Chapter 11 #2
“If you see her…” His voice softened. “…tell her I’m trying.”
Varnir stopped.
Looked back at him.
Something unreadable passed across his face.
Judging.
Weighing.
Then—
A single nod.
And they were gone.
The fire crackled.
Silence returned.
Ulric stirred.
Groaned softly.
Then pushed himself up onto one elbow.
His eyes landed on the wrappings.
Then on Aldric.
“…What did I miss?”
Aldric just stood there.
He felt it.
The moment Nimble and Varnir left.
The pull.
Dreyrath.
The heartstone in the pommel calling to him.
Ulric’s gaze rested on the massive weapon wrapped beside him.
His brows rose slightly.
Aldric glanced at him.
“A gift. From a friend of sorts.”
Ulric narrowed his eyes.
“A demon?”
Aldric shook his head slightly.
“Yes… but not quite. His name is Varnir. An enigmatic type. He’s good with weapons.”
Ulric didn’t ask further.
But he didn’t touch the weapon either.
Aldric chuckled quietly.
“You know, not everything a demon has touched is corrupted.”
Silence.
Then—
Ulric grunted.
Slowly, cautiously, he began unraveling the cloth.
Aldric did the same with his own bundle.
Carefully.
The armor revealed itself piece by piece.
First, the pauldrons. Sleek and angular, forged from a black and crimson alloy. They curved naturally to his shoulders, built for movement as much as protection, their edges etched with faint demon-forged runes that pulsed softly.
Then the breastplate. Segmented and elegant, interlocking plates forming a flexible shell around his torso. Matte black, traced with subtle crimson filigree that curled like flame around the heart. At the center, a faint symbol, part sigil, part closed eye, resting quietly against his chest.
The gauntlets followed, sliding over his forearms like armor grown from his body. Segmented black metal fingers, ridged along the knuckles, functional and intimidating without excess. Subtle grooves along the inner bracers meant to deflect any oncoming blows.
A layered belt wrapped around his waist, supporting segmented plates across his abdomen and lower back. Tassets fell along his hips and thighs in reinforced layers, designed for mobility rather than bulk.
The greaves locked around his calves, dark and ridged, followed by reinforced boots built for silent movement and impact absorption.
Then he reached for Dreyrath.
Dark, oil-slick steel shimmered faintly along its length, the edge etched with fine serrations. The hilt, wrapped in scorched-dark leather, fit naturally into his grip.
And at the pommel sat the heartstone.
Rough in shape.
Crimson in color.
Bound to him.
It pulsed faintly.
The blade responded immediately when he touched it.
He felt it in his palm.
Recognition.
Something inside him aligned.
It felt…
Right.
Natural.
Like stepping back into a forgotten version of himself.
His shoulders relaxed.
His breathing steadied.
He was back.
Across from him, Ulric lifted the weapon.
It was a mace.
Huge in size.
Forged from a dark steel-like alloy.
Light in his hands.
But when he swung it, the weapon thrummed.
The weight shifting mid-motion.
Adapting.
Black veins ran through the metal like spiderweb fractures frozen in time.
Ulric tested another swing.
Slower this time.
Measured.
There was hesitation in his movements.
Apprehension.
Aldric noticed.
“We’ll need it. Varnir has an uncanny tendency to prepare you for what’s coming.”
He reached for Dreyrath.
The blade responded instantly, the faint pulse in the heartstone quickening as his hand wrapped around the hilt.
Without a word, he lifted the sword and began cutting.
Strands of dark hair fell first.
Then thicker chunks.
His beard followed, rough strokes carving away weeks of growth. The blade moved cleanly, effortlessly, the steel gliding as if eager to shape him.
Hair gathered at his feet.
Ulric watched in silence.
After a few moments, Aldric stopped.
He ran a hand along his jaw.
The beard was uneven now, shorter along the jaw, still rough in places.
It would do.
There was no mirror here. And no time to look decent.
He reached for the helmet.
It slid into place perfectly.
Matte black like cooled obsidian. Jagged etchings shimmered faintly across its surface, and a V-shaped visor glowed with a subtle red hue, pulsing softly with his breath. Subtle horn-like ridges swept back along the crown, giving the silhouette a predatory edge.
The world narrowed.
Sharpened.
Focused.
Aldric exhaled slowly.
He was ready.
Ulric looked at him.
His hands tightened instinctively around the mace.
Aldric tilted his head slightly.
When he spoke, his voice had changed.
Lower.
Like steel dragged across gravel.
“Now, now… are we going to fight, brother?”
Ulric relaxed slightly.
“Sorry.” A small exhale. “Old habits.”
They began walking again.
Steady.
The terrain shifted.
The ground gradually sloped upward.
The glowing vegetation gave way to rock.
Aldric walked ahead.
Focused.
Ulric spoke.
“I’ve heard what happened in Sanctum Aurelion.”
Aldric didn’t slow his pace.
“When you came back… you used this armor to slaughter the members of the Order. They said you were wrapped in shadow. A harbinger of death descending upon the city. They couldn’t even strike you.”
Aldric exhaled quietly.
“That was not the plan. I tried to walk away.” A pause. “I really did—they wouldn’t let me.” He stepped over a jagged rock. “They chose to die for their beliefs. That was their choice.”
Aldric slowed slightly, turning his head so he could look at Ulric.
“The reason I came back was to see for myself what life I had lived and truly choosing to either stay or to move on back with Seraphae. I came with respect and peace. The Order responded with chains, cold cell and death sentence.” His voice softened.
“There was no other way. I shed no tears for those who would destroy me because I dared to question their doctrine…”
Silence settled between them.
Aldric looked at Ulric.
“You’ve done the same now, you know. Before we came here.”
Ulric frowned.
“No. That’s different—”
“Why do you keep lying to yourself?”
Aldric’s voice remained calm.
“They don’t care about you. They never have. You’re a tool to them. Why do you still keep clinging to it?”
Ulric grew quiet.
After a moment—
“Because I have nothing else to hold on to.”
Aldric chuckled softly.
Ulric frowned.
“What’s so funny?”
“At some point, you’d have ended up in the same spot anyway, by accident or by your own curiosity.
Their actions speak for themselves. They refuse to accept change.
At least those in power now.” Aldric hummed quietly, as if entertaining a thought.
“I wonder how many knights would drop their weapons… and renounce their vows of purity the moment they saw the succubus meant for them.”
Ulric let out a quiet chuckle.
“You talk about them like they’re goddesses.”
Aldric’s helmet tilted slightly.
“You have no idea, mate…”
Their boots began crunching over rocky terrain.
The mountain rose before them.
A narrow path led upward.
Barely wide enough for one person.
Aldric stepped onto it first.
Ulric followed.
They climbed.
Steady.
Focused.
There was no wind.
Only the rhythmic crunch of stone beneath their boots.
The path narrowed.
Then widened again.
Gradually, the incline softened.
Finally, the ground evened out.
They stepped into the open.
A vast plateau stretched before them.
And in its center—
A pillar.
Half the height of a grown man.
Uneven.
Organic.
Even from a distance, Aldric could see the intricate web of metal and stone-like material wrapped around something glowing within.
Like a cocoon.
Holding light captive.
Aldric’s mark burned hotter.
Ulric stepped beside him.
“There,” Aldric said quietly, pointing. “That’s what we’re after.”
Ulric’s grip tightened around the mace.
“This feels too easy.”
Aldric didn’t respond immediately.
“I only need to place my hands on it.”
He started forward.
Ulric followed, scanning the plateau.
Mace held in both hands.
Ready.
Aldric moved carefully.
Step by step.
Ten paces.
Twelve.
The pillar’s blue essence shimmered through the intricate cracks of the alloy-like shell.
Calling to him.
Then—
The ground erupted.
Something rose.
Fast.
Unnatural.
Too fast for something that size.
The pillar—
Was attached to it.
To its skull.
A living nightmare.
A dragon.
No scales.
Instead, a void-like armor wrapped its body. Dark, smooth plates that seemed to swallow the light around them.
The creature unfolded itself from the ground, massive wings snapping outward.
Aldric was already moving towards it.
Dreyrath pulsing.
He lunged forward, driving the blade toward the creature’s exposed flank.
Ulric moved with him.
He darted to the side, swinging the mace hard into one of the dragon’s hind legs.
The weapon thrummed on impact.
The dragon roared.
A sound that vibrated through bone.
It twisted—
Wings flaring wide—
Its spiked tail lashed outward.
The impact struck both of them.
Hard.
They were hurled across the plateau—
Stone scraped beneath Aldric’s armor as he slid to a stop.
The dragon’s gaze locked onto him.
His brand burned hotter.
Anger and frustration surged into his chest.
Instinctive.
Then—
A voice.
Ancient.
Like wind dragging across broken stone.
“Vel’thar ánnelin… Aelynn s?n éberath.”
Aldric pushed himself up.
Ulric rolled his shoulder, wincing slightly.
“You know what that meant?”
Aldric shook his head, already scanning the creature.
“No. Angelic dialect. I can recognize the structure… but the meaning escapes me.”
They moved forward.
Straight toward the dragon.
“Angelic, huh?” Ulric muttered. “That’s a first.” He adjusted his grip on the mace. “Now heads up. I don’t see any way of getting on that bastard’s back.”
Aldric was already accelerating.
Fast.
Ulric was right.
No scales.
No ridges.
Only smooth, void-like armor.
“Fuck it,” Aldric muttered. “Distract it. I’ll try something.”
Ulric broke off to the side.
And sprinted.
His speed was terrifying.
A human battering ram.
Charging.
Then pivoting.
The dragon’s head followed him instantly.
It lunged.
Closing the distance with unnatural speed.
Ulric swung.
The mace thundered into one of the claws—
Almost.