Chapter 15
The score was tied between darkness and light, but our match was anything but even.
With a ferocity I’d never seen, the Umbral lashed out, their blade of stygian darkness carving through the air as I danced away from advance after advance.
The wounds on my shoulder and side continued to sap at my strength, and despite the bloom of the Source’s blessing in my chest, it was a monumental task to keep my arm steady enough to parry.
My first falter came a few maneuvers into the bout, as my sluggish reflexes failed to catch a thrust in time.
Once again, those tethers attached to me held my assailant at bay, steered by the will of those they tethered me to, but before I could counter and win the match, the Umbral shrieked in rage, a tendril of darkness pouring from its mouth and twisting into a clawed hand that tore through the tethers, severing their hold.
I managed to retreat a few paces before the Umbral was on me once more, their wicked blade whistling as they struck.
Two more parries and it was becoming evident that neither of us would last. Sweat dripped from my brow as I focused on keeping upright.
Meanwhile, veins of tar-black had spread along the Umbral’s exposed flesh, their wounds continuing to leak the viscous ichor, our footsteps painting the floor beneath us in patterns of black and red.
As the bout wore on, I would catch glimpses of the others.
Bastien remained stoic, any emotion carefully tempered to a cool indifference.
Azrael, on the other hand, was opposite in every way.
He hissed each time the Umbral’s blade neared my skin, and cheered with each of my ripostes.
He wore each emotion evenly across his form, the way his tailed twitched, or his smile sagged.
Each a lesson in transparency that I would have loved to study.
Their presence kept me grounded, even when the throbbing pain of my Sanguine wounds grew to become unbearable. The longer the bout raged on, the stronger the connection of our tethers became, and the easier it was to pick up the thoughts coming down the line.
“They’ll keep going for the left. It’s where he’s weakest.”
I pivoted, guarding my left side as a thrust narrowly avoided skewering my already damaged shoulder. Bastien’s analysis was spot on.
“He’s strong enough to see this through. He’ll make it.”
Azrael’s thoughts sank into my chest, and I held them close, kindling what dwindling fire was left from the Source’s blessing. It was the only warmth left in me by then, the rest of my limbs falling numb to the frigid cold.
The Umbral charged once more, and I planted myself, raising my guard to fend off another strike on my left. Still, they pivoted at the last moment, a swirl of sapphire fabric as they brought their blade down from the opposite direction, leaving themselves open to a strike.
This was my chance. Everything was riding on what came next.
I shifted my weight from one foot to another, shoving off to close the small gap between my opponent and me, but I felt my sole slip on the blood-drenched floor, my knee crashing to the ground and bringing me eye-level with the incoming blade.
“Cirian!”
Two voices rang out, echoing across the chamber.
I couldn’t avoid the Umbral’s thrust, but the opening was still there. I could make it. If I could just get there…
A second stretched out ahead of me like an endless tunnel, my epee poised to pierce the Umbral’s chest, their blade racing toward my face.
But I could clearly see I was too late in my efforts.
The blade trained on me would reach its target first, and that would be the end of the match.
A disappointing finale to the life of one Cirian Findlay.
So, I looked my executioner in the eye as they swung the proverbial axe, expecting to see those fathomless pools of darkness staring back at me. Instead, a warm chestnut, and a sorrow that skewered my heart long before any blade.
Sancha.
At the last moment, the blade of darkness shifted, angling downward towards my chest, and taking just a fraction of a second longer to reach its destination.
A fiery pain snuffed the last of my warmth.
Both blades found their targets, mine through Sancha’s chest, and the Sanguine blade through my own, but I cared not which blow hand landed first. Sinking to her knees, Sancha’s eyes watched me, filling to the brim with tears that streaked fresh ichor across her face.
She was there, at least for a moment. She was there with me at the end. And as I felt myself sink forward, she caught me, cradling me against her own battered form as my vision began to dim.
“I did my best,” I whispered, unsure if my words would reach her there under the Umbral’s embrace. “I swear it.”
Her lips trembled, as if trying to form words, but only more of the vile black liquid spilled over her lips.
A fresh pain shot along my arm, jolting me back to consciousness with its demanding burn. The chain-like marking along my forearm glowed red-hot, smoke risings from the scarred links. Those on Sancha’s arms did the same, the growing cloud of smoke over us swirling slowly.
Bastien reached us then, trying to pry the two of us apart, but he was thrown back by some invisible force.
Was that the Umbral’s doing?
He shouted something, but a rushing sound in my ears blotted out the noise, growing louder with each passing moment. Beneath us, the floor shook, cracks splintering like spiderwebs along the surface.
Azrael’s arms wrapped around my torso, and even with all of his brute strength, he could not pry me away from the arms of my master, nor the blade that pierced my heart. And with a jolt, he, too, was repelled, colliding with Bastien as they tumbled to the floor.
Rumbling, as if the earth itself were roiling, shook the chamber, and the great altar shattered into a wave of crystalline shards that fanned out around us, dazzling to behold. The wave of shards parted around the Umbral and me, but collided with the others, obfuscating them from my sight.
A hand grasped the hilt of the blade in my chest, the pain flaring even worse as a pair of fathomless eyes pulled me close. The Umbral had regained control, gritting its blackened teeth as it tried to sink its blade further into my chest.
“I am the victor,” they sputtered, breath fouled with the stench of death. “And now, I will watch the last of that dreadful light leave your eyes, Acolyte. Do not close them. Do not deny me my prize.”
The cloud above us teemed with the burning sigils of the chain-like magic, the Umbral peeling their gaze from me long enough to witness the symbols aglow on their arm.
“No. This cannot be. I was the victor. Me!”
Chains burst forth from both of our flesh, wrapping quickly around us, binding our bodies to one another. The Umbral bellowed, spewing hot ichor across my face.
Neither of us had won. The realization dawned on me, bringing with it a broken laugh. Sancha had shifted the odds in my favor.
It was a dead heat. A tie that couldn’t be broken.
A pulse of magic emanated from the cloud swirling above, rippling the stone floor as if it were water. The ceiling high above groaned, showering us with debris as the Cradle itself shuddered.
“What happens now?” I choked, the chains squeezing what little air I could hold from my lungs.
The Umbral didn’t respond, struggling against the chains. I could feel their ligaments popping as they pulled with frenzied fervor.
Their reaction was answer enough. Whatever was about to happen was not good.
“Cirian!”
Bastien’s voice pierced the air, high and clear. With a burst of emerald light, shards of crystal scattered around us, and he emerged into the clearing, Azrael in tow. Again, he tried to approach, but the chains around us tightened, and he was repelled.
Another tremor shook the chamber, fissures erupting in the stonework above us alongside the terrible groans of the earth coming undone. If this continued, the Cradle would come down, that much was clear. Countless tons of rubble and rock moments from crashing down on top of us.
Mustering as much air as I could, I called to them.
“Please. You have to get out.”
If they heard me, they certainly didn’t heed the warning.
Azrael was the next to attempt to reach me, fangs bared and claws out as he fought whatever invisible force separated us.
But even as he dug his heels into the crumbling earth, the barrier did not give.
Bastien mouthed words I couldn’t hear, Azrael nodding, but not relenting in his assault.
Blow after blow from bloodied hands, ringing deaf in my ears.
“Please,” I pleaded to the gods, both past and present. “They can still live.”
The Umbral swore suddenly, spewing a string of words in that same vile language that needled at my ears.
The air around us took on an otherworldly chill as the Umbral’s form began to twist, the chains that held us going slack as they did so.
The ichor that seeped from the wound in their chest spread over their form, eclipsing any features of humanity.
In seconds, the shape of my master had vanished, a pool of ichor spreading across the stone floor, seeping into the cracks.
I was too weak to react as my epee clattered to the ground, the puddle of ichor completely disappearing into the stone.
I reached for the handle of the blade in my chest, but there was only more ichor, mixing on my skin in a swirl of red and black.
I stared down at the swirling pattern on my hand, transfixed by its motion.
Before I could rally myself, the icy grip of the chains encircled me once more, binding me in place, but there was not enough fire left within me to panic.
Whether I was bound or not, I was in no condition to leave.
Raising my gaze, I stared up into the drifting charcoal cloud above me, alight with the glowing red sigils of a language forgotten long before I was born.