The Ancients

by Adam-Clay Webb

The victory was now won.

  Kyle’s brows furrowed. Instead of quickly going in for the winning strike, he stood still and pondered the meaning behind Zakashi’s sudden pause. Blade’s proud smirk had by now become a cunning laughter. Kyle turned and saw him, just noticing him. “Blade!” He saw that blood was still tricking from down the creases of Blade’s lips.

  “You…” Zakashi said, looking over at Blade nervously. Even his lips were frozen up, making it difficult for him to speak.

  “At first, it was quite disappointing having to use this blade as opposed to the one I’ve gotten used to over the years, but it seems the change was worthwhile in the end.”

  “But… When?” Zakashi struggled to ask. “Not once was I cut by that sword.”

  Blade laughed, until his laughter quickly transitioned into the coughing up of blood.

  “Blade!”

  Blade held a hand out toward Kyle to say that he was alright. “Zakashi,” Blade said. “In the end, you were right about one thing. I am only a replica of your skill. I had no chance at killing you. But this man who will now deliver the killing strike, he has neither talent nor tact.”

  Kyle clenched his teeth and glared at Blade, making him laugh again.

  “But that is exactly why he, and not I, was capable of outclassing you.”

  Kyle almost gasped when he heard these words.

  “Kyle is evidence that will can stand up to skill. His movements, unrefined and unorthodox, cannot be predicted. With no gracefulness and no deftness in conserving stamina, his strikes are too powerful to prevail against. With no regard for prudence or self-preservation in battle, his attacks are untamed, and without relent.”

  Zakashi could say nothing to this.

  “And as for you, Zakashi, you were so confident in your own skills, and sure that you had me figured out, but having sparred with my student, even I have inadvertently become somewhat less predictable than you made yourself believe. When you baited me with the sword, it is then that I abandoned all defence and opened myself to your attack. So keen on your own movement, the thin slice I delivered with the Lightning Cobra went unnoticed.”

  “How… Impossible…” Zakashi gasped.

  “And now you will watch as the true sword master relieves you of your miserable life,” Blade said, then uncased Zakashi’s own sword from the scabbard he had kept unrevealed. Blade had grappled up the sword as he made his way to where Kyle and Zakashi were.

  Kyle’s eyes brightened as Blade threw the sword at him, in the exact way that Zakashi had thrown it to him (Blade). Kyle caught it sternly, not with a kiddish grin, but with a firm resolution and gladiator might. Without further ado, he severed Zakashi’s head.

  Chapter 32: Fist of Legend

  If those fighting desperately on the battlefields could have seen from the perspective of Azar and Ruben and Vis, and the gods, then maybe they would have all given up, realizing that the world was scarred beyond repair, sunken deep, deep beyond the grasp of redemption. The gods’ armies were simply too much for the frail world to withstand. Used up battlefields scattered on every land left countless bodies that threatened to make literal rivers of blood. Thick curtains of waste mana were everywhere, as every sorcerer, on one side or the other, was forced to fight to the death. The ground, in many places, was burnt and blackened, and there were deep craters and unseemly formations of the land. Rivers and seas and oceans and ponds and valleys had all become graveyards, and were reeking with the stench of blood and torn flesh.

  The whole world was a bloody wasteland, with little pockets of insects clinging desperately to life with the last of their strengths.

  The fighters on every battlefield thought that their fight was the bloodiest and direst. Entire villages, entire cities, whole countries were flattened. Several islands had been sunk, several landmasses split up. Vis and Azar knew that more were dead around the world than alive, and since they had made this difficult estimate, things had only plummeted further.

  “The gods are winning,” Ruben said under his breath.

  But even within the thick, cloudy undergrowth of despair and apparent doom, the earth’s defenders were putting up a fight tougher than the gods had anticipated. The Elders, especially, were maintaining relatively high concentrations of survivors.

  ***

  Viknor, after all his fighting, after doing more for the world than almost any other single fighter, was finally outmatched, and he knew it from the start of that battle. He stood limply at the brink of collapse, gripping still firmly his purple blades. Lukia too was breathing heavily. Their surroundings, already manhandled from the previous battle, were now even more beat up. There were clusters of sparks lingering from Lukia’s lightning attacks, huge patches of rising smoke, several small and large fires scattered, and even more holes and craters dug into the earth.

  Viknor, though at his end, felt proud in the way Lukia looked at him – not like he was just another fly to be swatted, but at least as he were a persistent rat that had to be hit hard with a boot three or four times before it was lifeless.

  Lukia smirked. “I will tell you, one called Viknor. None other, in all my battles, have survived the attacks I have subjected you to. None but Amorphous, the greatest Ionide. I dare say…” He stopped to pant a little. “That you are as strong an opponent as he was. The gap in our strengths, even though I am an arcanine and you are not, I will admit lies in my unlimited mana. Had it not been for that, I would be unsure of a victory against you.”

  Viknor laughed a little. “You compare me to the greatest leader of the greatest ever race. I am honoured. And you, Lukia, you do live up to your name.”

  “Haha! Not yet, Viknor. But I will after this attack!”

  “I still have some fight left in me, Lukia!” Viknor declared. “Air Cutter!” he summoned, though he knew that after a single swing, his mana would have been utterly dried up.

  Lukia’s eyes lit up when he saw this sword. Before he could say anything, Viknor poured all of his remaining magic, all of his remaining strength, all of his hope of victory, into the swiftest and hardest swing he was ever made to deliver. An opaque black shield of densest arcane magic appeared about Lukia instantly as Viknor’s bellow echoed across the craters and valleys. The force of the swing, though Viknor was quite some distance from Lukia, tore through his arcane shield finely. Viknor himself gasped in fright as he witnessed a mountain in the distance separate cleanly. The power of the air cutter, this time, had multiplied over the distance before reaching its fundamental limit, and had sliced through everything in its wake. Somehow, the force acted not just like an imaginarily long blade, but it also pushed everything above the force’s top surface upwardly. Heads and trees many other things behind Lukia flew up to the skies suddenly, including the top of a mountain, which soon after crumbled back down on a finished battlefield to give the most proper burial most of the scattered bodies would have received.

  “And therein lies my final strength, Viknor,” the discombobulated wizard heard a faint voice in his mind.

  Lukia’s shield then disappeared, leaving the man standing, seeming unharmed. He turned his head to look behind him at the titanic effect of the Air Cutter, then he looked back at Viknor.

  “That actually sliced me in two, even through my strongest shield,” Lukia said. “But with unlimited mana, one can heal faster than death can make itself certain.”

  Viknor collapsed to his knees, releasing the Air Cutter.

  “To the end, you were a worthy opponent, summoning a blade that has evaded the meticulous search of historic gatherers,” Lukia said.

  Viknor’s eyes were pale. It had been only the second time his mana had plunged to absolute zero.

  Lukia held his hand outward to Viknor and roused up his mana again. A massive black aura encircled him, and dense black mana, like darkness itself, gathered before his palm.

  “Viknor, I will remember your name forever,” Lukia said.

  That moment, there was a red cloud, and from that
cloud stepped King Azar.

  “You look like shit, Viknor,” Azar greeted.

  Viknor now suddenly had the strength not just to utter a laugh, but also to speak. “So you really did keep an eye on me.”

  Azar was looking forward at the menacing Lukia, whose mana felt almost just as strong as it did before he had started his battle with Viknor. “It is Viknor who will remember your name,” Azar said.

  Lukia’s body grew numb, and his mana vanished in an instant. He felt a cold hand grip his shoulder. “Shade…” his final breath said. Wordlessly, Shade plunged the sword he had prepared through Lukia’s back, and it pierced through his heart. Shade held him in position for an extended moment. “A wizard with no magic dies easily,” Shade finally said, and released Lukia’s body to fall and join the billions that littered the planet.

  ***

  Iceland was iceless. The great land of snow was now a crisp wasteland of craters, ember, ashes, bones and raging fires. It was all Aragan. One man. Even Icilda had long made her final attack, and her final plea for Lex to return and save her and what was left of her people. But she too had become ashes like everyone else, everyone except small groups of huddled survivors who managed to hide away in icy caves and isolated igloos. Aragan was sent to deal with the Icemakers, but in his excitement, he ended up spreading his unending fire over the reaches of the continent, eating up snow and ice and buildings and bodies like dry hay. He spared not even Kizer’s elemental army. He consumed everything in his vision. The very cold was burnt up, and a thick blanket of hotness lay across what was the coldest continent on the earth.

  Nothing further on the matter of Iceland.

  ***

  Viknor’s consciousness dithered as he felt Azar – with a kind of care even through his rush – lay him on one of the small beds in the dim, hidden room. Might have been too pompous of me to think I wouldn’t end up here as well, his mind said. There was the constant hum of heavy breathing and low painful groans. There were a few dozen beds in this underground chamber that Azar had designed for the purpose of refuging important players of the war who needed a break, but would be likely be relied upon again. The Notherlandians had many of these large underground chambers, but with Kabel at Oga’s command, they were turned into cemeteries.

  Azar had made several of these underground bunkers, but all but this one had been found and destroyed by the gods’ armies. At least a two-thirds of those who lay in there were dead. The air stenched of corpse. No mana could be spared to employ reliable healing spells for anyone.

  “Azar,” the man heard a girl’s voice as he lay Viknor to rest.

  “You’re awake? You have mana?” he asked desperately as he rushed over to Star, whose hand was positioned on her forehead like she was checking for a fever.

  “I’m up, but my mana isn’t enough to do anything yet. Self-healing has kept me from regenerating mana to any useful degree. I need a little more time before I can fight again.”

  “I feel badly having to push like this, but I need every fighter I can get. Things don’t look good outside.”

  “I know. How is Clover? I can’t move to check on her.”

  “Alive. Do appear at the tower as soon as you can,” Azar said, then vanished.

  ***

  “That Elder must be stopped,” Oga said to Kizer. “Notherland is repelling all of our forces. The Elder’s army is everywhere. He must be killed; only then will they easily disappear. He has made himself an easy target, still fighting in the open, almost as if he is begging for some serious attention.”

  “Send one of your clones to get Aragan. He is about finished with the Icemakers, and with Iceland for that matter. He will destroy the summoner quite easily.”

  “Very well.”

  ***

  And this is how Ohm ended up facing an enemy he would never dream to fight – the Fire Sage. Aragan’s descent upon Ohm’s position was that of a meteorite. As he landed where Ohm was fighting, a pulse of fire flicked up from him, consuming, turning to nothing everything within many miles, everything except the old Elder who stood firmly within his arcane shield. As Ohm lowered his defence, he shielded his face and stepped back. The fire that surrounded Aragan’s body was fully white, and the glare was akin to looking at the sun.

  “So you little old man is why Notherland is still standing strong,” the sage said. He roused his energy a little and a mist of heat flooded the place, distorting Ohm’s vision and causing him to sweat profusely.

  “I was wondering how long it would be until an enemy like you would finally be sent to take me down,” Ohm said. Then he laughed. This intrigued Aragan quite a bit. “I was hoping to get a stronger opponent to test the limits of my summonings on, but I suppose after I deal with you, stronger opponents, maybe even the gods themselves, will come to face me.”

  Aragan’s face tightened with a choleric set of new creases as Ohm spouted these contemptuous words.

  “You clearly have no idea who you are facing! I am hell incarnate!” the sage raged.

  “Summoning!” was Ohm’s reply.

  ***

  The old wizard opened his eyes, but only to a darkness that was thicker than when they were shut. He gasped suddenly, realizing that he was neither standing nor lying down. For a brief time, he felt the gut-wrenching sensation of freefalling, but then he became sure that he was actually not moving at all.

  “Why the hell am I alive?” he asked himself quietly. “These chains…” Chains had bounded him by his wrists and ankles. His body was suspended. He had no idea how far beneath the ground was, or how high up whatever ceiling that held the wrist chains was. The chains held him tightly, giving him no slight leeway of movement. His arms stretched up and his legs pulled downward, he felt like a sacrifice being offered up to devil.

  “Where the hell is this place?” he muttered. He could feel the chains that bounded him keeping his mana at zero. The anti-magical property within them was so strong that as he tried vainly to conjure up even a spec of power, they burnt the skin on his wrist.

  ***

  “Stop flying around and face me!” Aragan raged on, sending flares of white fire toward Ohm, whose wind dragon kept him alive. The old man choked on the hot air that was heavy, drenched with the heat of Aragan’s ceaseless attacks. Miles around were transformed into a hellscape. The coal-black earth was bare and lifeless, and even in great distances out, there were conflagrations that erupted from stray attacks.

  Aragan had already fired through several of Ohm’s summonings, the Slave Bear, Red Giant, Silver Grammom, Elephant Killer, Sand Demon, and a near-arcanine named Elsha, who had nearly killed an Ogal Councillor in his time being among the most reputable of them. He released his summonings in a very specific order of rank he had developed, so that each summoned was stronger than the last. But there was a problem. None of the summoned helpers seemed easier or more difficult for Aragan’s swift fire to gobble up.

  Ohm was now about to dig deep into his summonings with this one. His now even more ragged than usual clothes were drenched in sweat, and singed at the edges of every tear and hole. His rusty, calloused hands made a rough splash as he clasped them together powerfully, sweat flying in every direction from within his clap. Even his wind dragon was drained by the heat.

  “Time to cool this place down. Great Summoning! Frost Giant!”

  Within that moment, a thick icy mist appeared two meters before the dragon, except near the ground. A beast as large as the elemental giants stepped forth from the disappearing blue-white cloud. It was apparently an oversized bear, with fur thick as the snow-covered bush that used to be in Iceland’s woodlands before Aragan had reached there. The beast echoed a wail as its feet burned on the smoking ground. A thick misty aura pushed strongly from the beast, tackling the heavy heat, and even winning at close distances. The ground beneath its feet was soon frozen for meters around.

  “And yet another!” Ohm said proudly. “Great Summoning! Bone Scorpion!”

  Aragan spun around
as the earth was ripped and pushed upward from underneath. While the giant bear seemed to hesitate or wait for an order, the black and brown scorpion that was as large as a small boat – far larger than the bear – sped toward the sage with great speed and purpose. The beast’s quickness frightened the fiery sage, who was now frantically dashing about, the massive scorpion digging up earth and tailing him hungrily. Finally, the sage did the sensible thing and powered himself into flight.

  The earthbound beast made an awkward and desperate attempt at jumping, but Aragan was out of its reach. The sage held his hand down toward the scorpion to bake it in a single attack, but he was rightfully distracted by the white bear, which uttered an earth-shaking roar as a sphere of ice thickened in its mouth. The bear, much like an able attack dragon would spew fire, released up at the sage a flurry of dangerous cold, an attack with a far more gaping range than that of even most of the strongest Icemakers’. The sage had to delay his attack on the scorpion and escape the reaching ice in a burst of flight, fire tailing him. His eyes scattered as he realized that he had lost track of the old summoner in all the madness.

  “Anam Resal!” a command rang out from behind him. The sage spun quickly to face the advancing army of raw black power. He knew that even for a sage, a serious arcanine’s power could prove quite damaging.

  Too slow! But as soon as the sage’s thoughts made him feel safe in his speed, he felt the deathly grip of an uncomfortable cold. The bear had struck again, and this time, ice rapidly covered the sage. Fire reflexively burst about him to melt the ice, but by then, Ohm’s attack was too close to evade. There was a stunning blast of shockwaving black energy as the sage was hit. White fire also spread out along with the dispersing mana. The earth was cratered anew as Kizer’s son was sunk down into it.

  The shockwave of black magic and white fire was potent enough to rip apart the massive bear as well as the Bone Scorpion. Ohm had meant to swoop down on the sage to land an attack that would secure his end in case he had survived the spell, but he instead had to conjure up a mighty black shield to fend off the unearthly fire, which seemed to sear through the arcane barrier that shielded both Ohm and the wind dragon.