Chapter 13 Rhianelle
Iam saved.
Kheirall snatches the creature away from me like an eagle, tossing him into the ruins. The granite wall collapses from the impact, burying the creature in the rubbles. The Demon Lord lands beside me, leaves and dust scattering on his descent.
“Did he hurt you?” he asks, his voice hoarse.
“I’m fine but Ragnar…” I can’t find it in me to finish the words.
His face hardens with silent rage. “In any case, let’s get you out—”
The pile of stones stirs and Svenn emerges from the fragments, cracking his neck. My heart leaps into a furious beat the moment his piercing eyes fall on me. His gaze leaps between Kheirall and me several times. A low rumble escapes his throat and the look he gives to the demon is downright lethal.
The air suddenly filters with the sound of skin separating as his shoulders contort at an abnormal angle.
A pair of dark wings unfurls behind his back, spanning even wider than Kheirall’s.
They arch with grace and beauty, blending well into the night.
My gaze focuses on the tips, sharpened and curved with horns.
“What the fuck are you?” Kheirall mutters underneath his breath, staring at Svenn—the monster’s shifting form.
He snarls at the Demon Lord, his elongated canines glinting in the red moonlight. I can’t believe I let that mouth anywhere near my throat and kissed him with passion. There is no trace of the man I saved in that monster.
“Get out of here,” Kheirall rasps, his wings stretching wide in defense. “I’ll hold him for as long as I can.”
I nod, finally finding myself able to move again. But the Demon Lord’s words stun me.
Kheirall means to stall him.
Not even a Keeper of the Hollow is confident he can defeat whatever I’ve awoken in that crypt. In the split of a second, the creature slams into Kheirall, launching them both to the sky. I feel the rippling shockwave from every punch and strike. It’s like watching two hurricanes collide.
I leave them in their aerial fistfight and silently crawl towards the faint heartbeat.
Ragnar.
The bear berserker has shifted into his human form. I pray to Astraea that it’s not too late to help him. He is breathing, but just barely. I flip him over carefully once I’ve secured his spine. Dark tribal ink swathes most of his naked body.
“You have to live. Kheirall is here to help us,” I whisper some hope into his ear.
Ragnar is teetering close to Death’s door. Sometimes, I wish I took a little more effort to complete my studies at the Anastarros temple. No use regretting that now. The only thing I can do to pull him back from the brink is to give some of my own life essence.
Is it worth it to put yourself in such danger to help him? the Un asks, incredulous and a little curious. They always found me an oddball.
Yes. I have no choice.
My blood thrums as I draw from the pool of blessings I gathered in Astefar.
It takes an insane amount of energy to even open that door.
A tremor shudders through my body as I creep in to pluck some of that power, a single thread, thinner than a strand of hair.
It burns my skin like an invisible flame, leeching my strength rapidly.
No matter how drained I am, I force my eyes to remain open.
I offer a silent prayer to Thanatos as I lift that string and place it in the demon’s chest. Death had always been a good friend in the forest, he spared me many times.
I hope he will grant me another favor to save Ragnar.
Nothing happens at first but after several heavy long seconds, his breathing stabilizes into a more regular rhythm.
I don’t bother heaving in relief as I scan the sky. The Demon Lord and Svenn are still engaged in a brutal battle for dominance.
It’s madness.
Another spiral of fear goes through me when Kheirall crashes to the earth like a fallen star. He punches a key to the ground to open a door to the Hollow. This seems like a desperate act. One last resort.
“Servants of Hel, rise in the name of my father and his father before him,” the demon commands. A black mist slips through the gate, coalescing into vicious jackals. Svenn barely pays attention to the threat, his gaze shifting to me again.
I wither underneath the stare of those dark, depthless eyes.
“Leave no trace of him!” Kheirall’s howling hellhounds storm towards him, teeth snapping. Halfway before reaching Svenn, the dogs suddenly stop and return to the demon whimpering in fear.
The Demon Lord looks almost as confused as I am.
I barely inhale my next breath when Svenn charges and tackles him to the ground.
He plants his foot in between Kheirall’s shoulder blades.
There’s a deranged look on his face as he attempts to rip the demon’s wings.
All hell will break loose if the Demon Lord is dead.
This lawless beast is definitely going to kill him. I summon the traces of courage and energy I have left to scream. “Stop!”
His head snaps in my direction.
I hold that deadly crimson glare until he releases the demon. There’s a spark of familiarity in his eyes. At that moment, I see the man who comforted me in the dark.
“Svenn?” I offer to the night. His rough features soften, melting into something warm. He reaches out a hand to me.
“Rhianelle!” The raw sound of Garrett’s voice accosts me before I see him wrapping a garrote around the monster’s neck.
The wire snaps but more elven warriors emerge from the forest to surround the monster. I try to get to them, but my knees buckle, and I fall to the ground. My vision blurs. Healing Ragnar has taken its toll on me. Not yet, I beg to the gods, to my patrons. I need more time.
Please. Please. Please.
A firm hand graces my shoulder. I whirl to see Rainer behind me, arriving with his mercenaries. I think a tear of joy might have spilled from my eye at the mere sight of him. Warmth flows into my veins when he transfers some of Anastarros blessings into me.
Rainer’s face of unyielding calm breaks when he sees the carnage around us and the dark god rampaging in the clearing. “Did he hurt you?” he asks against the near deafening commotion. The question dances in my mind for a long moment.
No, Svenn did not.
A grunt resounds beside me before I can answer. Ragnar is slowly opening his eyes, his chest rising and falling from the pain. Shadows lift from my heavy heart. He’s alright…
The demon suddenly grips my uncle’s coat. “Fix me.”
Rainer studies the male wordlessly before relenting to that request. He is not a Hlaryan elf but his combat medical skills do a great job patching the demon’s deep wound.
Ragnar grimaced as he tries to get up. His deathly pale face is angled towards the beast, eyebrows creased with determination.
It takes a while for me to realize that the berserker is not asking to be healed. He just wants to be battle ready.
“You can’t go out there again.” I clasp the corded muscle of his forearm, pulling him back. One wrong move and he could tear his artery open again.
His eyes snap to the half-dead Kheirall lying broken on the ground. I see the hard swallow in his throat.
“I can’t watch him die,” he says, peeling my hand to join the battle again. I wish I had more strength to stop him, but I barely have the energy to lift my head. Rainer returns to restoring me and all I can do is gather my strength.
The fight rages from every direction.
I glimpse from the corner of my eyes Tierra’s barrier crashing down, Eamon’s greed as he tries to seal the beast, risking the lives of his Valorians and my knights, Ragnar failing to land a single hit on the monster, Kheirall sprawled on the ground—the chaos is complete.
Rainer’s face goes taut with disdain. “He’s toying with them.”
Even his Grimsbane fail to contain the creature. One by one, the assassins of Tiamat are thrown back like flying pebbles.
“This isn’t happening,” I mutter to myself. I hate how helpless I am to stop this savagery.
“He’s coming here. Stand back, Rhianelle,” Rainer says wearily, finishing the last of the blessings he can spare me. Garrett tosses a heavy spear towards my uncle, and he seizes it with expert ease. I catch the silent exchange between the two servants of Kvatosh.
A chill goes through me the moment I feel this unmistakable energy flowing through Rainer.
Sometimes, I forget he is a legendary warrior among our kind, one worthy of being memorialized in paintings and sculptures.
They say even the Aeonians are intimidated by him.
The tattoos on his skin bleed into the spear like a coat of poison.
It’s a deadly technique, one that took Rainer hundreds of years to master in the Kashran mountains.
Everyone understands the charged air is a warning to steer clear of the Silver Stag’s opponent. Faster than a lightning, the spear strikes its target. The explosion is seismic, like a rupturing volcano.
I cover my ears from the blast, the gust of wind nearly toppling me down. Sparks of currents discharge through the atmosphere before smoke and particles envelope us.
Blood erupts from Rainer’s mouth. I try to brace him from falling, but we both end up crumbling to our knees on the ground. Kvatosh is a cruel god. I don’t know what my uncle sacrificed to launch that deadly attack. A kidney? A lung?
Everything is painfully quiet in the aftermath of the violent attack.
Dust slowly settles, revealing the weapon and the creature struck by it.
Half of Svenn’s torso is partially singed by the blast. He remains standing but his body is bent backwards facing the sky, limp and unmoving, his massive wings splayed on the ground behind him, the vision of a fallen angel.
The folks begin cheering over the victory, but a strange feeling blankets me. Tears track down my eyes involuntarily. I don’t understand it, but I feel completely empty and lost.
“It’s not over yet,” Rainer mutters, sweat gleaming on his brow as he stares forward.