by A Uscila
You’ve received 1741 physical damage.
Sharp teeth dug into his skin, piercing through cloth and the warlock grunted from the sudden jolt, yet he knew, that it could have been way worse. Heck, it was made even worse as Wail managed to catch Willow in his peripheral vision. Who, like the lithe fox that she was, managed to somehow kick off a flying piece of wood and skillfully even, by the looks of it, effortlessly land on a nearby roof. He was almost sad at this point, that the Soulfiend didn’t dissolve him into a puddle of ooze. Almost.
“Get me over there” – The warlock groaned from between the Soulfiend’s teeth, a finger feebly pointing onto Willows position, where he was delivered and spat out quite expeditiously, though in a disgraceful manner.
“What hell hole were you spat out from?” – Willow rhetorically inquired, as the magician slowly got up and started shaking off black slobber – “Oh right. That one!” - She added with a laugh, a finger pointed at the floating Soulfiend.
“Very funny” – Wail sourly replied, as he stepped past the snickering female and near the edge of the roof - only to inspect the scene with narrowed eyes. A frown settling deeper as he observed the goblin sea shifting with a churn towards the fresh breach, grinding against the walls, flooding inside the habitat. They spread inside through every crack and corridor, through every door and window. And there was plenty still to come, as the field was full of those waiting to get in or to even break open another canal.
Yet there was hope. A light on the horizon, at the very outskirts of the forest beyond. Literally. Wail could only wonder if it was some fire that burned at the heels of this swarm, which would explain their crazed behavior. The light was too white, too pure for that, though.
“Wail! We need to get out of here before the foundations crumble!” – Of course, Willow didn’t give him enough time to further investigate, her warm hand gripping his own in a tugging motion. Voice tinged with the barest amount of panic.
“Crumble? Why would the…” – With a raised eyebrow, did the moody sceptic inquire, just as a loud splintering sound came from below and the house shook precariously. He didn’t need much more convincing. With a turn and a few panicky hops, the cowardly warlock leaped upon a few planks that led to the roof of the adjacent building.
“You could have taken me with you, instead of running off on your own all of a sudden!” – The lithe ranger complained from behind. Apparently, Wail’s shift in attitude was sudden enough for him to gain the upper hand in this little race. A little boost in confidence never hurt.
“Not my problem you can’t keep up” – He shot back with a shrug, head sticking over the ledge, to inspect what was going on below.
“Don’t make me hit you…” – A more immediate threat drawing his attention moments later.
“How about you redirect your anger at the attackers and go find Macrosh, instead?” – He attempted. The boldness and lack of fear displayed unexpectedly, visibly cooling Willow off.
“And what are you going to do?”- She then inquired, with hands on her hips.
With a wicked smile, Wail lifted up both palms and conjured two balls of dancing flame.
“I heard fire is a hazard this time of year…” – He said ominously.
“So…plan B, is it?” – Willow simply asked, pointedly ignoring the warlock’s nonsense.
“Yes. Plan B it is.” – Shoulders slumping slightly, Wail replied in a flat tone.
Once Willow departed with a few mocking words left as a parting gift, Wail’s shoulders rose once more and with a satisfied smirk on his face – he began running about from one roof to the other, skipping over crude wooden walkways that connected them. With glee, balls of billowing flame fell upon the heads of the swarm, only to be occasionally replaced by a gust of dark particles as the warlock would insert Soul Syphon into the routine. All that effort easily comparable to trying to set the sea on fire, only to then sprinkle it with ash. Yet he persevered. Even when the ground continued to rumble and the houses began to shake and crumble one by one, plumes of billowing, black smoke rising in the wake of the destruction – shimmering swathes of dancing flame peeking through. Even when his forces were clearly being pushed back and overwhelmed everywhere the eyes could see – the wooden walls that were left behind now displaying a few more breaches in their exterior, a few pockets of resistance glimpsed here and there, while the rest seemed to recede like the tide. Their forces lighted in flashes of orange, as the occasional fire mage unleashed a wave of fire and destruction.
Yet not all seemed grim. Glimpsed through the rising smoke, which got ever thicker, ever darker with each passing moment, the fields beyond the castle town seemed bereft of any movement – only the churned group, the charred and mutilated carcasses, as far as the eye could see. A few sparks of white light shined through the darkening horizon, their alignment straight as an arrow, if one would bother drawing a line that connected each one. By the looks of it, it seemed like the very same white light that shone hopefully on the very tree line, right before the breach. Like the warm sun that peaked out over the horizon to cast away the grim darkness in the morning. It didn’t seem so hopeful anymore.
Panicked shouts and sounds of fighting reached Wail’s ears the next moment – drawing his attention away from the grim sight that seemed to be spreading deeper into his domain, as the noise seemed to be coming from close proximity. Indeed, barely a roof away, a group of survivors, ragged and bloodied, were emerging through a ladder that connected the top floor to the ceiling. Their movements rushed, while the last ones seemed already beset by whatever chased after them, vicious snarls and screeches echoing along their shouts.
Wood creaked as Wail sprinted over the crude bridge connecting the two rooftops, his arrival timed just as the first goblin’s head peaked through the hole in the roof – the screams of the last few bandits that didn’t make it echoing from behind. Boldly, the warlock grabbed onto the goblin’s head and pulled the screeching pest upwards, a torrent of fire gushing out from the point of contact. A screech unlike any other escaped the goblin’s snarling mouth, his limbs flailing about in excessive movement, ripping at the warlock’s hand – cutting and clawing at his lean appendage. To no avail. Ignoring the victim’s struggle, Wail continued pouring torrents of flame and after a few tense moments, let go of a charred black corpse. The survivors, wide eyed, gaped at their savior as he then proceeded to discharge a torrent of fire-balls down into the hole and right into the faces of a few more goblins that were struggling upwards with weapons pointing.
“Do you think that is wise, Lord? Won’t the building catch on fire?” – One of the surviving bandits inquired carefully.
Wail lifted his gaze upon the doubtful, a smile slowly creeping into his features as he lifted one of his hands – the thumb and middle finger touching – “Don’t worry. I know what I’m doing” – He simply stated, only to lean away from the hole in the roof. He snapped his fingers.
With a tremble, an explosion rocked the floor beneath, the planks under their feet splintering in places and a gush of fire spewing out the hole in front. Startled, the bandits jumped back and one by one, turned in a panicked flight – their feet taking them onto the roof of an adjacent building.
“What a bunch of …” – Wail began, only to stumble to the side as the wood beneath gave way. A curse slipped out of his lips, but before he could fall through, the Soulfiend quickly darted in and clamped onto the scuff of his neck, carrying the magician to safety like a mother would her pup. A flailing, snarling disgrace of a pup.
A few of the fleeing bandits met his descent – their numbers now swelled up by numerous comrades climbing onto the roofs through similar entrances and running off towards the stone castle that loomed beyond. Noticing the attention of the few that remained to look-over the warlock, Wail stopped his flailing and allowed himself to be gently put down onto safe ground. Almost casually, the magician readjusted and evened out the folds of his robe, eyes lifting to regard the silent underlin
gs.
“All according to plan” – he smiled, shamelessly and luckily for him, there was not enough time to challenge the claim. With a whistle, boulders bathed in flame, tails of orange trailing in their wake, flew over their heads – landing with earth-shaking explosions barely two hundred feet away. A moan rose from the horde that mulled about there, while some of the remaining buildings crumbled to the ground with loud moans. A few of them directly struck by the descending boulders – shattered pieces of burning wood flying off into every direction. Fires were quickly spreading and many of the panicked beasts seemed to be at the mercy of their hungry tongues – many of them turning into carriers of light that spread the carnage even more. Beset by fire and falling structures, the horde churned in ever increasing ferocity as the bigger and stronger crushed the weaker and smaller ones in search for survival. Slowly, the horde was turning upon itself.
With a cheer, the bandits celebrated the sight, their shouts accompanying the flight of every single boulder that rained upon the invaders. Yet it quickly died down once they noticed that they were dropping closer with each passing moment. Of course, Wail was way ahead of them in that observation, as he was already sprinting across the rooftops, the looming stone keep getting ever closer. The air was full of ear-numbing noise and the rumbling below carried over to the roof of the buildings he ran over. Fire and rock rained from the sky and a raging fire slowly crawled in close pursuit of the fleeing – the scenery behind now dyed crimson, torn through by pillars of black smoke. Yet Wail seemed relatively unperturbed as he sprinted along, taking the time to throw in a few charged balls of flame upon those below and even dropping in a Soul Syphon or two.
Eventually, the scenery below changed and the ever churning swarm seemed to thicken, the reason for the thick congregation revealing itself soon after. A wide, stone-paved street split apart the habitual region, its’ sides protected by a low parapet, while a ditch awaited below it. In regular intervals, narrow bridges of stone with no handrails would connect the road with the adjacent alleyways, each one now clogged up by rubble, various carts and other wooden contraptions. Leather clad bandits swarmed the roadside to and fro, some busily stabbing over the parapets at whatever tried to climb up, while others threw down rocks or shot out arrows from wielded bows. Mixed into the usual rabble, individuals clad in metal and wielding shield and sword clustered near every stone bridge – making sure to keep away all that tried to charge onto the road and away from the ever-approaching all-consuming blaze.
With a smile, Wail noticed a familiar orc that pranced about with an oversized lump of metal in hand for a weapon – roaring commands thrown about every few moments as Macrosh organized the defending force with dedication. A crash nearby drew him out of the revery – the bombardment that rained over from the keep seemed to be getting closer and more sporadic, clusters of rock now mixed in between the flaming boulders. A strong gust of wind swept from the back, bringing with it oppressive heat and the smell of burning wood. With but a glance, Wail could see that there wasn’t much left of the isolated habitual zone he just recently fled through. Nothing but a few crumbling buildings and a hellish blaze that left nothing in its wake. Nothing but ash and charred bone.
With no quick way down in sight and a displeased wave at the approaching Soulfiend, Wail quickly approached the nearest hole in the roof and slid down the ladder onto the top floor. A few goblins that seemed to be rummaging about met his descent – jumping at him with primitive ferocity and inflicting minor damage.
You’ve received 156 physical damage.
You’ve received 398 physical damage.
You’ve received 177 physical damage.
Yet the input from Soul Syphon supplied the magician with an almost infinite health-pool, thus with gritted teeth, he ignored the damage and gripped two of the little critters – only to burn them alive with displayed pleasure. His wicked grin somewhat twitching every time the remaining goblins stabbed at him.
Scorching Touch has reached Intermediate level 1
Once the message popped up, Wail’s progress at burning the pesky critters visibly sped up. With an unsettling cackle, he swung about the flailing goblins – throwing their burning remains at their kin. With a snap of his fingers, the remains exploded in a shower of charred meat and fiery tongues, taking with it all those that stood too close to the explosion. Reinforcement soon arrived, as the flying wolf’s head flew in through the hole in the ceiling, attacking all those that were still left alive with barred teeth – every chomp melting and ripping flesh in a gruesome display, while a few bandits that finally caught up joined the fray.
In a similar style and with increasing reinforcements, the warlock descended through the building till he was looking down upon the bottom floor – or what was left of it. Its’ interior was in complete disarray as bodies of the dead and dying littered the floor, the staircase leading down ripped to shreds, while numerous goblins and even an ogre darted about in and out through the holes in the walls. With a grunt, Wail froze up for a moment or two, only to conjure up numerous tentacles of black magic, which fell down in a writhing mess, only to slither about and enter every dead body that was in close proximity. Muscles twitching, dozens of bodies got up with unnatural movements – the once deceased now reanimated, turned into mindless minions. Their movements controlled by vengeful spirits, the undead charged at whatever was in range and started a massacre – which soon turned into an all-out melee once the living started resisting.
With a heavy thud, Wail landed into the middle of the carnage – both hands wielding large balls of flame, while his underlings quickly followed after and engaged whatever came at them. The deranged warlock quickly sent both of the flaming projectiles flying through one of the holes in the wall, a glimpse of the stone road seen over the heads of the milling invaders. During the last moments of their flight, the flames splintered into multiple projectiles and exploded in a shower of fire and agony – the roars and screeches of those affected a testament to the fact. Using it as an opportunity, Wail directed most of his undead towards whatever brief breach he managed to make, followed after by the Soulfiend, himself and what underlings remained, moments later. He emerged into a world of carnage and destruction, as fire and arrows rained down everywhere, some even hitting him. Yet with fire in his hands, the warlock reaped a scorched path through the attacking force and backed up by the flying wolf-head and a number of plate-wearing individuals that rushed over to help, he barely managed to climb onto the road and out of that carnage.
Just in time as well, as the suicidal mage soon realized with a satisfied sigh. For the wall of fire was already about to encroach upon the last few buildings lining the road, while the mulling mass of invaders were making their final, desperate push to salvation – their hands clawing for purchase as many tried to climb over the stone. Yet with dedication and precision, all who attempted were put down. With fire and sword, only death awaited every single one of them.
Wail couldn’t help but smirk, eyes staring at the remaining swarm with an almost condescending look, eyelids lowered ever so slightly.
“Lord! Another force seems to be attacking through the opened breach in the walls!” – All that joy and satisfaction was quickly brushed aside, once Macrosh rushed over with unpleasant news.
“Oh give me a break…” – The warlock moaned.
Chapter 73
The world was on fire - the heat so fierce that the very air around seemed to morph and distort, while wails of the damned echoed in disconnected tunes, interrupted by the cracking of wood, the clash of steel. Figures darted to and fro – ablaze or on the verge of it, as they searched for salvation where there was none to be found. Only fire. Only agony.
Explosions shook the ground occasionally, as the sky rained large projectiles of molten rock – spraying the surroundings with deadly shrapnel like fragments, adding to the chaos and providing a merciful end for some, while assuring doom for others. Smoke and brimstone reigned supreme, yet even with all
that – life and movement could still be glimpsed in small pockets of relative habitability. The fleeing and the clashing. Poorly clothed figures being cut down by mounted individuals in white plate, the victims occasionally replaced by people in leather armor, wielding various weaponry to little effect.
Another flaming projectile crashed in the vicinity and the ground shook, while a wave of scorched sand and burning debris was sprayed over a tight formation of riders – shields rose overhead to meet it, as if to protect the white of their armor. A transparent aura covered the riders, keeping away the fire and most of the heat, while serving as a means to maintain their regal appearance, as they shone like angels that descended into hell. They rode with purpose, cutting or riding down anyone unlucky enough to get in the way, though it needed to be said that there wasn’t much left to ride down in this scorched section of the castle town.
At the very head of the procession rode none other than xXxArchangelxXx, with Joana merely a few strides behind – her claymore in hand and ready. Occasionally, she would swing her weapon in a beautiful arch, which would let loose a crescent of white light into the air and at any sphere of molten rock threatening to fall onto their position. With surprising accuracy, the attack would shatter the falling projectile into multiple pieces that would fall upon their ranks with little effect – nothing that a well-angled shield couldn’t deflect.
“Shouldn’t we pick up the pace? We don’t have unlimited mana, you know” – Joana complained, after urging her steed to catch up to the driven High Sweeper.
