Chapter 31 Erik
ERIK
Whispers slithered through the streets, thick with manipulation.
The voice conjured by someone spewing lies.
Each word seeped into the minds of the Sidhe citizens who heard them, poisoning their thoughts and twisting their fears into weapons.
I could almost see the ripple of voice’s effect—civilians who have never trained for combat, squared off with an army that easily slashed them down.
Their eyes burned with a mix of terror and resolve, a lethal combination.
The Sidhe King clearly hoped to overwhelm us by the sheer number of those opposing us.
“Lysians and Bavadrins are attacking our capitol,” the voice hissed, reverberating through the streets.
“They wish to erase our great city from the map. All citizens are encouraged to take arms and protect your homes, protect your loved ones, protect yourselves. These foes will stop at nothing to see you fall. They do not care whether you are weak, whether you surrender, whether you run, whether you are a child. Protect your homes. Protect your loved ones. Protect yourselves.”
The lies wove themselves deep, driving desperation into the hearts of their people. They weren’t soldiers. As puppets on strings of conjured deceit, fear and manipulation consumed them.
“Iver!” My brother’s sudden presence snapped me out of my grim observation.
He ran towards me, his expression tight with urgency. “I found Ariana.”
Relief collided with the pressure of the situation. “Take her and run,” I ordered, my voice rough. “We need to retreat.” He gave a single nod before vanishing into the fray.
For a moment, I stood frozen, the echoes of the conjured voice still slithered through the streets.
I turned, my gaze sweeping over the destruction I had caused—the charred bodies, the crumbled structures, and the blood staining the cobblestones.
Innocent souls, exploited into standing against us, lay among the wreckage.
This was not how this should have been.
But we had placed too much trust in the Seer, as if she would have cared for the loss of necessary lives enough to warn us against this outcome.
But Edda said nothing, and thus never considered facing anything other than soldiers.
We should have questioned everything. Should have assumed Clause would use his own people as shields and weapons without care.
My jaw clenched, a bitter taste rising in my throat. “Retreat!” I bellowed, the command like a thunderclap through the ranks of our forces.
I refused to let this become a massacre, refused to let the conjured lies become truth. We had not come to slaughter the innocent. Whatever Clause had planned, he would not use me or my army as tools for his narrative.
Once the retreat began, a ripple of relief swept through the citizens.
They stalled at the edges of the streets, and in the alleyways that funneled into the road took to withdraw towards the tunnel.
It was as if the tension binding the Sidhe loosened, fear reclaiming its rightful place in their hearts.
They didn’t pursue, afraid enough to not press their luck, hopeful enough to believe their lives might be spared.
A ripple of energy shifted in the atmosphere.
The few citizens who kept eyes on us, as if to ensure we were leaving, suddenly made themselves scarce.
We did not make it very far before Sidhe soldiers poured in, their movements more precise and coordinated.
Unlike the civilians, these were warriors, trained to wield both swords and conjuring with deadly efficiency.
Half wore shiny armor, like the polished steel in their hands.
They approached from the city center, and the alleys nearest us.
My army stopped their retreat.
I pivoted, taking stock of the situation. These were not scared citizens with shaking hands—they were confident in their gate, moving like a crushing tide. Magic flared, elemental forces playing between their fingers, reminding me of the fact that they all could conjure.
For a single breath, nothing happened. A moment, before the chaos.
“Hold the line!” I barked at the surrounding soldiers.
And then, everyone was moving.
A Sidhe warrior surged forward, a blade of ice forming in his hand as he lunged at me.
I sidestepped, my sword meeting his with a sharp clang.
Flares sparked as steel clashed against enchanted ice.
With a twist of my wrist, I deflected his strike and drove my blade under his armpit, where there was a gap in his armor.
He gasped, his conjured weapon dissolving into shards before he crumpled to the ground.
Around me, the streets turned into a battleground. Flames erupted from one of my men, slamming against a Sidhe conjurer’s whirlwind. The elements collided, the air thick with smoke, heat, ice, earth. I deflected a flanking attack from a Sidhe soldier, my blade catching him in the chest as I spun.
“They’re closing in!” One of mine shouted, his sword slicing through a Sidhe before turning to face another.
“Keep moving!” I ordered. “We retreat together!”
For every inch of ground we gave, they pressed harder, apparently determined to turn our retreat into a slaughter. But we would not give them the satisfaction.
As another wave of soldiers charged, I summoned a wall of flames, forcing them to fall back or risk being consumed. The fire roared, a barrier between us. For a brief moment, it gave us the breathing room we needed to regroup.
The Sidhe navigated around my wall of flame, taking paths between buildings or under them, as we retreated further from the heart of their capitol.
A Sidhe warrior rushed at me, his blade glowing faintly with enchanted light. He was slender and tall, though knew how to use his limbs with a dangerous grace. His movements were sharp, calculated. I raised my sword, parrying his initial strike as sparks flew from our meeting blades.
Ruthless, he pushed forward, forcing me back a step. I twisted my wrist and drove my blade low toward his gut. He lept back, narrowly avoiding the blow, but not before my conjured fire seared the edge of his tunic.
The smell of scorched fabric and flesh filled the air as I closed the gap between us.
He swung again, faster this time, aiming for my neck.
I ducked under his blade, the breeze of his strike brushing against my skin.
With a roar, I thrust my sword upward, catching him in flesh between his shoulder and neck.
He cried out as blood spilled down his side.
Before I could finish him, another Sidhe charged from my right, a spear aimed at my ribs.
I wrenched my blade free and sidestepped the attack, slashing upward in a single fluid motion.
My sword caught the spearman across the chest, splitting his armor like parchment.
He crumpled to the ground with a strangled gasp.
I didn’t have the time to celebrate the fact that it seemed he had defective armor.
The first warrior, still clutching his wounded shoulder, summoned a whip of blue energy, like lightning but not, that lashed out toward me.
The thorns from the pulsing energy bit into my arm, tearing through fabric and flesh.
It burned through my nerves. My muscles constricted with tension.
I yelled through clenched teeth at the shock of it.
With a flick of my hand, fire erupted along the energy, burning down the path to the man who held the strange conjuring form.
He yelped, releasing his control before my flames made their way to him. But I never needed for the fire to travel to him down his power. All I wanted was to distract him.
My blade drove through his heart with a swift, decisive thrust. His eyes widened, a gasp escaping his lips as he collapsed.
I turned, barely catching sight of another attacker before a dagger gleamed in the torchlight, aimed for my throat.
I ducked and caught his wrist, twisting hard until the blade clattered to the ground.
With my other hand, I conjured a burst of fire that engulfed his chest. His scream was cut short as he fell, lifeless, to the blood-soaked ground.
My breaths came hard and fast, but I didn’t stop. I couldn’t. With every swing of my sword and every blast of fire, I carved through the fight, a force of destruction driven by a need to keep moving.
As another wave of warriors rushed in, I braced myself, flames curling around my hands.