat in his neck, drawing his blood before he could draw any. The raised, well-lit platform had made him an easy target. Before the shock could spread and his position realized, Boris kicked the smokescreens and seedthorns into the air. As they fell, they brought a curtain of chafing fumes and an assault of prickled thorns, laced with the poison he had found. He slung back the bow to hide a little.

Screams and alerts resounded. People coughed violently in the smoke, overcome by the excoriating sensations.

“Curses!” “Have they made it down already!” “Finish the ritual!” “Up the ledge! Hold them back!”

Boris watched as a few bandits rushed up the stairs and through the ledge towards the opposite side. It was luck that none of them noticed him. It was even luckier that they left, he now had fewer opponents to deal with. A few more smokescreens fell into the smoke, creating more of it.

Jumping off, he landed heavily on the bandit below. The bandit screamed from the force while Boris plunged an arrow through his nape, and vanished.

Boris had memorized the rough location of every person in this room. The three mages were all upon the platform, one of them now hopefully dead. Four spear wielding bandits guarded them. Boris had flung the seedthorns there, hoping to get the mages with their guards. And it had paid off. No one had used wind magic to dispel the smoke. They were either dead or too dizzy with the poison.

Two other bandits had stood near the wall, beside the cage with other sickly green children. One of them he had just dispatched. The three behind the flame pillar and the three near the stairs to the ledge had all ran up.

He took the other one near the cage easily. The bandit was waving his sword and Boris twisted it back upon him, feeling the swing in the air. It was much slower than Diana’s and he didn’t even need to see to know where it was. A groan emerged as the smoke began to clear. The sword sat stabbed into the bandit’s abdomen, his hand still upon it.

Louder cries emerged as Boris ran towards the platform. He flung a few more smokescreens, the last of them, before the smoke could disappear. But the room was too large to be shrouded completely and the bandits had learnt their lesson. They ran out of the smoke to search for him, crouching low.

“Where are you bastard?” “You will not leave alive!” Boris used those shouts to locate the bandits.

“#$% Kill the ^^&(els!s” “&*# mongrelsss!” high-pitched queer screams shouted behind him. ‘What language is that?’

“Mongrel *illss mongrelss!” another hysterical cry resounded.

“Shut up!” he whispered, towards the children in cages, raising his finger to his lips. Now that he looked, they were probably some queer outlying race Elaine had never described.

“Found him!” someone shouted up ahead. The difference in languages was giving Boris a headache. He noticed the first of spear bearers lunge for him, shouting, “He is here! This runt!”

Boris squeezed the vessels in his feet and shifted into diversion. For the bandit ahead, he all but vanished.

The bandit felt a strong spin as he was thrown about, his own lunge guiding him to the ground. His nose cracked hard against the ground and he groaned, tasting blood. His leg was twisted the same time, ankle fractured in agony. He fainted.

The second bandit came before Boris could deal completely with the one on ground. He kept caution as he dodged the spear thrust. From the corner of his eye, he could see that another bandit and mage remained unscathed. The mage was still steadying himself, his staff shaking in support. He felt their feeble killing intent focused on him. The bandit before him roared, thrusting the spear full force, underestimating him.

He dodged the spear thrust the same moment he felt the mage prepare a spell. They were both horribly slow, and inelegant. Boris swept a foot under the attacker’s leg, misbalancing him as his spear passed by. He grabbed the bandit by the scruff and used his fall to spin him around. The bandit swore wide-eyed as Boris held him like shield. A huge fireball struck him, charring his armor and face. “Aaargh!” he groaned in pain. Boris emerged from behind him, a pickblow in hand, as the mage resorted to a basic lightning streak.

Straining his legs, Boris ran for cover, avoiding the last bandit who was coming at him with rage. Lightning tore through the ground he stood and his only pickblow flew like a disk, exploding in the face of the last mage. The mage fell off, screaming violently and writhing about. The lightning bolt curved and exploded near his feet. It flung Boris at the platform, wounding his shoulder while he rolled on to avoid the brunt. He forced a stop and hopped back immediately, avoiding a spear that pierced the ground. It rippled with magic and flames.

Boris looked up to find the last of bandits jump at him from the platform, seething with anger. “You little pest!”

‘I don’t have time,’ Boris spotted the little elven girl behind the bandit, still crying and pallid. A familiar face. He dodged a dagger’s slash and avoided a pesky little fireball easily. He needed to take care of the enemy fast, before more came in or one of those inside decided to wake up. This enemy however, wore metal all over, gauntlets and guards, helmet and a chest piece. He was too heavily armored for a mere bandit. And his armor had a crest, a hexagram like the glyph.

“Give up, little pest! Neither you nor your companions above are going to survive,” the man blurted an empty threat as he pulled out a second dagger. Both daggers glowed, sparks of lightning erupting on their serrated edges. Boris dodged the horizontal swipe of one dagger and shifted sideways as the second dagger slashed vertically. They left a rippling tension in the air as they slashed, creating a slight glow and lot of crackling noise.

His eyes traced their trajectories and forms, while gauging the exposed parts on the enemy, ‘Ankles, sacrum, flank, armpit, face, neck.’ The daggers slashed repeatedly while Boris tried to close in on openings.

The bandit was slow but experienced, never relenting on his own guard. He grew increasingly annoyed however, with each strike that missed Boris and sparked flimsy air.

“Oraaah!” the armored bandit roared loudly and Boris felt a tinge of his Will, an angry, frustrated, intent to murder. It was weak, unlike his coarse, resounding voice.

Boris responded with what he felt was his own Will. A determination to save the child and a readiness to kill for it. The bandit froze, uncharacteristically, drawing back a step in fear. Boris took it as luck and hit his flank with a side kick, then a low kick to the ankles and a final roundhouse kick to the side of the neck all in one fluid motion. The bandit collapsed like a broken log of wood. Boris watched him go down while still alert, ready for a counterattack.

A victorious thud resounded. Boris leaned in and cracked a walltrick on the bandit’s face. It would turn hard and incapacitate him. He proceeded to incapacitate everyone that lay around, not willing to take risks. By the time he was done, his reserve of walltricks was finished and everyone was stuck permanently to the ground, mouths gagged and limbs restrained. He had nothing left in his arsenal, except a few seedthorns and a howlking.

The children inside the cages were shouting louder now.

“You mongrel, do usss favor!” “Ssave uss mongrel!” “Leave him, mongrelsss kill!” their voice was an irking, shrill tone. They peered through the cages with curious eyes. Some of them fought, argued each other, trying to raise a ruckus. Their language seemed to be a mix of weird pronunciations.

“Keep quiet,” Boris tried to warn them. His language turned to theirs, in a crude imitation. But he himself didn’t notice it. They grew silent at once, staring at him in question. “I will release you later, I promise.”

Boris could not open metallic cages after all. He would have to ask Diana’s help once she ventured down here. He turned and ran towards the platform in hurry. The first priority was to release the child, so she could not be used a hostage or killed. After ensuring her safety, he would deal with the other bandits who had marched up. If Diana left them alive, that is.

A dozen dazed expressions watched his back. “Mongrel promisssed help usss.” “Our tongue he ssspeakss!” “Mongrel knowsss our tongue!” they were whispers too low for Boris to hear.

One particularly keen hawk watched him with interest, never revealing itself. Not that it could, except by squeaking.

The child stood tied and gagged. Her long ears flicked red in the light. Her cheeks were crusted with tears and wounds and her clothes disheveled. She looked in a faint glimmer of hope towards Boris, still afraid and apprehensive. Boris now saw why she seemed familiar.

Her face looked remarkably like the one in his memories. Memories that he had long made peace with. No amount of guilt could face them but time had taught him differently, subdued them as scars. Those scars were now gouged at again, turning into fresh wounds. He swallowed them, distinguishing reality from illusion, and smiled warmly. The child drew back a little; his eyes did seem a little evil after all.

“Do not worry,” Boris reassured her in Cylian, “No harm will come to you little elf.”

She looked at him suspiciously, then relaxed a little. Boris smiled and swiftly climbed up the platform. She continued to eye him with mixed emotions but Boris did not mind. Then he felt it. There was sharp squeak from above and an ominous intent flared. It was corrupted, twisted and brutal.

Boris rushed towards the wide-eyed girl who had felt it too, eager to shield her from harm. Another enemy had come, someone far more dangerous. He had no time to retaliate or even glance back, however. ‘I should have killed the others first!’ he reflected as he ran, the girl now inches from him. She gawked wide-eyed in fear, then froze up.

A slash tore into the air, tossing him several feet back with mere force. His arms bled through his sheared sleeves, his grazed cheeks flowed red, dripping over his chin and wetting his lips. Boris squeezed his mana vessels hard in resistance.

“I missed?” a frivolous, tasteless voice sounded from the ledge.

Boris scrambled to his feet, his eyes glued to the girl ahead. She was still standing but a rose red line formed on her pristine neck. Then it thickened as blood dripped all around and she fell, lifeless. Through tearing eyes he watched hope die on him. ‘Weakling!’ he cursed himself, ‘Useless! Inept!’ He struggled towards her body, hoping for it to return alive.

“So difficult to use it at longer ranges, at least the pureblood is dead,” the same voice spoke without concern, “and the ritual is almost complete. My subordinates are useless, it seems.”

Boris did not hear it. Reality merged with illusion as he glanced at her shocked face, still frozen in time. And though they were lifeless, he imagined scorn in those eyes. The scorn that had once given him nightmares. The nightmare was now real, and he was living it. ‘Pathetic,’ those eyes told him, ‘to let me die again.’

Guilt came plunging down and rage emerged out of it, boiling, bubbling, screaming. His mana tree cringed, twisted and ravaged about his body in partial spasm. A black swirling mass of emotions formed within as Boris turned to face the culprit. He could feel a twisted smile behind that cruel mask, he could feel the repugnant soul within those hidden eyes and he loathed it fiercely.

“You killed Sophie,” with a shivering, creaking voice, Boris spoke in half daze. The swirl of emotions heightened, threatening to tear apart his mind. It bulged and surged, expanding, howling, maddening him. The world turned red and ruthless.

“Poor soul,” the man inside the mask spared him a chuckle, “Do not worry, you will be joining her soon.” He raised his hand and a glimmering sheen of air formed over it, like a long invisible sword. There were no traces of blood on it. He looked down upon Boris from the ledge.

“Uwaaargh!” there was weak, hoarse cry as Boris tried to stand, the world whirling and twirling. A small snigger sounded as the man extended his invisible sword to kill him. Their eyes met, each in vehement disapproval of the other. And Boris let the swirl of emotions out. Letting it rip through his mind and invade outside.

Unlike his hoarse cry, it was a savage beast. It plundered through the air like a storm, rushing out in blazing force and fury. It was a gigantic intent to kill, filled with vengeance, rage and despair. It exploded out, unknown to Boris, through the walls and tunnels, through every crevice and every creature, until it burst into the forest outside. A bone chilling, oppressive Will.

A silence fell outside, in the forest nearby. Monsters fainted, animals fell and birds dropped from their nests. Trees shuddered and air froze.

Viker, the man in the mask, felt livid and terrified. His voice suffocated inside him, his magic vanished and his face paled. His knees gave way as he fell from the ledge. His shivering hands failed to grasp support. Terror overran him like a tsunami. He had witnessed a devil. A devil in the skin of a weak, human child. The bloodlust it gave made him want to die even before he fell.

The boy lunged inhumanly at him as he fell, tearing through the air inconceivably fast. Viker found his throat grasped as both the boy and himself crashed into the ground.

A brutal force crushed his throat before he could speak. He found death waiting for him as he coughed, heaving desperately for a breath. His eyes found the boy looking down at him in naked vengeance. As his vision blurred the image of the boy twisted inside his mind. ‘Lord Solomon, you have come,’ he remarked internally towards the boy, ‘may you purge the heretics…’

“Aaaaaaaaaaaah!” Boris screamed as he killed the man in the mask. His vengeance felt empty and unfulfilled.

“ORaaa#%^^&aAAAAAA*((AH!” A louder roar erupted beside him, shaking the chamber and reverberating through the air.

A creature had appeared out of thin air. The large, almost twenty feet tall abomination had two horns and blood red eyes. Its ankles dripped in the blood and its foot crushed the legs of the dead child. It roared about in a frenzied voice, “#$ d%&^ c** )_ere!”

“You monster,” Boris let out a surge of killing intent towards it. A creature that feasted on innocent sacrifices. A demon. “I will kill you!”

The Berg ogre turned, its eyes curiously searching for the one who was letting out such killing intent. It found a marred, puny creature glaring back in vengeance and bloodlust. Its eyes recognized his form, bringing forth hatred and anger. “M#%rel!” it roared in a voice Boris could barely comprehend. Then it jumped off the platform, ground surrendering in its wake.

The jump toppled the flame pillar, sending the flames to pieces as it crashed against the ground. Flames littered about on cracked shells, flickering wildly and creating an area of darkness above. The ogre’s eyes glowed within the darkness, glowering at the enemy that had piqued it.

Boris rushed at it in mad vengeance, instincts guiding him to battle. He overexerted his muscles, each straining and producing an overwhelming force. A palm thrust into the ogre’s knee from his height. A ripple emerged and the knee shifted a little, holding its own in strength. The ogre turned to face him in annoyance. It let out another loud roar as it pulled the broken pillar, waving it about as a weapon.

The pillar passed slowly above Boris as he dodged, then launched a second hit in the hollow of the knee. The sturdy muscles held on, only bowing a little as the ogre turned about. “Kill you mongrel!” it roared again, this time in a clearer voice Boris could understand. Boris ran around the ogre as it smashed the pillar into the ground, scattering pieces of rock and gravel with a trembling, grating noise. Dust rose up, flames flickered and Boris approached.

Pushing his muscles hard, he tried to jump up the ogre’s height. The ogre’s belt provided a grip and he held it firmly. The ogre rampaged, throwing him about. Boris held on vehemently, trying to support his flailing legs, intent on climbing up the demon. The ogre ran in circles, trying to throw him off. Its hands finally smashed at Boris, sending him through the air. The wall welcomed him harshly, shearing his skin and tearing his flesh. More blood emerged as he rolled to a stop. Beside him, he saw the caged children collapsed in a heap, unconscious. A small weak voice inside him spoke, ‘Save them.’

Boris spit the blood, turning to face the ogre again. His body creaked from the stress, his heart thudding and muscles shuddering. His mind was half-lost, dazed and unsteady. Only the desire to kill remained. ‘I will kill it, even if it kills me to do so,’ he told himself.

The flames grew dimmer and the air heavier as he stood up. He strengthened his feet, taking deep breaths to adopt the free form. His lacerated skin prickled and burned as blood seeped out. The bow was already broken and the quiver lost. Boris had no sense to seek for them. He concentrated purely on the enemy ahead.

The ogre looked down, its eyes hovering to find Boris. They narrowed in disdain at last, locating him. Then it ran full force at him, the pillar held like lance to thrust. The ground shook as it advanced, a slow rumbling that made the gravel and stones bounce up into the air. With a war cry, it lunged.

Boris raged and exerted his muscles even more. The pillar came at him like a raging bull, scraping away at the ground nearby. His eyes traced it in slow motion, instinctively. He ran straight at the pillar, jumping upon it to continue his advance. The ogre turned sharply to throw him off while Boris jumped again, this time to run up its forearm. The ogre smacked the wall heavily, using its whole body to wreck it. The shock threw Boris off the demon. He landed after a deft spin to look behind him.

The cage had been crushed, most prisoners along with it, while a few injured ones rolled out.

“No!” he roared as the ogre noticed the crushed cage with annoyance.

“Grunts! More enemies!” the ogre cried, stomping hard into the remains and crushing them all.

“Do not touch them!” Boris rushed at the ogre blindly, letting out enormous killing intent that made the ogre wary.

It turned and smacked a heavy hand towards Boris, catching him with the sweep. Boris could barely find the sense to dodge. The hit flung him high in the air, crushing a few ribs as he tasted more blood. His lungs ached heavily while he fell. His instincts still regained. He landed deftly on his toes, preventing more injury.

His eyes sat glued on the ogre, who smashed the cage once more.

Heat simmered throughout his body, he would collapse soon. His eyes ached, his ears rang and his skin bled more sweat than blood. A filthy coating of plastered blood and sweat mixed with grime all over him. His face was a painful mess. His skin clammy and his throat dry. He gnashed his teeth hard, letting out a third severe killing intent at the ogre who turned in annoyance.

“You, I will definitely kill!” he swore in a tongue not his own, but the ogre’s. The ogre looked down upon him in greater grudge.

“You dare threaten me mongrel!” It hefted the pillar like a club. “Your bones shall not remain.”

They rushed at each other in vengeance. Boris ran aside as the pillar smashed into the ground, half of it crumbling to pieces with immense force. The floor rattled and rang, a blast emerging out of it. Shards tore through his back as Boris crossed below the ogre, running to the ogre’s foot while it turned.

He leaned in sharply, twisting into inversion while the ogre planned to swing the remaining pillar again. Boris drove a palm thrust straight at the balance point. His palm crunched at the impact, bones breaking, muscles shrieking and skin tearing. All it caused was a small misbalance as the ogre turned, leaning it closer to the ground.

The pillar shifted a little with that, waving unevenly and creating a greater imbalance.

Boris skirted around the leg as the ogre’s blow tilted, its feet spun awkwardly and it leaned towards its left. The swinging pillar left its hands and the ogre bent, arm coming heavily towards the ground to support its fall. Boris received its forearm at the wrist, using his shoulder to redirect the momentum of the ogre’s fall.

His left shoulder crunched as the ogre’s wrist twisted, twisting the whole arm with it. Boris jerked it hard, his own shoulder breaking in the process. Another pang of pain tore through his body as Boris clenched his teeth. A louder crunch resounded when the ogre’s hand hit the floor awkwardly. Its wrist fractured under its own weight and its shoulder came undone, hanging by the side.

Boris smiled venomously, the ogre howled in agony. They each had a broken shoulder and a useless arm.

Boris strode up the ogre’s broken arm, his left arm dangling in the air. The pain he mostly ignored. His creaking and cramping feet had lost all sensations. They pressed hard into the ogre for foothold, barely injuring his thick skin. Sweat rained down his body in buckets, his heart was ready to give in, his body ready to die. ‘One last deed!’ he told his senses on the brink, ‘One last deed.’

The ogre turned to face him in wrath, “You Mongrel!”

Boris reached up the shoulder and spun, his legs fractured at the force his muscles squeezed. It burst and threw him spiraling at the ogre’s face. He extended his broken palm ahead, squeezing his mana vessels for every iota of strength as his arm tore through the ogre’s eye.

The bones cracked and pierced in, bringing out a shower of blood while Boris heaved. His arm dug in deeper into the eye as he scowled at the now horrified ogre. “Die monster,” he whispered in a weak, sore voice. His vision blurred and the ogre tilted back. He coughed up the last of blood as his heart sank. His body went limp and he let go.

‘I am coming Sophie,’ he told her ghost. His mind closed in. A warm embrace came upon him. Death was kinder now, more accepting. His closing eyes imagined the hints of his master’s face. His lips formed a voiceless apology, “I am sorry master.”

Then he faded out.

___________________

Diana had scouted into the hideout carefully, avoiding the corpses and traps as she delved deeper. Corpses were all she found for a while, each bandit killed with striking efficiency. They reminded her of a familiar person, one she did not expect to be here at this time. But then, she had had enough surprises her whole life to expect the unexpected.

So when the unexpected emerged before her, she betrayed no hint of surprise. Just deflated her sense of tension to normal and peered around at the casualties. There were far too many people here, enough to form a small army. And the army was falling to a singular assault. Mayhem prevailed over them as the Lioness slashed through their ranks. Her scepter glowed golden, a sleek blade of light extending from it.

The cavern had turned large and roomy, with embankments and ledges, built with a defensive purpose. This should have been a long time brewing. ‘But to fashion something so large, did they discover a labyrinth?’ Diana wondered as she looked ahead at the woman.

A file of warriors and mages stood before her. The mages fired spells as the warriors tried to hold her back. They failed miserably.

“Uphold your shields!” “Don’t let her pass!” “What are the mages doing? Use your spells.” They shouted at each other while her scepter danced, taking down a man with each strike. A spell of lightning came and she deflected it, counterattacking with a fire blaze. The streak of swirling flames pierced through the mage above.

“Get her!” they shouted harder, not noticing Diana at all. It was not much fault of theirs, the woman before them captivated attention, almost stunning people with her charm. Her hair glowed golden, spun into a bun above her head. Two sharp long hairpins crossed through it, glinting black and silver. Her eyes glowed golden too, causing her opponents to fall into a trance.

The warrior’s sword was bypassed as the blade of light dug into his throat. She spun to pull it out, repelling another attack from the side and crushed a foot that encroached near. The guy howled in pain before receiving a stab into his chest. She pushed him hard through it, pummeling him into the ones behind. As they fell, she created an opening, slashing at the sides. The defensive line retreated and tried to reform while she took down another mage with a streak of lighting, tearing through his barrier shield.

Given a whole month, this army could never regain an inch on her, Diana was sure of that. They could not even surround her. It was the Lioness after all.

“I never expected you to be here,” Diana spoke for the first time. An arrow left her bow and dived into the crowd, taking out a mage who was healing the retreating bandits.

“Diana?” she asked without looking back. Her scepter slashed a curve, the blade above it taking two heads at once. The bandits cried out in anger and dismay, their eyes still glued to her.

“I will assist, there seems to be enough of them to last a while,” Diana told her while the second arrow pierced through a larger barrier shield, exploding into flames and killing more in the rear.

They tore through the ranks and files of bandits, driving them back through their own lair.

“Get Bulrock!” someone roared, “It’s time for him to prove his usefulness.”

A scythian emerged from one of the ledges, holding an enormous battle axe that glowed purple. His tattoo was pulsing and his muscles rippling in excitement. The mercenary jumped down into the fray with a huge battle cry.

The Lioness cut his head mid-air. She had jumped up a shield while her blade of light sliced through his neck, severing it before he fell. The head and body fell separately, a shower of blood between them. Enemies gasped and gaped. She landed strongly upon one shield, avoiding the blood, crashing the man below. Then she slashed at the bandits beside her, forcing them back. The front line retreated again, pushed by an enormous assault. Diana felled the rear with precise shots.

They pushed the bandits back methodically, taking out the stragglers and mages with surety. Panic spread through the bandit ranks like wildfire. Messages went back and forth, calls for help going deep below and being answered by new additions. It only helped to delay their demise. Arrows and light tore through their ranks. Their own magic proved futile, deflected, overwhelmed and defied. Their weapons could barely touch the invaders while their warriors fell consistently.

There was no escape. Just retreat.

Then the cavern turned narrow again, filled to the brim with bandits. Ironically, this provided them with an advantage. Their rear ranks were more difficult to target and their front held fewer, easily replaceable warriors. Mages now focused only on defense and healing. Multiple layers of barrier shield erected up, creating difficulties for Diana and her companion.

“This is getting annoying,” Diana frowned as one of her arrows was deflected, multiple barriers redirecting it. She slung the bow back and delved in, pulling out two dirks that glowed green. Five consecutive ranks held their shields upfront. “Who lent them all this?” she cried as her dirk stabbed between the shields, wounding the enemies.

“I do not know, but I intend to find out,” her companion replied as the scepter’s blade pierced through the shield like a hot knife through butter. Two shieldsmen died on spot, one behind the other. Regardless, their advance had slowed. They whittled away at the enemy ahead, taking it easy.

It was then that it happened. Diana felt a shudder down her spine as the wave came at her. She grabbed at the wall beside to support herself, her hands sweating a little at that monstrous killing intent. It blasted through the cavern ruthlessly, plundering the air and radiating terror. The Lioness cringed too.

It took a moment for them to regain their bearings. The bandits had fainted. They lay in a bloodless pile, unmoving. But were they bandits? Many of them were equipped far too well. Diana shelved that question for some other time, redirecting her thoughts to an imminent threat.

“What do they have down below?” she asked incredulously, looking at the Lioness.

“What indeed?” Elaine reflected her surprise with apprehension.

______________

The highlands of Imberlon were home to a great warrior force of ogres, the Berg ogres. Or, as they called themselves, the Icebred. Their king chose to live high up among the peaks perpetually covered in snow. It gave him a good view over his lands and a vigilant sight over his enemies, the orcish grunts.

This day, the king had been to his usual routine. He killed a snowbull for food, ordered his chiefs to increase their armies, chewed out his retainers for strategies against orcs and took a tour around his fortress, seeking invaders that never came. Rumors were spreading that he had become paranoid, that he sought the orcs’ blood with madness, and that it would do better if his elder son now ascended the position.

The king abhorred such suspicions, calling them baseless and worthless. He knew the orcs had been scheming, ready to kill him and usurp his lands. The orcs were always scheming. But he never knew their cowardly schemes. So he called forth a council of war by his right. They would take the orcs, before the orcs could take them.

“We kill grunts!” he had roared. He was always a man of very few words, and fewer phrases. But the councilmen were wary. War would mean a loss of their cattle, threatening their livelihood. The orcs were not as intolerable as hunger. And if they had to fight against one, they wouldn’t win against the other.

The king overruled them. “They are enemies, and must all die.” He declared that they would soon launch a campaign against grunts, crushing them once and for all. This lead to a great fuss, but most could not stand against his overwhelming force of Will.

They would rather provoke war to consume them.

The future looked bleak. Then suddenly, fate played its hand and the leader disappeared. Without a sign or trail, he just vanished. In most circumstances, this would have caused the havoc. But today, the Icebred held a ceremony of mourning along with a ceremony of ascension.

“The king is dead. Long live the king,” they proclaimed.

Thus, the reign of Olabar Icehorn ended and the reign of Kilabar Icehorn began.

______________

That's that. A few notes.

1- Yeah, so I have shown you three things about Boris, we will discuss it later. (including Sophie, who is not relevant to plot)

2- the sickly green children are actually goblins. Boris does not know that, and he considers them children, for good reasons.

3- and yeah, Elaine is the Lioness, I guess that was clear from the start.

Any more questions? Personally, I want to improve this chap too, when time permits. So sorry about that. Please list out grammar/other errors below.