56. Showdown
Ifrinn
The castle shudders under the weight of clashing magic as we fight our way through––trying yet failing to reach Vroc.
The flagstones tremble under our feet as the goblin horde keeps flooding the space.
Legions of them keep popping up like weed—snarling, armored in jagged metal.
Their war cries echo around us like nails scraping on rusty iron.
I cut down one with my flaming battle axe and another five take his place.
Blood, smoke, and greenish-black ichor stain the ground and cracked stone walls.
Vroc sits still on a throne, watching the carnage hawkishly. Suddenly a rot starts spreading out from him, slowly creeping across the floor littered with bodies toward us.
“Watch out!” Archie shouts as he rips apart a goblin with his sharp claws.
Above us, the ceiling starts cracking, raining down debris.
Archie shifts mid-leap and crashes into a squad of goblins.
More swarm over his back and Rhazien flicks a series of blades, nailing them in their throats and heads, turning them into liquid mush.
Archie’s silvery fur is matted with blood and ichor but he doesn’t stop, tackling the next wave.
Two goblins leap at Ispahan from his blind spot yet he manages to blast them away with golden light.
Alistair raises his hands in the air and dark thorny vines spear through a gaggle of goblins who had Silas’s panther surrounded as he kept tearing at them with his claws and teeth.
Azael and Baz shoot fire at the charging hoard of scums turning them into ash, but in a blink more take their place.
They tried aiming the fire at Vroc several times but an invisible wall protects that fucker.
“Fucking illusion magic!” Silas shouts, shifting back.
We realized that pretty quickly. The goblin army throwing themselves at us is part of some elaborate illusion. An extremely detailed and powerful one. So powerful that they’re practically real, making us bleed.
How is Vroc even able to power and sustain such high-level illusion? I don’t spot any witches nearby.
“We need to get to Aleiraah! Do you feel that?” Baz yells at the top of his lungs, confirming what I’ve been sensing for sometime.
A tether.
A connection to my Flame. A silvery-golden thread spools from our chests, right over our hearts, stretching out as if seeking someone.
Seeking Aleiraah.
“Azael! Maybe we should combine our powers. This tether would lead us to Aleiraah!” I holler, the bright thread pulling at me. I can no longer fight its draw. My entire being is attuned to her summon.
I am coming for you, my Flame.
Azael catches my gaze then bellows, “Let’s gather!” He sets up a ring of angel fire around the eight of us. We have been herded into a corner by the spreading rot, right below a part of the ceiling ready to collapse any moment.
Fucking Vroc!
“Ispahan, can you set up a barrier and we’ll fuel it.” He asks and a battered Ispahan nods while forming a holy barrier. We are still scattered so it takes a while to get inside it.
“This won’t last long,” he warns gruffly just as Vroc finally gets up from his throne and vanishes into thin air.
The fuck?
“That shitting bastard just fucking vanished!” Archie howls, shifting in a heartbeat.
Was Vroc an illusion too? Is he heading to Aleiraah?
“Hurry!” I shout, anxiety pumping through my veins as a swipe of my axes slices down the last goblin within the barrier.
“Now what?” Rhazien scans for an exit but the place is still teeming with goblins.
“Ifrinn is right. Channel your powers toward me. I’ll create an amplification spell. But we must be fast. The castle won’t withstand the blast.” Alistair says urgently, glancing toward the ceiling just as a large chunk falls and I narrowly dodge it.
He starts chanting the spell and we focus on him linking our auras with his. Since we never needed to do this before, it takes a few attempts for our energies to coalesce.
An almost rainbow-like halo envelops Alistair slowly as Ispahan urges us to hurry.
Goblins pile around the barrier like ants, scrambling over one another to reach us. Some throw themselves against it, disintegrating into smoke, yet they tirelessly keep coming.
“Now!” Azael shouts and Ispahan drops the barrier.
Alistair exhales, releasing the tight coil of power and a shockwave of potent, unadulterated energy blasts through the throne room.
The brilliant light of our combined power turns me momentarily blind. When I open my eyes, everything in sight has turned to ash. The rot that almost reached us has been scorched.
In the next heartbeat, the glowing thread disappearing into my chest viciously tugs me toward the ruined doorway.
Chunks of the broken ceiling remain suspended above us and I notice Ispahan swaying on his feet, teeth gritted, shielding us.
Alistair looks stunned and dazed, as if a gentle breeze would blow him away. I quickly grab hold of him and he leans on me heavily.
“Let’s go!” Rhazien grabs Ispahan’s waist and traces from the room and the rest of us dart after him.
Just as we reach the boundary of the castle walls, Azael raises his arm, making us halt.
The bleak gray sky has turned a roiling, angry red and the Blood river visible at a distance has swollen with waves.
“The wards are still intact.” He growls in frustration.
“How do we go through? It’ll melt our bones.” Silas tugs at his nape, visibly at the end of his rope.
“Maybe… maybe it’ll let us pass if we offer a sacrifice?” Alistair whispers, pale and shaken. “Sometimes that's the nature of these wards. But I can’t be certain.”
A sharp tug almost makes me double over. “I fear we’re losing Aleiraah! Let me do it.” I move toward the gates, ready to sacrifice myself, so others can reach her in time.
“Wait!” Azael snaps, tension spiking in his voice. I whirl around, brows furrowing. He sounds worried, but I retort, “We can’t afford any more delay.”
“There might be a way. It still carries significant risk. But I’m not ready to sacrifice any of us today.” A look of determination settles on Azael’s face.
He takes a deep breath and exhales, his wings spreading out. Huge, jet-black and all encompassing.
My eyebrows disappear into my hairline. The rest are equally taken aback, except for Alistair.
Bewildered, I find it odd that he’s not surprised as the rest of us.
Azael’s wings were always a pristine snowy white. Now they seem to drink the very light from the surroundings, looking ominous as fuck.
With every inhale, his wings grow bigger until they stretch so wide, I’m left wondering how he’s even able to remain standing. He opens his eyes and they are no longer sapphire blue but obsidian with cracks of silver radiating outward, like striations.
“Step within the span of my wings. I’ll shield you all.” His gravelly voice resonates, making me flinch involuntarily.
“Azael…” Alistair whispers brokenly, but he only keeps staring at us, unflappable. Stoic.
Archie moves first, and we all follow, standing before Azael as his feathery wings wrap around us. The moment the inky-dark wings shield us, all the light in the world winks out.
“Trust me.” He speaks directly in our minds and without hesitation I do.
He levitates, taking us with him. We hover past the wards as a single unit.
My throat turns dry and my skin feels raw and scraped for a moment. A static passes through my body, jolting me as we traverse the harmful wards.
I grit my teeth, to avoid screaming out in pain.
The moment stretches into eternity and then my ears pop as we are dropped outside the castle gates with Azael collapsing on top of us.
I shuffle my body from beneath his weight and that’s when I notice the carnage.
My stomach lurches at the sight. His wings are horribly singed, the bone-frame mangled in most places. His back is shredded, muscles and sinews torn. Golden blood seeps out of him at an alarming rate and he’s clearly unconscious, chest barely moving.
“FUCK!” Rhazien tries to turn Azael’s body, looking frantic.
“Perhaps we can heal him if we pool our energy again?” Ispahan suggests sounding upset.
“I’m wiped out.” Alistair whispers hoarsely, wearing a pained expression as he hovers his hand over Azael’s mangled back.
“We’ll carry him.” I try to hoist him up and Silas supports his weight.
Slowly Azael’s wings wither away into nothing, leaving behind only mangled flesh and bones.
“He’s breathing. Alive. His wounds should start knitting shortly.” Baz says hoarsely, sounding a little uncertain.
Another sharp tug of the tether has me gasping and he transforms into his dragon form.
“All of you, climb onto my back.” He barks in his deep dragon timbre, and we latch onto Baz––Silas and I holding onto Azael’s unconscious form.
I’m glad that he’s able to transform once again. Inside the castle something was hindering him from changing into his dragon.
He extends his wide leathery wings and takes flight, following the glowing threads that take us to right where we had landed before.
Blood Falls.