Woodcastle

by Kell Inkston

  “Well, my lovely Friendion, it is nice to see you again,” Chaos says right behind her.

  He’s a stealthy one, she will admit, though it’s not surprising.

  “Oh, hello there, my dear Overlord,” Love says, turning and greeting him with a nod.

  “Of course. It is a pleasure to grace you with my presence~ Now then, I presume you’ve come down here for the same reason I have,” Chaos says as he passes Love through the door frame, brushing his ice-cold body against her warmth.

  “Have we, my lord?” she asks, watching Chaos walk over to one of the chests in the lit room and start going through it.

  “I would presume you have come for these,” he responds the moment he finds Order’s dimensional sheath, containing Monument, and waving it about flippantly like a toy. Natural sense would lead one to believe that Chaos came down here to deprive the knights of their weapons, but Love knows this is not so.

  He offers up the dimensional sheath to Love, who does her best to act surprised.

  “Wha- ... pardon me?” she says as she looks between Chaos and at the dimensional sheath in her hands.

  “Surely you do not expect me to kill her when she’s unarmed, do you? ... hmm, it seems that the armor is absent here ...” Chaos says. Love’s eyes widen as if in disbelief.

  “But, this is your chance! You could finally be rid of her!”

  “Yes, but what glory would I gain? It would not fit my title of High Overlord very well at all,” Chaos says with a wide, sharp grin. Love stares at the Lord of Magic and War, dumbfounded for a moment.

  “Right, my lord, yet Ranalie wouldn’t even think to spare you if you were unarmed. Don’t you find that ... you know,” she asks as Chaos hands her Worldloss and Everlock’s dimensional sheath, more of a little bag than anything.

  “Yes, dear minion, I do find it rather ‘you know’, but that line of thought is meaningless. Only lesser life forms deal in comparisons. Even though my opponent would do anything in her power to have me removed, I as a superior creature must abide by a superior code,” he says as he passes Dresmond’s harness of knives and Hos’Rayull’s Mace to Love. Love’s arms are full, but she can carry this weight easily. She needs to get back to the others and give them their weapons, so she gestures for Chaos to follow her out. He nods and obliges.

  “... Honor, then?” she asks.

  “Possibly; pride, or the desire for glory may also be acceptable answers,” he says, looking to the ground with an expression more contemplative than she’s ever seen on him. There’s a slight pause before Love speaks up.

  “Honor, my lord. You’re very honorable. Now that I think about it, I’ve never heard of you killing someone before you announced your presence. You ask for duels, but the rest of us in the Omniverse just can’t give you that... Perhaps you want Order to live, because she’s a challenge?” Love asks with a smile. Walking with her to the entrance of the dungeon, Chaos strokes his blacker-than-pitch chin.

  “Now that would be an excellent excuse to use, should I ever find myself in the need for one,” Chaos says with a hint of humor in his tone. They reach the doorway and Love turns to Chaos, causing him to meet her at the eyes.

  Very quickly, she gets on her tip-toes and kisses him. Chaos’ gaze sharpens, and his smile widens.

  “Oh my; I certainly hope you do not mean to imply you would wish to be my romantic equal?” Chaos questions.

  “Of course not, my lord. I would never be so presumptuous to think I could ever be an acceptable partner to you. I think you’d understand though, that as a creature vastly inferior to you, I cannot help but find you ... quite admirable,” Love says with a curt nod before she turns from Chaos. She enters the hall and begins moving down.

  “I suppose that is only natural, then. Very well, my Friendion. I will see you again soon,” Chaos replies.

  “Yes my lord ... ahh, and one more thing” she asks as she takes up Monument’s sheath in her right hand.

  “Mmm?” Chaos hums.

  “I can’t go both ways all that quickly with all this stuff, so do me a favor and give this to Order right before you two fight. It’d mean more to her,” she requests as she hands it over to Chaos.

  He stares at the sheath a moment, and nods. “As you wish.”

  “Thank you, my lord,” she finishes as she starts down the hall.

  She goes down the hall a bit, turns her gaze just a moment, and sees that The Overlord has vanished from the door way and is probably already where he wants to be by now. She smirks, and dashes away to Liefholn’s gates to deliver the arms to Dresmond and Law.

  Elsewhere, Order, Oa, Pitch and the Faery are still in nervous waiting within the deep chamber. They’ve been quiet at a standoff for a few minutes now and everyone’s on the edge. Just when Pitch is about to break the silence, the spark of the First Realmer’s forms high up in the sky with a blinding flash of light, and then begins descending amidst the sound of ethereal instruments. The time is now.

  “By the First Queen, The Tea is in sight, but where is our great enemy?!” Pitch asks, scanning all about the room with a paranoid gaze. Order and Oa are silent as Pitch looks over the glass ceiling carefully; the two are too busy thinking to respond.

  Oa and Order have realized that Chaos holds the absolute advantage, because not only does he decide when to appear, he also is free to not appear at all until either Order and Pitch are dead, or Oa is. He can wait for as long as he needs to, and since he could probably beat anyone to the First Realmer’s portal with his speed, it means The High Tea is practically guaranteed to be his unless Order can get her hands on Monument, and somehow keep him away from the portal long enough for Pitch to enter.

  Order spares a glance behind her, praying to Rayda’s Golden Ghost that Love will come running down the hall in the next moment with Monument, only to be added on with the sound of Chaos’s laugh behind her, revealing his location just in time for them to fight.

  The Lord Knight General stares at the blank hall a moment more, and then Oa moves.

  “I CANNOT RISK YOUR BEING CLOSE TO THE LANDING POINT, FAIRY KING. BACK AWAY OR DIE,” Oa threatens as it finally stands to its full height, towering at fourteen gruesome meters. Pitch watches closely as Oa pulls two long, straight blades from its chest, one without a hilt. It then takes the two with a network of bolts and connects them to form a single, massive weapon. Pitch spots something coming down the hall and nods; he then takes up the royal scepter at his side for casting spells.

  “I will stand for Liefland’s future. Noble old fairies, send this monstrosity to its sourly-awaited grave!” Pitch commands as Tylvania returns with the other primordial Faery they’ve been keeping a secret for all this time. Oa scoffs as it spots a second ancient darkness approaching from behind, with Tylvania, as the one in front of Pitch comes forward as well. Order leaps for Oa, casting a spell to act as a suit of armor to protect her against being stepped on. There is a sharp glint across her body, signifying she can take at least half a hit from the Titanic Graveyard.

  Oa sweeps the blade across the front of the room, long enough to get both the frontal Faery and Pitch, but is slowed as both the Faery, striking the blade, and Order, striking the arm, grinds the attack to a halt.

  “Catlan Creev!” Pitch casts, uttering the finishing words of his incantation. At the head of the scepter form several lances of pure mana, pulsating violently as he lifts it to throw the spell at Oa. The charged lances scramble in the air and strike Oa at multiple points; were a common human hit with even one of these lances he would be more hole than person, but Oa is at least a hundred persons and more. The spears impale themselves into Oa and then dissipate into the air as their powers are expended. Oa flexes and brandishes its own weapon ably, showing few signs of damage, and strikes with its blade again, this time from overhead. The Faery from behind rings angrily and grasps at Oa’s bent form, halting it just a moment before the Walking Graveyard pulls the Faery right off the ground by the blade and smashing it back into the flo
or. The Faery is cut in half and begins regenerating its body immediately just as Pitch sends another wave of magic lances at the Lord of the Dead. Oa leaps forward, is halted again momentarily by the other Faery’s attempt at protecting Pitch, and then raises its tower-sword to destroy the Fairy King in a single strike.

  Just as the first realmer’s spark is a quarterway to the ground, Order strikes Oa’s arms with lightning speed, again halting the attempt at Pitch’s life. Its two arms break from the immense strength of her kick, enhanced by her many combative enchantments. Oa roars in anger when its bones snap back into place and is now held together with a fresh set of muscles. The other sleeves on Oa’s coat animate and out push new pairs of arms, weapons, teeth and more sorts of monstrosities prepared to tear everyone in the room to shreds. Oa and Ranalie enter a vicious duel of punches and slashes as the other four grant her their support. In the next moment a group of thirty necromancer servants rush into the room, and now the real fight begins.

  Chapter Twenty Eight: Not much better Outside

  Love rushes out of Liefholn’s gates and is met with a sizable group of necromancers, around them scattered the remains of every other person that had attempted to pass through the gates. She presumes that Oa’s doing its best to keep support from coming into the room of The High Tea.

  Love drops the mace and knives and pulls out her door.

  “P-please move aside. I don’t have any body parts to give you!” she says, raising her hands.

  The first necromancer of the ten leaps forward, only to be met with a graceful, whimsical spin from Love. Everlock swings with her, smashing the necromancer to the other side of the room and initiating the short fight. Wave-after-wave of knives, blades, and other unpleasant sharp things soar at Love, her response to such being opening up Everlock and catching them all inside. She promptly shuts the door after they’ve exhausted their supply, and then opens it again. In a violent explosion each and every weapon thrown against Love is shot back out from the door at the unfortunate necromancers who are rapidly disintegrated from the hailstorm of iron and steel. Love smiles, picks up her things, and rushes through the gates to the outside.

  Immediately she’s met with the roar of battle coming from all sides; she thinks she should have been a little faster to get here. All around are elves firing arrows in clean, uniform fashion, dwarves tangling with the necromancers in close range, the fairies casting spells of illusion and attack, along with every other able-bodied fairy folk in an attempt to protect their country and the final bastion of their kind in all the Omniverse. Love spots Law and Dresmond surrounded by a group of necromancers that are closing in quickly.

  “Oh Hosiiiiie!” Love calls as she throws the gigantic mace, wrapped with a certain knife harness, over the wall of fighting fairies and necromancers to Law. He catches it with frightening ease and slings the harness over to Dresmond. Hos’Rayull gives a single look of appreciation to Love, and then something clicks in him as he tightens his grip on the metal.

  “YOU F****** CORPSES ARE LONG DUE FOR A BURIAL. COME HERE AND I’LL HELP YOU INTO THE GROUND!” he yells as the disposition of the necromancers surrounding him instantly changes. Law leaps at them, and slams down his mace, smashing three fully into the earth and sending five others flying off from the impact. Dresmond, now armed, also shows greater confidence in the fight, though he cannot afford the same sort of brashness Law fights with. Love does not pause to join in on the fight with her bow, mowing down a group of two dozen with a rapid-fire assault of enchanted arrows. She knows that she has an appointment; however, so she moves back into Liefholn to complete her primary objective while firing more down. She disappears through the gates, and the battle rages on.

  The waves upon waves of necromancers do not let up; they know well they outnumber the fairies and knights ten to one. As the minutes pass, the fairies are being cut down gradually, bodies filled with knives falling to the lush grass. The great spook amalgamations smash through the hordes of the cloaked half-deads, but too are painfully divided and killed by the necromancer’s plenteous, evil artifices.

  After jointly going through more than one hundred necromancers, Dresmond engages one necromancer that is made more of metal than anything; it seems to be an authority among the others. The horrifically-thin officer, standing at roughly four meters, approaches the young knight silently. By this point Dresmond has exhausted all of his knives except one, which he is now using for hand-to-hand fighting rather than throwing. He holds his distance from it, keeping perfectly calm, but when the other necromancers in the vicinity spot their superior going for the young man, they join in on the attempt at his life.

  Dresmond suddenly finds himself surrounded and alone while Law fights in a frenzy several groups away. Dresmond is quickly forced to push into one foe at a time to prevent being surrounded, but this tactic will only work for a few seconds until they catch on. He cuts through one, and then another, and then comes to terms with his situation just when it’s too late.

  “Rayull!” he shouts, calling for his officer and friend’s help. Law cannot hear him over his own maniac yelling, smashing through crowd after crowd of necromancers. Dresmond sees that Law is bleeding now from the dozens of weapons stuck into him from the top of his skull to the openings in the plate armor at his legs. Dresmond spared too much attention to Law and is met with the terrifying, confusing feeling of a sharp, consuming pain that seems to go through his entire being. He had never been stabbed before, only shot, so this feeling of his flesh making room for such a large piece of metal is new to him.

  “LAW!” he yells as he swipes his knife at the culprit behind him; the blade missed his spine, but he knows he can’t keep this up much longer. He feels another blade enter him from behind, causing him to spin around again in retaliation, but then another, and another, as if they’re manifesting right into him from the air. Dresmond screams as he goes for another and another necromancer, but by this point he has bled too much, so his thrusts only dent their bodies.

  The large authority of the necromancers looms over the soldier knight and speaks with the stolen cords of a young boy.

  “We remember you. You killed our brother with your dragon fellow. We will do to you what you did to him. Your parts will be useful in reconstructing our comrades,” it says, the five-year-old’s voice striking Dresmond with fear as its innocent tone clashes with the ungodly horror possessing it. From out of the authority’s cloak comes a sharp, metallic hand, connected by multiple hinges to allow an inhuman range of movement. The downed Dresmond spits at the monstrosity reaching towards him, and then pulls in another, deep breath.

  “SOMEBODY HELP ME!” he cries just as the metal hand reaches his eye.

  “Crown and Country!” a deep voice chimes nearby like a hot oceanic breeze.

  Dresmond’s fear is abated the second he sees the authority disappear from his vision, being divided in half by what Dresmond believes is the blade of a tall, thin sword. Before losing consciousness, the young knight’s last sight is of a man in shining plate, radiating the light of his blade’s many glowing runes. Dresmond falls limp, and Redemption speaks again.

  “Here,” Redemption says, pointing down to designate Dresmond’s spot across the chaos of the battlefield. A knight well-trained in healing magics rushes up and gets to work as the rest of the knights pour across the square from a coalesced portal, killing the necromancers in droves and sending them packing across back into the forest.

  Redemption looks across the field to ensure the knights are winning the fight, and then rushes into Liefholn to find Order.

  It’s only a moment before Dresmond regains consciousness to the wizened features of an elderly-looking knight healing his wounds and removing the knives in his body one by one.

  “Can you stand?” Knight Hospitality says with a smile as she offers him her hand.

  “Y-yes. Thank you!” Dresmond says, taking the hand and getting to his feet.

  “Very good, now get back into it. We have much
still to do,” she says as she pats him on the back to go back into the crowds. He nods, and runs forward to join the fairies and knights in a renewed assault against the necromancers.

  Chapter Twenty Nine: The Table and The Guest

  Oa finishes casting his next banishing spell, and the second Ancient Faery dissipates; if it cannot kill these ancient ones, it might as well put them somewhere else. Oa turns back to the unprotected Pitch, distracted by the droves of necromancers at its command, and prepares its blade. It aims it across the room for the Fairy King; it might catch a few dozen of its own in the strike, but their minds are all together.

  The necromancers all dive to the sides the moment the blade is thrown down at Pitch, who didn’t see it coming. The blade crashes down, and the Fairy King is struck like an animal in a slaughterhouse, his star-blessed blood painting the floor for seven meters. The only one that cries out is Tylvania from the back of the fight; out of everyone, only she has the breathing room to see at this moment. Oa laughs, curdling the blood of the Fairy Queen, turns its head and moves toward Order now. At that, Oa feels a bolt of condensed mana strike it at the neck. It looks to the entryway to find Love.

  “Get out of here,” Love says, staring the horror directly in its face with her bow redrawn. Oa laughs again.

  “DO YOU TRULY BELIEVE I CAN BE MOVED BY THE LIKES OF YOU?” it responds as it watches Love shoot bolt after bolt at the group of necromancers that were originally on Pitch. Oa decides it will kill her first instead.

  “Not really, at least, if you weren’t chopped up into little pieces I suppose I couldn’t- but there’s someone nearby that can do that for me,” Love says, firing her fiftieth bolt in the last twenty seconds. Oa reaches forward, blocks every path of escape, and grasps her with one of its many cold arms. By this point the entire swarm of necromancers is throwing everything they have at Order, distracting her from saving her friend, just as she was for Pitch. Tylvania simply stares from the back, her weaker arrows having proven useless so far.