by Sever Bronny
“SUMMANO ARMA!” the trio shouted in practiced unison, for they had long trained on what to do when one of them suddenly appeared out of nowhere, and how they would react based on the circumstance.
Lightning long sword, watery short sword and earthen arrow simultaneously struck the man’s damaged bone armor. He cursed in rage and made a grand shoving gesture. “BAKA!” sending them tumbling like seeds scattered by the wind.
“Enough!” the man spat. “I know, Augum. I know what you have studied. The old man told me everything in an iron room.”
Oh, poor Rafael Herzog, Augum thought in heart-wrenching despair as he scrambled to his feet with the girls. The old historian of the Library of Antioc, and Lien Ning’s husband. They must have considered him a traitor …
Sparkstone’s slug lips sneered. “You seek to anger me, perhaps hoping that would cause me to lose my head, so to speak. And you have inherited an ancestral gift, yet more evidence the Arinthian bloodline is a bloodline of traitors. I should have been given that gift of lightning immunity, not you.” He took a growling breath. “I do not know what tricks you are employing—the crone’s work, no doubt—but I tire of the game. You have fought bravely and cleverly, preventing me from using the full breadth of my power. But let me demonstrate why you have lost—” He barked a short phrase and was transformed into a muscled demon. He barked another one and became a hellish bull. He barked yet another and he split into three Lord of the Legions, each moving individually.
“Do you see?” all three Lord of the Legions said disharmoniously. “Futile. FUTILE!”
Augum’s hopes plunged into his hollow stomach. The man’s wounds had regenerated and he had even re-summoned his bone armor on all three apparition versions of himself. He had simply been toying with them, playing on their naivety. And as many times as they had practiced extending the arcane muscle of Centarro, the girls were now slowing, their eyes drifting. Centarro’s power ebbed. They were in serious trouble.
“Pull,” Leera kept saying, the emergency word to retreat. “Pull …”
Augum’s hands trembled. They had given their best shot only to fail. Slow Time was heartbeats away from expiring for all of them, while the Lord of the Legion’s would surely continue on, giving him an unfathomable advantage. Not even Centarric Cron would be able to stop him.
“A final demonstration on why you have no choice but to hand over the scion and Terra’s body,” the Lord of the Legion said, closing his demon eyes and uttering, “Centeratoraye xao xen.”
The shock of hearing the mighty Lord of the Legion cast Centarro almost sent Augum to his knees. Beside him, Bridget and Leera gasped, wavering like two trees in a gale.
“I have been after that ancient spell since hearing you cast it at the tournament. Took me quite some time, and even then I had to be … aided. It seems one cannot learn this particular spell without the help of a Leyan. One more reason their secrets need freeing.”
Magua, Augum instantly realized, feeling precious moments slink by.
Sparkstone’s eyes settled on the locket around Augum’s neck, which had sprung loose in the fight. “Impudent vermin, TELL ME WHERE SHE IS!”
But Augum did not yet tell the man that his wife had been given to the sacred fires, for a stubborn hope remained. Instead, he split into Spirit Form, hovering over Bridget and Leera and his own self.
“STOP DOING THAT!” the Lord of the Legion raged, like a child used to getting his way.
Just as Augum felt Slow Time finally begin to fail, he drew deep into his arcane reserves—and beyond, into the wild scion-enhanced arcane unknown—and quickly incanted, “Impetus peragro grapa lestato exa exaei—”
A vicious arcane tendril attack in the form of a killing curse blew by just as they teleported away.
The trio reappeared on the fourth floor and promptly collapsed, surrounded by utter chaos. A fierce battle was underway at the stairs with Jez and Mrs. Hawthorne frantically fighting the horde. Everyone below had retreated to this floor, for they were stationed behind them in support, some with summoned weapons and shields, others holding mere attack stances and doing what they could with arcane support.
Augum felt the bitter sting of the kind of defeat handed out even after one gave it one’s all. He was emotionally, physically, spiritually and arcanely drained. Shadows were gathering, each jabbing him with what felt like poisoned arcane daggers. His body jerked with each stab, for the pain was all too real, and he just did not have the strength to resist.
“Ugh …” he moaned.
“Shut up, gutterborn,” Bridget said, placing a long curved blade to his chest and stepping on it.
Augum gasped more from the surprise than the cold pain. He had cast Cron so much that he was now seeing friends turn into shadows, just as Bridget had, and just as he had under the Black Castle.
“You’re such a failure,” Leera snarled from the other side, placing a dark blade against his armpit and slowly inserting it, her eyes boring into his. “I never really saw anything in you, you stupid ugly loser.”
He gasped as the cold steel pierced his shoulder, hitting his neck.
“I … love … you …” he only managed to gasp. If this was how it ended, so be it …
“But I don’t love you. Die. Die—”
“Augum!” someone shouted, voice slicing through the shadowy forms of the girls and confusing the heck out of him. It took him rubbing his eyes to realize it was Elizabeth. Her long blonde hair and robe was splattered with blood. She held onto Bridget and Leera, trying to prevent them from crawling away. Both seemed to be in a kind of stupor.
“What’s wrong with them?” she shrieked.
Augum tried to think through the pain, what the shadows had said, and the sudden fog in his brain, inhibiting clear thought.
“Side … effects …” Of Cron? Or Centarro? Gods, he was so confused!
“Why are you back? Augum? Why are you back!” There was panic in Elizabeth’s voice that echoed Augum’s, for floating between all his worst fears was the knowledge that the Lord of the Legion was near unstoppable, and now he possessed the divining rod as well. Just like he did with Mrs. Stone, he would track Augum down like a dog.
Not that there was any escape. No, it was over.
“Augum—!” Elizabeth’s voice was shrill now. “Talk to me—!”
“Huh …?” His arcane stamina had dangerously depleted. He had a massive pounding headache and blood flowed from his nose. There was a menacing cloud of shadows around him talking all at once, drowning out what was important.
“Give up the scion and beg for your stinking life …”
“Just you wait until he finds out you burned her …”
“I no longer love you …”
“I hate you …”
“Everybody hates you …”
Augum finally noticed other students through the cloud of angry shadows. Multiple people were sobbing. Someone cried for their mother, another begged for it all to stop, yet another was repeating that this was all a bad dream and they should wake up now, it was not funny anymore.
“Say something, damn it—!” someone said. But Augum, in sheer exhaustion, had completely succumbed to the side effects of Centarro for the first time since receiving the scion. As he covered himself with the fog, using it like a snug warm blanket, he only wished death found them speedily and with little pain, for all was lost …
And just as his consciousness sighed its last thought, he distinctly heard a fragile bagpipe note abruptly cut off.
Stairs
“We’ve got to retreat!” someone was shouting.
“Retreat?” said a sobbing voice. “To where? Have you seen outside? Whole kingdom’s on fire!
“Now—!”
Augum opened bleary eyes to see frantic shadows moving by the stairs, only to realize it was the Resistance fighting against the horde. The stifling hot air stank of rancid death. The scion lay dark and quiet by his ear. Chappie Fungal’s bagpipe melodies had gone silent.
Leera was sitting beside him, a distant expression on her face, soot-stained hands folded idly around Leland, who was unconscious and without his Agonex. Elizabeth repeated a muttered prayer while Garryk sobbed quietly, rocking back and forth. Young Kiwi and a pale Jengo were frantically attending to fallen bodies, hissing panicked phrases to each other.
Augum groaned as he began to move. His body felt like nothing more than a hunk of pummeled meat and bones.
“It’s over, we’re done,” Olaf blubbered nearby, shaking feverishly. His fingers were black, robe torn and burnt. “Did you see Bogs? I … I don’t want that to happen to me. Kill me before they take me, all right?”
“Look out the windows!” a soot-stained Isaac cried, curly hair matted with blood. “The whole world’s on fire—”
Jez, Alyssa and Caireen lay unconscious in a pool of blood beside a writhing Haylee, the latter attended to by a shrieking Chaska.
“Someone help her!” he was shouting. “Please!”
Wait, if that was Haylee, who was manning her battlement? And where was Bridget?
Augum jolted up. “You violated my soul,” a bloated Constable Clouds said, appearing out of nowhere and jamming a spear into Augum’s chest. Augum gasped, unable to breathe. Panic infused his being, making him shake violently. So this was how it ended … killed by undead Constable Clouds.
“It’s not real!” Leera abruptly shouted, grabbing Augum’s robe and giving him a sharp jerk. “It’s not real …” There were tears in her flitting eyes. She was also seeing shadows. Now she was staring at him as if knowing this was it, this was the last time they were going to be together.
With their world about to end, all Augum wanted to ask was if she still loved him, but didn’t exactly know why that question was so important. His memories were a jumbled mess at the moment.
Suddenly there was a massive ear-splitting explosion from the stairs, forcing everyone to hit the ground. Debris showered the area, pelting bodies. Augum covered himself, ears ringing. He heard muted crying and moaning. If only someone else could come to their rescue, someone like Senior Arcaneologist Lien Ning!
The thought of Ning gave him an idea. He summoned the scion to his hand and immediately felt its power course through his veins. The memories flooded back like a burst dam, including the memory of a particular command, uttered only once in passing.
“Becca issisi Fentwick,” he blurted, hoping, somehow, that he’d come.
Now to assess the situation. Augum grit his teeth through the pain, summoned his courage, and split into Spirit Form, causing a cry of alarm from those around him when his body went limp. He chose to leave that beaten and injured body behind as his arcane strength had not replenished enough to take it along into Spirit Form.
He zoomed through the castle with his aching consciousness, wondering what would happen if his body was killed. Would his consciousness also die, or be left to drift forever as a ghost?
Shadows circled him like vultures, picking away at the wounded carcass of his consciousness. Every jab, every bite, every spiteful word tore another small piece of his soul, weakening him further.
He came across Fentwick shuffling up the stairs, walking through sprung traps that had ensnared an undead, maybe two. Augum brought his consciousness near and whispered into the empty helmet, “Fentwick, set arcane difficulty to master. Guard us on the fourth floor.”
“As mine Royal Highness commands.” The animated suit of armor drew its practice sword and deftly flipped it in its mailed hand, turning it into a sharp Arinthian blade. He then launched himself up the stairs and into the fray, shouting in his tinny voice, “Thou art an unworthy undead cur!” while neatly lopping off the head of a reaver. He next expertly parried a slashing sword before neatly slipping his blade into the neck of the undead attacker, rendering it motionless. Augum was not the least bit surprised that Fentwick knew how to fight the undead.
The battle raged on. Mrs. Hawthorne paralyzed a quick-slashing reaver before re-engaging a necromancer she had been dueling. Supporting her were several academy students. Isaac grappled with a reaver before flinging it off him telekinetically. It crashed into the stone floor somewhere below. A serious-looking Sasha summoned an ice elemental that promptly bowled into the feet of a wraith, sending it tumbling back down the stairs. Others did what they could, but their defenses came from desperation now.
Augum strained his stamina further by detaching the castle balustrade away from the stairs, resulting in a group of undead falling down to the foyer. Then, seeing that the horde was being kept at bay for now, he replaced the balustrade and quickly zoomed around the rest of the floor in search of Bridget, checking one empty battlement after another. Before each battlement was a gaping hole in the protective dome of the castle, the arcane edges as sharp as jagged glass. Augum, having spent precious energy moving the balustrade, did not have the arcane strength to repair the holes, and could only watch helplessly as reaver after reaver climbed in through the holes like foxes prowling into the henhouse. But that was not all, for his body tingled in a particular way, telling him the castle walls were being scaled like a tree overwhelmed by ants.
As he flew by a window, he glimpsed a massive horn peeking out from the burning forest. The second bull demon had fallen. Not that it mattered, the castle had been breached, the battlements abandoned.
At last he found Bridget with Brandon in his battlement. He was the last active ballista, and Bridget was guarding his back, fending off three reavers with the help of her earth elemental and frantic castings of Push, Disarm, and her First Offensive.
Augum realized they needed to abandon their post. In fact, all of them needed to evacuate immediately. Push yourself, damn it, he told himself, before reaching into the dangerous depths of wild arcanery and infusing his consciousness into the walls surrounding the three reavers. With a mighty roar of defiance against his throbbing consciousness, he smashed them in one great crunch. As he let the walls return to their shape, he made his voice heard in the battlement. “Get back to the others!”
“We’ll be right there!” Bridget shouted, eyes darting about in a paranoid fashion.
Augum flicked his vision. The Lord of the Legion was climbing the steps and would be there in moments. They were out of time. Shadows again drew near, sensing weakness.
“I bet it’ll hurt seeing Leera die,” sneered one.
“Bridget will be the one turned undead, you just watch,” said another.
Augum, slowed by his arcane weakness, finally managed to return to his body, which jolted upon the arrival of his consciousness. Debris slid off him as he sat up. He jerked on Leera’s sleeve, making a twirling signal with his hand.
She nodded and touched her throat. “Amplifico,” then shouted in an amplified voice, “Gather everyone together! NOW!”
“I thought you were dead,” Olaf said, eyes wide and glassy.
Bridget suddenly arrived hand-in-hand with a gasping Brandon. The front of his robe was soaked crimson.
“Healer—!” Bridget cried.
“I got you!” Jengo called, voice hoarse as he ran to Brandon.
Kiwi managed to finally resuscitate Haylee, who gasped as if taking her first breath in hours.
“Thank the Unnameables!” Chaska cried, drawing her to him in a sweet embrace.
Augum winced from a sudden Sleep attack, thrown almost randomly by a necromancer on the stairs. Luckily, his Mind Armor training immediately slammed the door on the spell. Nonetheless, a little bit of lethargy crept into his already weary bones.
“Castle’s compromised!” Bridget said to Augum whilst holding Brandon steady. He looked pale and weak. “I have an idea but we need to get out of—”
Leera suddenly appeared before her via Cron, summoning her shield just in time to block a stray acid attack. Bridget flinched, but as trained, continued speaking to Augum amidst the chaos, face full of resolve.
“I have an idea, but you have to evacuate them all immediately.”
“I know,�
� Augum gurgled, “just don’t know if I have the strength.” His energies were in heavy flux. They felt volatile and prone to rupture. He had been pushing himself dangerously, breaching the limits of his arcanery.
“Let’s give up,” Bridget said.
“What?”
“I said, focus and get everyone out of here!”
“Right.” Damn shadows.
He glanced about as the hallways filled with undead. What remained of the Resistance was hunkered here by the stairs, trapped and surrounded, with students barely fighting off the undead streaming in. And the Lord of the Legion would be there in heartbeats. Augum felt panic rising, cluttering his thoughts. Yet through the chaos, Bridget’s voice found him. It was soft yet firm.
“Augum, you have to evacuate them or all is lost. Do you hear me? Evacuate everyone.”
Augum swallowed. He knew what it meant for his arcane stamina, his sanity, and almost certainly his life. But the sacrifice was a must.
“Link up!” he croaked as he grabbed Leera and Bridget’s hands. As trained, the command was quickly echoed by all who heard it. “Link up! Everyone, link up—!”
Garryk and Olaf simultaneously spotted a group of undead flanking them. Both shoved at the air, screaming, “BAKA!” sending the cursed creatures tumbling down the hallways they had come from. This shoving was taken up by others when needed, though all tried to keep their hands linked.
Meanwhile, Augum urged his throbbing consciousness to dissolve into Spirit Form, seeing the scene for what it was—a desperate maelstrom, one the Resistance was losing. Mrs. Hawthorne was a rabid warrior of arcane potency, using all her strength to beat back the horde on the stairs. Fentwick was beside her, furiously severing undead limbs with his razor-sharp blade, a sight to behold. Students, despite many being gravely injured, had linked up hands, even with those that had fallen, like poor Jez, Alyssa and Caireen. Were they alive even?
The shadows from the corridors were merging, coalescing around a deeper shadow on the stairs. The putrid stench of sulfur permeated the room. The river of undead that poured in became a torrent, and it was all the students could do to shove them back while remaining linked with the group. Alas, it was too late to reach Mrs. Hawthorne. If he did so, he would lose them all.
