by Sain Artwell
Momentum carried Alron to the cloud of enemies. A squad of riders on a hundred winged skyworms was first to meet him—lances, spears, and jaws full of dragonfire poised in a deadly welcome. Deadly to anyone but him.
His speed was such that Alron broke through the frontline of warriors before they could react. On the way through them, his tail killed eight, wings nine, glaive three, and sword five. Fei’s soulfire infected twelve more. The legion of flying forces began to turn in pursuit.
Despite his many advantages, a lengthened battle mid-air against overwhelming numbers was one of the few situations in which Alron could see himself losing. In sufficient numbers, missiles of dragonfire would eventually wear down any defence and overwhelm any regeneration. Furthermore, Apocalypse and the rest of his weapons were designed to overwhelm opponents at a close range. He simply had no answer against a flying army, except chasing them to cut them down in melee.
So, he ignored them.
Without a pause, Alron halted his dive as he was about to hit the cobbled street. He bounded up the snaking streets of the City of Spires, running, flying, accelerating his dashes with Apocalypse’s spin core on his way towards the center spire.
Alron blew through barricades and spiked ice walls blocking his path. He slowed for nothing, until he came upon the root of a crooked spire at the top of Iceweaver’s skull, and faced the hundred feet tall Gates to Heaven—a tenfold door wrought of starsteel, blackmetal, vestige-imbued jadegold, and flesh of highly regenerative drakes from the lost ages before the Ascendancy.
Once upon a time, this gate had stood as proof of the Sorcerer King’s unparalleled power. If Knights of Myrwing were the Ascendancy’s claw, this gate embodied its scales. It was said to be indestructible. Alron raised Apocalypse.
Iced hinges and frozen mechanics cracked. The gate opened before him.
Gingerly, Alron stepped forward. The Everfrozen Path was as he remembered. Translucent veins of black ice arched overhead like spiraling fingers. Fluffy white snow clung to their roots and ground, shifting with the wind like a silken ghost.
Beneath Alron’s clawed feet, where the black ice filled Iceweaver’s impossibly large skull, distant shapes swam within solid matter. Feathery tendrils followed behind their aimless paths. Their thin organic shapes glowed pale blue, dotting the black abyss with a small number of tiny drifting stars—draconic entities which were more vestige than creature. Idly, Alron noted how their number had diminished from his childhood days.
The chamber widened as Alron reached the center of the spire. Arching structures had been carved into the black ice. Totems and bas reliefs depicting the deeds of Sorcerer King and Knights of Myrwing were spread out, made out of silvery metals and white stones found mined from Iceweaver’s spine. Somewhere, in his most eroded memories, Alron remembered climbing in the hanging icicle lanterns of that ceiling, and nearly dying from the fall. He chuckled.
“Welcome back, young one. Welcome!” The thin, gravelly voice belonged to an old wyrmkin.
Alron turned to look at an alcove where the familiar figure stood. “Elder? I had assumed you perished, given that you allowed the title to pass to Dente.”
Deep lines of his pale face twisted into a smile. Nearly barren scalp stretched between his crown of eleven black horns. Hidden beneath bushy dark eyebrows, his blue-on-black eyes still gleamed with power, despite the centuries finally beginning to erode his physical body. To this day, Alron did not know him by any other name than the Arch-Knight, or Elder.
Elder shook his head. “Bah. It was never a succession by trial kind of deal. She is as good a successor as I could get. Couldn’t wait much longer.”
“A bit hot-headed from what I’ve witnessed.”
“Ha! She has ways to go. Ways to go…” Elder’s brows furrowed. “Regrettable, this whole ordeal. If only I had objected to the late King’s plans more firmly, perhaps we could have avoided all this. Truly a tragedy.”
“Hm. Speaking of tragedy, where are the rest of the knights and Sorcerer King?”
Elder pointed a bony finger up at the spherical shaft leading to higher levels of the spire. “Awaiting my signal. I asked for a chance to speak with you.”
Alron nodded, urging him to make his case.
“Alron…” Elder’s ancient eyes met his, not with wrath nor judgement, but a weary plea. “Let them slay you. Sorcerer King and Dente, they have a plan for this forsaken graveyard of a world. Trust them. This vengeance will amount to absolutely nothing. Accept their blade, and let it end swiftly.”
“Hm.” Alron spun Apocalypse to rest on his shoulder. “Only after I kill Sorcerer King.”
Elder grimaced as if he’d bit on a basket of sour fruits. “So be it. But let her speak before you attack.”
“That much, I can allow.”
With a high-pitched whistle, Elder summoned reinforcements.
Eighty-eight knights of Myrwing dropped from the spire shaft and spread out in a crescent formation around Alron. Many were his old brothers and sisters of war, and ancient veterans who’d once taught him how to fight. Light blackmetal armor covered all but their wings in a sleek design that unintentionally imitated Alron’s fully scaled form. Each knight was armed with several starsteel weapons, and in each of their dragon-cores beat twin heartstring vestiges just like Alron’s. Many of them wore jadegold artifacts enhanced by embedded vestiges to give them limited regeneration, foresight, and other abilities. In terms of raw strength, speed, and skill, there were many who were nearly his equal.
Three more wyrmkin dropped from the shaft, taking position behind the crescent formation. One was Dente and two of her morphcore bonds. Second was her sniper, who wore a black blindfold over her eyes. Third was…
For a second Alron paused, eyes widening. Fei hissed. Oqhizt gasped.
Yes, he should have expected this. Perhaps he had, but he’d suppressed the doubt and held himself from lingering on it, pushed back the inevitable realization until the very last moment—until now.
With pale blue skin, dark blue horns, and robes to match her beautiful figure, there stood Yuvera. Time had not chipped her cheekbones, nor rounded the edges of her thin face. It had, however, replaced the blue of her irises with the pale radiance of stars. Flat, tendril-like wings of the Sorcerer King flared behind her in the form of a seven-pointed star.
“Traitorous sow!” Fei snarled, materializing on Alron’s shoulder. “You stole my hatchling! Why would you do such a thing? Why, why. Why?!”
Calm, Fei, Alron urged. Although his own blood seethed with the same thick mixture of emotions, he didn’t allow it to boil over. In a way, his own betrayal of Oqhizt’s trust was not too different. Though there was an edge of anger in her emotions; Oqhizt remained silent within his bloodstream.
“Yuvera, congratulations on inheriting your father’s vestige,” said Alron.
Yuvera didn’t bow, for such an act was beneath Sorcerer King, but she did smile. It was an expression of bitterness and grace. “If it makes a difference, he died thirteen years ago. Until then, we had conflicting views of how you were to be treated.”
“I suppose that is a small comfort,” said Alron.
Fei rejected it with a scowl, her flames flaring, “Worth less than your icy cunt’s drool!”
“You shut it, traitor! Don’t dare to slander Sorcerer King,” shouted Dente. The anger in her voice and expression shut Fei.
My little Dente, no, don’t look at mommy like that…
“Why treat us like tools, Yvie?” Oqhizt appeared on Alron’s other shoulder. “I heard what happened to Mlev and Fei. There’s no excuse for that.”
Yuvera didn’t offer one. “A lot of blood soaks the vestige of Sorcerer King. Stars, though mighty and wise, work through wyrmkin vessels, and thus we’ve made many mistakes on our journey. Perhaps some of this could have been avoided. Perhaps not. Regardless, I am both glad and sorry you are finally here.”
Alron was not sure what to feel.
He’d killed thousands,
destroyed cities, crippled nations, and eliminated all those responsible for the imprisonment of his loved ones, creeping ever closer to sating his cold wrath. Now, that final catharsis of killing the one ultimately responsible snuffed like a wet wicker. Yes, Yuvera had accepted the mantle of Sorcerer King, and carried both their memories and motivations, but how exactly could he extract revenge against a container of memories?
By killing his brothers and sisters of knighthood?
By killing his old mentor?
By killing his old lover?
By killing his very daughter? His and Fei’s flesh and blood.
Tenfold gates closed behind him. Yuvera extended her hand to the sides, conjuring a floating sphere of starsteel from the black substance bubbling beneath her skin.
“I’m glad you understand,” she said softly.
Alron fixed her with a glare, deciding then that his vengeance was not quite over. No. However maddening it seemed, all this was an elaborate plot of the stars themselves, those frightful beings whom Carrion Scourge had scorned upon ascending to dragongodhood. Those cowardly creatures who schemed and plotted their cosmic games, taunting wyrmkin to dance to their insane rhythms. The one to blame for this were the stars.
Are you two with me?
Always, said Fei.
And forever, replied Oqhizt.
“Yuvera. Try not to perish before I remove Sorcerer King from you,” said Alron, launching himself at her.
Chapter 30 - Starsteel Stab
Knights of Myrwing dodged away from Apocalypse’s range, dug their clawed boots into the ice, and lunged forward to stab at Alron with starsteel spears. Dente, having dragonized the floor beneath her and reacted the moment Alron began to move, charged at him in a rapidly changing zig-zag pattern. Her morphcore companion transformed into a twenty-foot sword-whip. The blind sniper—Katjan—shot thrice.
Alron drew his wings close to his body, and lashed out with the dragonized jadegold weapons wrapped around his upper chest. Spears and blades unfolded in an explosive movement, striking aside the starsteel spears. Dente’s whip curved to avoid hitting Apocalypse, and despite his efforts to dodge, struck the side of Alron’s head simultaneously with Katjan’s bullets.
Deafening impacts rang against the dragonized jadegold wrapped around Alron’s head. Frostfire numbed his senses for the briefest moment, before Fei’s flames swept it away.
Floating on her undulating wings, Yuvera circled around Alron in an arch to place more knights between them. She grasped the starsteel sphere in her palm. Pale starlight flashed in her eyes and across the length of every starsteel weapon within the chamber. Shimmering, the spears and swords branched out into alien shapes, which Alron could compare only to the algae shrubs he’d seen in darkest abysses of Deepfathom Sea. Nine knights came at him with these odd flailing weapons, which swerved out of Apocalypse’s path, moving as nimbly as his dragonized jadegold weapons.
Jadegold and starsteel sparked against each other. Alron moved his blades, but despite being much weaker than his dragonized arsenal, the starsteel blades were many. Strikes snaked around his parries, scraping scales off of his armor, drawing minor cuts. Knights of Myrwing kept skirting the range of his Apocalypse, prioritizing their own survival, while slowly chipping at his vis with starsteel weaponry.
Yuvera’s eyes continued to match the dim glow of starsteel as they stared at Alron, unblinking. This was her foresight combined with a sorcery that granted her power similar to his dragonization. A devastating technique, especially when wielded by warriors as mighty as these. Had Alron not wielded the power of foresight in his battle against Carrion Scourge, he would’ve felt helpless.
The trick, if one could call it such, was to trust in your overwhelming strength and speed.
Alron struck out with Apocalypse, aiming to destroy a knight, trusting his jadegold arsenal for protection.
In that exact moment, Dente swept in. Her whip and wings lashed Alron’s sword-bearing arm, throwing him off course. Next moment, three bullets impacted against his knee. His balance faltered for a fraction of a moment. Knights of Myrwing capitalized on it, whipping him with their amorphous starsteel weapons. Eight of the knights blasted him with dragonfire from their artifacts, though Fei’s buffer blunted their effects.
Alron accepted that this battle would be a race against attrition. He carried through with the strike, regardless of damage, and trusted in Oqhizt.
Apocalypse’s blade sank through the brittle starsteel flail and the arm holding it, exploding flesh into bloody mist. In a final desperate move, the knight pulled her tail and wings into a spin, rolling alongside the flat of the blade.
Tapping into its spin-core, Alron froze the blade in mid-motion, reversed its direction, and sliced through the knight’s rib-cage. She crumpled in two bleeding halves.
Eighty-seven to go, said Fei.
Oqhist continued, Weakest first. We can take your hatchling and Yuvera last, and figure out what to do with them. Go for the ranged warrior, then the knights.
We are of the same mind. That sniper had her warning.
Reversing directions mid-air, Alron shot towards Katjan.
She’d already fired three shots at his legs, Yuvera had already woven nearby knights’ starsteel weapons into a protective mesh of blades, and Dente had moved to block his path. Guided by foresight, they reacted many moments before he moved. But such predictions were not flawless. No matter how far into the future it saw, a tree could never hope to evade the storm.
Apocalypse opened a path to Katjan. Bullets, starsteel, and dragonfire techniques scraped Alron’s hide, but ultimately failed to stop him. The blindfolded girl dropped her sniper cannon to fire shots over her shoulder from her hand cannons, whilst running. Each hit merely delayed the inevitable. Alron raised Apocalypse, and parried Dente’s desperate lunge to save her lover.
She’s yours.
Finally!
Fei’s fiery claw shot out from his chest. It took on the aspect of solid flame, punching a hole through a weak point in Katjan’s dragonfire tube. Though the girl exhaled a powerful blast of blindingly hot dragonfire, it could not compete against soulfire, which rapidly consumed all vis from the fire and flooded the girl’s lungs. An instant later, Fei withdrew. Katjan slumped, clawing desperately at her armored chest, coughing out wisps of soulfire as she choked.
Dead. Poor girl is dead. Had it coming.
“KATJAN! NO!” Dente shoved a knight to rush Alron, and made the mistake of stepping into Apocalypse’s range.
Alron struck without mercy.
The entire spire shook. Icy walls cracked, leaving a misty crater on the wall where Alron’s swing had sent Dente flying. Her guts were torn open, and bones broken, but the flesh was knitting back together at a rapid rate.
Knights attacked Alron’s back. He felt a few new cuts appear on his tail, spun around, and wounded a knight’s legs. Instead of retreating, the veteran hurled himself at Alron and was torn into shreds by dragonized weapons and Fei’s soulfire. The sacrifice amounted to another minor slash on Alron’s back. Though small, each cut was drawn by starsteel. Slowly, the weight of those wounds added up, forcing Alron to draw more vis into his vestiges and bonds to maintain his speed and strength.
Movements merged into one another, the moment stretching. Weapons rang against each other, drowning the room in a metallic cacophony. Claws, wings, and tails ripped tears and scratched on the black ice floor. Blood crystallized into ice before it touched the ground.
Knight fell, never to rise again.
Their numbers thinned.
Elder appeared in Alron’s face, branching starsteel weapons in each hand. He ducked beneath Apocalypse’s blow, stepped within Alron’s range, and matched blow for blow the ten jadegold weapons wrapped around his chest. At least for a while he did.
Regrettably, the ancient wyrmkin was far from the warrior he’d once been. Without taking a single new wound from him, Alron skewered the old man’s heart with his claw, after which Fei f
looded his innards with soulfire. Till the very last spark of vis dimmed in his eyes, the elder smiled.
Another knight replaced him, and then another. They continued circling him, fleeing Apocalypse, vying to land the lightest scrapes on Alron’s backside. But not every knight’s legs were swift enough. Not all of them had foresight granted by vestiges, and not all were yet given the experience of years. With every bleeding gash Oqhizt stopped from bleeding, a knight fell. Eighty, seventy, sixty… Their number dwindled, but not for naught.
Each chipped away at his vis. A life for a droplet.
Dente came at Alron again, roaring, her entire body ablaze in frostfire, her eyes lit by raw fury and tears. Lives of the knights began to cost two droplets of Alron’s vis, two more swings, two more moments. Yet even Dente could only stall him, never mind stop the blows of Apocalypse.
Fifty, forty, thirty, twenty…
Ten knights remaining.
Alron remembered the ancient knight who’d lurched to skewer his guts. She’d taught him to move past the Closing Maw form of Myrwing, to adopt a more feral form of fighting suited for his strength.
Nine.
Another appeared. This one had been like a sister once. Only one century-old memory remained of them laughing under an icy bridge, sharing a ration in the blizzard.
Eight.
This one was a young knight, an initiate who’d yet to master all Seven Forms of Myrwing. Alron didn’t know him.
Seven.
This was a scar-horned veteran. A merciless teacher of the claw and blade. A good man.
Six.
This young woman had great skill. She resembled someone he almost remembered. A relative of a friend?
Five.
And that one reminded him of a long campaign in the iron rain, of the shared loss of a brother.
Four.
There’d been an argument in the monastery halls, a squabble never resolved.
Three.
Another familiar face. Not once had they spoken, but there was a memory of her singing. Her voice had been enchanting.
