Mark of the Fool

Chapter 878: The Unmaking

Chapter 878: The Unmaking

All across Thameland, dungeon cores drank the power of their enemies’ terror, swelling with new energies.

Green fields became hellscapes dotted with black orbs, each one spewing monsters by the score. Beasts hunted for Thameish flesh to devour, roaming through once quiet woodlands, springing on those unlucky enough to be caught there.

Clouds burned away as Skyfire Swarms rose up, together with Living Cores.

Rivers and lakes choked with acid, Sky Striders emptying their bellies into the waterways.

Monsters poured from the wilderness, overrunning towns and army encampments. The creatures were unstoppable, crushing all resistance beneath slavering fangs, and razor-like claws.

Going from army to army, spreading through the countryside, leaving both terror and death in their wakes.

Smaller groups of Ravener-spawn clustered together, forming great hordes that swept across the wilderness, killing every living soul in their path, creating chaos and ruin along their way to Thameland’s largest cities.

City upon city would fall, the ultimate goal was to wipe the land clean of Uldar’s children once and for all.

That scene of terror was what dawn brought to Thameland.

There, Ravener-Spawn worked with fae, unearthing the buried and scattered fae gates, seeking to reopen fae roads back to the material world. Dungeon cores nearby were spitting out monsters endlessly, building another apocalyptic army to reinforce the monsters already in Thameland.

They too drank their enemies’ fear.

As did their master.

“Stay near me!” Cedric shouted, glowing like starlight, shining with divine light. “I’ll keep clearin’ th’ poisons!”

The Chosen of Uldar floated high in the chamber, calling upon divine miracle after divine miracle, veins on his brow pulsing, sweat trickling down his form from the effort. Desperately, he fought the Ravener’s toxins with divinity.

But, Uldar’s construct knew he would not last.

‘So much power,’ it thought, drinking in the terror of Thameland and expelling another cloud of venomous gas into the cavern. ‘So much power is filling me once more. I will win this trial.’

Within its cavern, the Heroes and their allies fought for their lives.

Some tried to prevent the chamber’s entrances from being opened, but—slowly and surely—the Ravener’s loyal spawn were tunnelling through the stone.

Wizards were casting spells against its hordes, but it was replacing the dead faster than they could kill them. The General of Thameland’s summoned monsters were slowly being overwhelmed, and the corpse-puppets he’d made had been pulled down and ripped to shreds.

‘It will not be long now,’ the Ravener thought, pleased.

The stirring within it had lessened, almost completely faded now.

‘This is my time.’ It turned its attention to the body of Uldar.

Earlier, the Heroes had persisted in seeking to defile it.

Now though, they were too busy just trying to stay alive, that the god’s body was being left unharassed and in perfect peace.

‘I hope you are watching, creator,’ it thought. ‘Watch as I destroy those who spurned you, who went against your will. Watch from the afterworld and be glad.’

Filled with its own satisfaction, the Ravener could easily believe that Uldar’s gaze was watching it from the afterworld.

Something from far away certainly made it feel like it was being watched.

“Prepare to fall to your ultimate trial,” the Ravener’s voice filled the cavern, as it sprayed another cloud of poisons into the air.

It would not be long now.

“Do something!” Bjorgrund shouted, his axe chopping into Ravener-spawn around him. “Agh!”

The giant grunted as an air blast caught him in the side, sending him skidding across the cavern floor. Shaking away the lights dancing in front of his eyes, he squinted at Asmaldestre the Unmaker.

She had stopped shooting at the Ravener from the moment it became obvious that it had grown in strength—the War-Spirit was merely watching it—her entire body, from her head to the tip of her tail, was tensed.

“Hey!” he shouted, cleaving his axe through a pack of Hunters mid-leap, as they jumped at his torso. “We’re here fighting for our lives! Help us!”

He looked around.

Above, Isolde and Drestra were working to destroy fire clouds, while—below—Hart, Grimloch, Theresa and Brutus were battling an oncoming horde of spawn.

Yet, Asmaldestre was simply watching the Ravener, her face a mask.

“Why are you not participating?” Bjorgrund demanded, looking at the floating platform beside her. “Is it because you’re defending that? Just leave it to Alex’s summoned monsters!” He pleaded.

“Come on, you have to help us,” the giant continued. “We need—”

“Quiet,” Asmaldestre’s voice stung his ears, her words in the common tongue. “You must be quiet.”

Bjorgrund instantly went silent.

“I am assessing this construct.” She scraped one of her weapons against the other. “Drinking its violence.”

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“What?” the giant asked. “What does that even mean? And why do you have to assess it, it's trying to kill us!”

“To understand the prize my summoner has provided,” she whispered. Her eyes flared with inner light. “This is what was promised to me. Battle, unlike any other. And I wish to see how worthy this battle truly is.”

Bjorgrund glanced from the Ravener—firing death-beams at Cedric—to the war-spirit. “I think it's worthy! Call me biased, but I think it's pretty damn worthy!”

Her head snapped to the young giant. “Young rune-marked.”

“Y-yes?” he stammered, driving his axe through another line of Ravener-spawn.

She smiled, then, revealing her sharp teeth. “I think you are right. I think this is an opponent that could last.”

The air rippled around the war-spirit then. Her hair—sharp blades woven through it—began to rise, as though a silent wind was blowing it. She growled, and the growl contained the screams of a thousand dying beings.

“What do you mean by last?” Bjorgrund shuddered, asking her. The rune on his chest burned. He could feel something stirring.

“To last against a greater measure of my strength,” she hissed. “I have battled across the universe. Across the planes. Too many times have I had to hold back, lest glorious violence end too quickly when my opponents fall.”

A chill ran down his spine.

“You’ve been holding back?” he snarled. “Some of us were wounded, and folk have been dying and you’ve been holding back?”

“Your lives are not my affair. Violence is. Battle is,” she hissed. “My purpose here is to feast on a proper battle. To stretch out the meal provided for me and to not gorge myself on it so quickly, that I cannot enjoy its flavour. But…this Ravener is impressive.”

The air sparked around her.

“It can take a greater measure of my strength. Young rune-marked, defend these machines. I have a battle to join.”

“What the…?” Bjorgrund cried as the war-spirit’s four draconic legs tensed.

Her blade-like scales bristled.

The ground cracked beneath her feet.

Then she was gone, shooting away in a blur of light and metal.

Her ranged weapon began cracking like an army of whips, firing volleys of deadly projectiles, tearing lines of death through the enemy ranks. She barreled through more of the horde, carving a path through them. Her weapons flashed around her; everything within reach of her arms, fell.

She sprang, straight at the Ravener.

“Stop!” the construct cried.

But she was on it before it could do more than cry out.

Poisons held no danger for her.

They couldn’t stop her.

Nor could its cage of death beams.

In a blink, the two were clashing.

Her every strike hit like thunder, and the Ravener’s surface cracked beneath the terrible blows. Its death beams ricocheted, bouncing off Uldar’s weapons as she held them, leaving her untouched.

“Where did you come from?” the Ravener demanded.

A fire cloud swarmed toward the war-spirit, but her weapons stopped them, striking individual Ravener-spawn with such precision, that many of the flea-sized monsters were annihilated before they could reach her.

Her claws latched onto the Ravener—its death beams seeming not to hurt her scales—as she stabbed it repeatedly with her tail blade.

It responded, shooting her up-close with a blast from a death beam, launching her against a cavern wall.

Without hesitating, she sprang at it again.

“Yes. That is the way! Show me true combat or I will eat your god’s corpse!” she promised, her voice striking Bjorgrund’s ears and stinging his eardrums.

“You dare?” the construct asked.

“Yes,” was the war-spirit’s reply.

With a howl of rage, the Ravener launched a dozen death beams at her, doing little more than slowing her slightly. Some nicked her skin, but she made no notice of the droplets of blood. If anything, any wound the construct dealt her, only made her snarl-smile widen.

Magic radiated from the Ravener in an array; swarms of ethereal worms, poisons, blasts of force, fire, conjured blades of chitin, all shot at Asmaldestre the Unmaker.

She simply unmade them.

Shimmering red energy encased the war-spirit’s weapons—so when she struck or shot the magic coming at her—the weapons caused the Ravener’s magical attacks to explode into fountains of ethereal blood.

She reached the construct again, carving a long cut into its side—cracking its surface—and it responded, conjuring a fountain of burning acid, spraying her with such force that she was driven to the ground.

She sprang back up, weapons held high, blades twitching in her hair.

“Not nearly enough,” she hissed at the construct.

“Begone, interloper!”

“Make me. By trial of combat.”

The Ravener hesitated for no longer than a heartbeat, before saying:

“As you wish.”

The two deadly beings of war clashed. Blade met magic. The ranged weapon shot projectiles, splitting beams of death.

For the time, the Ravener was occupied.

And Alex’s companions were not about to let the opportunity pass.

“All o’ yous!”Cedric shouted. “I want y’focusin’ on killin’ Ravener-spawn. But, not you, Hart. Go help Asmaldestre! She’s buyin’ us time! So, let’s get our bloody advantage back!”

The mortals and summoned monsters attacked the Ravener’s spawn, cutting them down while the construct was engaged with Hart and the war-spirit.

Bjorgrund rose up to his full height and settled in beside the machines. “Well…I take credit for giving her a push,” he muttered to himself.

This was not anticipated.

‘Where did this being come from?’ the Ravener thought, quickly looking around. ‘Why was she hiding such strength?’

The strange, otherworldly creature was putting up a terrible fight.

Her speed was shocking.

Her strength, titanic.

This was entirely beyond its calculations.

Thankfully, more and more power was rushing to it. She was strong, but not impossible to stop…one new problem was that the Champion was coming to join her, and the others were using the time to try to regain an advantage.

‘Perhaps it is time to be more thorough about this,’ it thought, reaching into the stone around them.

Now that it had gained more power…it could overcome the enemies’ magic with enough time.

And so it threw its will into the rock.

The cavern began to shake.

‘Father…Asmaldestre is fighting the Ravener…but…this place is shaking…badly,’ Claygon reported.

‘It’s alright, Claygon!’ Alex thought. ‘I’m working on something!’

He looked at Aenflynn’s effigy; the Fae lord remained distracted.

The area between the two wards was still thick with potion-mist: Alex could hear the guards outside, talking to each other in confusion. They were trying to decide what to do.

And so was he.

He and Merzhin needed to get out of this trap…but he couldn’t teleport out, and they couldn’t leave the throne for Aenflynn to use as he pleased.

‘I need more power,’ the young archwizard thought.

He placed a hand on the Saint’s shoulder, focusing on the power flowing through the small priest.

On the faith.

He checked his streams of consciousness, the ones focused on a very important task.

He could feel it working.

He could feel something building.

But it wasn’t fast enough.

They were so close…so very close…but they needed more.

‘Am I going to have to ask Merzhin to do what Hart was going to do?’ he thought. ‘Am I going to have to nearly die to make this work?’

His mind raced.

Had they played all their cards?

Was he doing everything he could?

‘Think…Alex! Adapt!’ he thought. ‘What else is there to do? You’re so close.’

He checked his streams of consciousness again.

‘If you can get everything done before Aenflynn turns his attention back on you—’ Outside, the sounds of Baelin and the fae lord battling was like a fierce thunderstorm battling another one. ‘—then you can win this. Come on…you just need a little more. Just a little more.’

Selina Roth stared at the morning sunlight through the villa’s bedroom window.

Outside, she could hear the Lu family talking to the queen of Thameland…so much had happened since she'd been awakened by Theresa’s brothers in the early hours of the morning and brought to the villa in the countryside.

She’d learned everything…about what was happening in Thameland.

About what was happening to her people.

Of what Alex and the others were trying to do.

She was so tired of feeling helpless.

But, there was nothing she could do.

…or was there?

There must be something.

Even if—

She paused.

“Wait…maybe it might only help a little, but…”

The Fire mage balled her hands into fists.

“...but I’ll do it.”