Elysium's Multiverse

Chapter 13

Chapter 13

A second later and Athela was there, flashing by and rapid-firing hardened Bloody Strings from her abdomen that pierced the shadowlings like needle-shaped red missiles. The tiny shadow beasts shrieked and withered into puffs of black flame before the Blood Weaver demon turned around to reengage the undead wolf that’d followed her, nimbly dodging the snaps of the zombie and burying her silver fangs into the wolf’s neck bones.

The wolf furiously roared and blasted a green toxin cloud around its position to shake the demonic spider off. Meanwhile, necrotic venom from Athela’s fangs was injected into its spine in a counterattack. The venom from her silver fangs was black, creeping along the joints of the zombie’s exposed vertebrae and causing pieces of bone to rot off, while the cloud of toxic gas seemed unable to affect the demon at all. The larger zombie managed to roll Athela off and leaped back to try and buy itself some space—but it found itself entangled time and time again with strands of sticky red webbing that latched onto its feet, neck, and thorax.

Meanwhile, Riven snarled despite his mangled shoulder and dodged yet another miasmic blast of neon mana that rocketed by his left ear—only saving himself due to his enhanced body under the power of the crow’s blessing.

*WHOOSH*

The bald man was snarling in disbelief at yet another blur of motion on Riven’s end, rage filling the sorcerer’s features while blood seeped from the burned-off portion of his pants where Riven’s snare had entangled his bloodied legs. “YOU LITTLE BASTARD!”

Two more shadowling summons began to form amid dark mana that spilled out of the sorcerer’s staff, coming to life and giving shape to animated quadrupeds yet again. The shadows molded, folded in on themselves, and then solidified to glare out at Riven before shooting ahead with a fervor.

This time, though, Riven was ready.

His mutilated feet ached under the strain, but he shot forward anyways and unleashed two razor discs of crimson. The spinning blades of blood mana rocketed ahead to meet the charging shadowlings, which were both too close and too slow to dodge. One almost escaped the attack, but when the small creature went left, the spinning blood magic went left with it. This particular spell had minor lock-on abilities, and the blood magic adjusted to the direction its target was moving in and cleaved the summoned creature cleanly through. The sleek blade of magic caused the small monster to burst into another puff of black fire. It never even stood a chance.

“INSOLENCE!” the bald man screeched, and he raised his staff to cast yet another miasmic bolt but paled when nothing happened.

Simultaneously, Riven grinned. He must either be out of mana or the man had finally triggered a cooldown. Riven’s muscles flexed, and he dived forward to take advantage of the situation, ignoring the pain of his wounds. Blood seeped through his boots and along his shins, over the torn musculature of his right shoulder, but the blessing kept him going and red electricity pulsed along his skin to drive him toward greater speeds.

Then he conjured a Wretched Snare, and a black ball erupted from his left hand where he held the scythe. The magic surged and spread out, evolving and expanding into another net that slammed full force into Riven’s enemy. This time there was simply no room to dodge even part of it now that the combatants were so much closer to one another, and the spell caught the sorcerer’s entire body within the rooting black magic.

The bald man screamed, flesh and mental barriers alike burning and tearing underneath the damage-over-time effect of the Unholy net. Writhing, burrowing needles of the snare dug farther in second by second, ripping pieces of the man’s body apart and letting loose streams of blood under their strangling, tightening hold. The enemy caster dropped his staff only a second later, and his knees hit the ground while his lungs took in deep, rapid gasps. He struggled frantically in a pained panic, trying to get out of the rooting snare and simultaneously trying to stop his body from going into shock, but was only able to tear off small pieces of the Unholy magic at a time. With each piece he tore off, so too came a chunk of his own flesh, and he was far too slow trying to get the snare off before Riven finally got there.

With a roar of anger, Riven swung his scythe down, cleaving deep into the man’s thigh. The thigh wasn’t necessarily what Riven had been aiming for, but he’d take the hit without complaint after the sorcerer jerked his leg up to protect his vital organs.

The blade sank deep, but Riven was kicked back despite this and staggered to the ground as the man regained his mana and fired another miasmic bolt. The magic tore a hole through Riven’s billowing cloak, but the sorcerer’s frantic attack had missed the target’s body in his terrified state of mind, and the shot had gone right under Riven’s good arm.

Riven fell back a ways to put some space between them and whirled. The scythe was still embedded in the man’s thigh, left there after Riven had stumbled backward, but Riven raised up his good arm and drained what little mana he had left to cast his final spells. He could literally feel the rest of his mana leave his body, emptying it like a drain would a bathtub, and he released the magic upon his enemy with a bloodthirsty smile.

Not two, but four Bloody Razors formed ahead of him and shot forward like spinning crimson bullets aiming for the other caster. The blurring magical projectiles left ribbons of blood trailing their paths through the air, but Riven found his spells slamming into the undead wolf when it jumped in front of its master and took the hit for him.

The wolf was already damaged. It was somehow missing a front leg and had obvious signs of necrosis along its neck and thorax even beyond its original state to the point that its bones were cracking all over its front. Strands of Bloody Strings were flowing out behind it where it’d broken free from Athela’s ability, too. Now, though—as the sharpened discs of razor-edged blood mana crashed into its body—the undead creature made a final yelp and was shot down midair to slam atop the master it served.

It lay there, twitching, until it died a true death only seconds later.

Riven could barely move despite his blessing. His entire body screamed at him in protest, but he willed it to keep going and continued to push himself forward. He shakily managed to take another couple steps until he fell over again and forcibly let out an expulsion of air when he hit the bloodstained grass in a daze. He was bleeding out, slowly dying while the holes in his limbs poured out his own bodily fluids. He looked right, seeing a piece of muscle hanging on to his shoulder by a slim flap, and was disgusted when he realized it smelled like cooked meat.

The thought of it made him literally gag, and he felt bile climb up his throat.

But his thoughts were interrupted by the chittering laughter of Athela. The spider had crawled over to him, missing a leg of her own. Pale-green ichor dripped from the wound—but otherwise she was in great condition.

“You did well to stay alive! I’m super proud of you!” the Blood Weaver said with genuine happiness as she sweetly stroked his head with two sharpened arachnid feet. “Let me finish this. We both participated in the kills, so we’ll both get XP. I think we may even grow a level or two after this! Be right back!”

The spider’s ruby eyes turned, and Athela menacingly stalked toward her prey with a loud, evil cackle. The other mage, who continued to screech at the top of his lungs in agony as the net burned away his skin, had only managed to partially get himself out of the tangled mess… But when he looked back over his shoulder to see the demonic spider making its way to him, the sorcerer went into a full-blown panic attack.

As for the demon? Athela’s next words were filled with excitement and a thrill for the kill. “C’M’ERE, BITCH!”

Riven’s breathing became shallow and time began to slow down, or at least it seemed that way to him when his mental faculties started to shut off. He watched in silence, his vision slowly fading while the other man’s helpless screams of terror and pain reached new heights. He watched as Athela tore into the man’s stomach and began ripping out his intestines. Watched as she loudly mocked the sorcerer amid his begging pleas. Watched as she sprayed webbing all over the man’s face to keep him quiet while she ate him alive, and watched as she did another ridiculous happy dance atop his corpse when the man finally fell silent in death.

This spider was a goddamn kill-happy psychopath.

A flash of light surged across his body. Suddenly Riven could breathe normally again, and he took in a long gasp of crisp, fresh air. Riven’s expression of eager happiness increased in magnitude when he felt the wounds along his body clear up and saw his clothes visibly repair, but the expression faltered and turned into yet another frown when he read the texts. His situation sounded rather ominous, and he found it hard to believe Chalgathi didn’t expect anything of him after this. He didn’t know who or what Chalgathi was, but every action had a reason behind it.

The stars overhead gently twinkled down onto his sprawled-out form, and he took a moment to get a grip on what he’d just gone through. It didn’t last long, however, not with all the distracting noise his victorious demon was making. Pushing himself up with a strained groan, he looked at the still-dancing spider while she chittered and clicked her mandibles atop his enemy’s corpse—waving the man’s intestines around in the air like pom-poms or batons… Riven studied the bound demon for a few seconds with a blank stare, and then he couldn’t help but laugh. It was a sour, cold laugh, because he’d nearly died and the sight was rather gruesome. But he was alive…and that damnable little spider had without a doubt saved his life.

“Good job, Athela. I think I owe you one.”