by Jeff Sproul
He took in a haggard breath. Perhaps he could cut down several of the small ones and draw the attention of the bigger ones, to get them to move enough to clear a path. It wasn't the best plan, but he had no idea if turning back and trying to find a clearer path would be any safer. The townspeople were becoming these monsters. They were bound to be everywhere.
He didn't have time to waste. He rushed for the closest entity and cut into it with his saber. He focused on its front tendrils, shearing them off one by one. Its black ichor leaked in copious amounts onto the street. It chomped at him with its elongated maw, but he decided to weaken it by tearing it apart, without going for the thicker neck area.
After cutting away five of its larger tentacles, he backed away and looked for the other smaller creature.
His eyes went wide as a tendril lashed out at him. He brought his saber up just in time to cut through the swiping limb. He backed away, not having realized that it had closed the distance on him. He quickly cut into it, again and again. He backed up, making sure the other hadn't gotten too close.
He found that the creatures moved slower and didn't attack as much when their limbs were cut off. His first target was crawling to the side, but not attacking. Now that he was disengaged from the second, it was doing the same.
He looked between the two of them, then caught the movement of a third. Another smaller entity was approaching him, coming from the mass up ahead. Upon seeing this, he also noticed two others on the sides of the street, both moving for him as well.
His head whipped around. He was being surrounded.
How were they communicating? Their sounds were incoherent, little more than hisses and growls. They didn't have eyes to see. Could they smell him?
He was running out of space to maneuver. He went on the offensive and cut away at the two nearby monsters that he'd already attacked. They shifted and moved, constantly remaining between him and any escape route.
Glancing over his shoulder, he spotted the other three closing in. He backed from the other two and rushed towards the three. He cut into them with his saber, managing to only fight one at a time, keeping his legs moving as others closed in. All he could do was cut away limb after writhing limb, hoping to slow them down so he could escape. He brought his mage-caster up and activated the rune to enflame the bolt. He shot one of them to his immediate right. The bolt sunk into the creature's neck. The flames licked its skin, and it flailed and screeched.
Seeing this as his only opportunity, he readied another bolt as the other four closed in around him. He ignited the metal projectile with a flick of his thumb and then fired at another horror on his right. The monsters didn't seem capable of dodging, and like its kin, it ignited and screamed as it burned.
Chaxin rushed to the right, having bought himself the precious narrow escape route he needed. He passed within a foot of the two burning monsters and made it safely past them. He looked up the street.
The three large horrors had shifted their positions. They, along with several newly arrived smaller entities, were perfectly blocking the entire street. He couldn't proceed.
He turned to run back the way he'd come, but before he could even take a step, his eyes widened.
One large horror, along with four, five… six smaller ones, were slithering their way toward him from the way he'd originally come.
Where had they come from? The nearby structures? Were they hiding? Just how many were nearby? He didn't have the mana reserves to keep shooting flaming bolts. He hadn't even managed to kill one with his saber alone.
In the realization that there was no possibility for escape, he froze. The horrors crept closer. Their tentacles licked the ground. The two continued to burn, while the nearest ones kept slithering.
His hands shook, but he gripped his weapons. He had to fight. These monsters had to have a weakness!
One of the horrors had just passed the two that were burning. Chaxin rushed for it and attacked fanatically. He cut with his saber, again and again. They couldn't move if he took each of its limbs from it! His eyes were wide, the flames glinted in them. Ichor from the dismembered monster was covering his pants and tunic, his arms and hands. No matter how many tendrils he removed, it continued to writhe and squirm. How… how could he kill it? He struck again and again, no longer cutting off limbs but now hacking into the area the tendrils all came from.
Something slick and meaty smashed against his chest from the side.
He was knocked back several feet and lost his grip on his weapons, which clattered along the cobblestones.
He landed harshly, hitting his head on the street. He winced from the sharp pain, his ears ringing. He pulled himself up. One of the less cut-up monsters had snuck up from the side and had managed to knock him back with one of its tendrils. It, along with its kin, were closing on him rapidly. There was no space to run and maneuver. He was losing ground by the second. He crawled over to his saber and snatched it up and quickly stood. The monsters were almost upon him. It was hard to make out their individual forms now, as a wall of tendrils surrounded him.
A glint of red shot through his vision.
Part of the tentacle wall spasmed and slumped to the ground, immobile.
Another streak of crimson.
Another creature twitched and slumped. Another streak, and then another.
The wall of horror was stopped, section by section.
Chaxin's eyes were wide, seeing the monstrosities go lifeless before him. He turned and looked to the left. There was nothing but monsters in the street.
A bolt of lightning illuminated the sky.
There on one of the nearby rooftops, stood a cloaked figure, with a glossy mask and a bow.
Her arms moved like water. There was no energy wasted in her motions. He could faintly make out how the blood coalesced into the form of an arrow at her fingertips, and was then drawn back on the bowstring to be shot at the streets below.
The nearest creatures all lay dead around him. Her angle shifted and she began firing further up the street.
Chaxin turned and watched as the large entities shifted and moved, no longer stationary barriers. Blood arrows sunk into their bodies, but they continued to move. Chaxin counted seven crimson streaks go into the large monster on the far right, before its mass of tendrils slumped around it.
Chaxin looked to the nearby rooftop, but Cynthia was gone. He blinked several times, then noticed a black-cloaked figure climbing down the front side of the nearby homes. She landed close in the street and rushed over to him.
"Cynthia, what's going—" he spoke, but before he could finish, her hand reached out to him, just as it had when she'd choked and silenced Verun back at the tavern. His eyes went wide, and for a moment, there was a terrible sensation of strain in his veins. His arms, his legs, his chest.
But then, it was gone.
"Sorry," Cynthia muttered from under her mask, but as she said this, he could feel something even stranger. It was like he was becoming… lighter. Then, he saw it. With her hand less than a foot away from his body, he watched as streaks of black rushed and coalesced into a balled mass at the palm of her hand. "Getting harder to focus on this shit."
"What the hell is that?" he asked, looking down at himself, realizing that the dampness in his clothes from the rain was gone.
"It's not rain, it's blood from the nameless," Cynthia said. She then pushed her hand to the side and sent the mass of black ichor to splat against the street away from them. "Stay under the roofs, don't let too much get on you. Else you'll end up as one of those monsters." She then drew her bow and started to shoot at the creatures that were further up the street.
Chaxin glanced up and realized he'd been knocked under part of the roof, and that he was currently safe from the 'rain.'
Chaxin returned his attention to Cynthia. "The nameless changed these people? Through rain?" he called back. "How do I kill them? What's going on, Cynthia?"
"No time to explain. Our comrades are scattered across the city
and need my help as well. Just take this street ahead. If you run into any more, aim for their hearts!"
"Their hearts?" Chaxin said. "How do I know where their hearts are? They're all different!"
"Their head stalk comes directly from where their heart is. Stab at their core, where the head comes from," Cynthia replied quickly. "They're more intelligent than they look, and they'll try to surround you again if you give them the chance. Get to the fortress, group with anyone you find, find Karnith and Daxar, finish the mission. Now go!"
Chaxin was about to turn and run, but managed to notice his fallen mage-caster just in time. It was safely under the roof as well. He snatched it up, then looked over to where Cynthia had been. She was no longer standing nearby. He whipped his head around and spotted her climbing the same side of the nearby building. The rain was still coming down, but as he focused on her, he noticed that the falling blood was being redirected away from her, as if she was somehow shielding herself from it.
He shook his head. There was no time to linger. He turned and ran. He kept close to the right side of the street and leaped around the dead horror's tendrils. Even as he passed by it, he could see the closest monster in the corner of his eye, following him. He had to keep moving. He couldn't give them the opportunity to trap him again.
He rushed up the side of the street. Cynthia said he just had to keep going forward. Simple enough, right? He really wanted her help. He wished she could accompany him to the fortress, but she had a point. Their whole strike force was scattered, and surely he wasn't the only one that could use her help, especially if others weren't aware that the rain was able to turn them into monsters.
Every person she saved was another person that could rush to the fortress. If she’d gone directly to the fortress to complete the mission, he'd be dead. This way, she could potentially save dozens of them while still managing to complete the mission. But what were Karnith and Daxar doing? Was the arrival of the nameless enough of a distraction to hide their assault? Had anyone from their team made it to the fortress? Minara had received a safe signal from the first commander. Had he made it to where he needed to be? If so, why hadn't he signaled that there was a problem?
Chaxin didn't have any answers. All he could do was run and keep his eyes on the street, watching for any potential threats.
But as he ran, one possibility kept nagging at the back of his mind.
What if Minara knew that this would happen?
Chapter 32: Confrontation
Chaxin ran as fast as he could. For all he knew, the monsters were converging on him with each passing moment. He couldn't give them the time they needed to group and surround him again.
He’d only seen the occasional multi-tentacled horror on his way to the fortress. There didn't appear to be any large congregations of them. She'd told him how to kill them, but stabbing their center left him at a bit of a disadvantage. Stabbing that deep would leave him exposed to a flailing tendril. If he missed, it could mean some heavy damage. He was already fatigued from the attack he'd sustained earlier, not to mention he'd depleted some of his mana. At least he still had enough for some more shots. If he could've built his stats up higher, then maybe his mana reserves would've been greater. But he'd only been alive for a matter of days.
The black ichor continued to fall and pool in the streets. Tiny streams began to form, running along the edges of the cobblestone. He was heading uphill.
With another bolt of lightning and boom of thunder, he saw the tall walls of the fortress. They were significantly more fortified than what he remembered. But the enormous pillar that had crashed into the side of the fortress didn't seem as though the walls had given it pause.
The street began to even out as he ran. He slowed to a stop on the outskirts of the homes, and looked over to the wide open gate to the fortress. His eyes narrowed. Fiery sconces were lit on either side of the gate, and a series of lamp posts stretched out towards the gate itself. Some of the lamps had been knocked down, their fires burning on the ground.
There were dozens of bodies near the gate. Some were clad in black and red plate armor which he'd never seen before. There were other bodies, less armored, mostly in leathers and cloths. He couldn't make out any further details. Were they from the strike force? It had easily been half an hour that he’d been in Grittin. There had surely been enough time to allow many of the fighters to get to the fortress, depending on where they’d appeared in Grittin. But he only counted about five black and red armored bodies, while roughly a dozen others lay dead around them. Maybe there was a resistance brewing in Grittin? Perhaps others came to their aid when they began to fight Karnith's soldiers?
He wasn't going to gain any answers from where he was. He looked around and noticed that he'd passed by an open door. He grit his teeth, pondering if he should risk it. He took in a slow breath and steeled himself. He backtracked, remaining beneath the cover of the outstretched roofs. He slowly neared the open door. It looked just like any other hovel in the street, but it was the closest open one, which meant that either a monster had broken in, or perhaps someone had fled. Well, perhaps there were dozens of more explanations, but those were the only two that came to mind.
All he needed was something to cover himself with so he could safely cross to the fortress. He wasn't sure what sort of tolerance a human body had for nameless blood, but he wasn't going to risk it.
The light from the street lamps ebbed several feet in from the doorway, but not well enough to see far inside. He peeked around the corner, his eyes wide, trying to see in the dark as best he could. The nameless's blood rain pattered on the street and on the rooftops. It was difficult to tell if there were any sounds coming from within the home, such as a person breathing, or a tentacled horror sliding about. He wished he had a torch with him.
Just inside the door, off to the right, he saw it. A dresser with drawers. Surely there was some garment he could snag. He set the mage-caster on the hook on his belt and slowly crept into the home. He eased over to the drawer and pulled it out. His heart was pounding, his breaths quick. He couldn't see into the drawer and switched his saber to his left hand. He grabbed around within the drawer, but it was empty. Dammit. He shook his head. It didn't matter. It would have to do. He pulled on the drawer and drew it from the dresser. It was easily wide enough to cover his head and body. It wouldn't completely shield his clothes, but he wouldn't absorb too much blood. If his luck held out, he'd be able to meet up with Cynthia later, so she could extract any of the blood that got on him.
With the drawer in hand, he turned and left the hovel, not wanting to find out if any horrors lurked within.
He shifted his saber to his right hand and held the drawer over his head like some protective shield. He was certain that he looked ridiculous, but what did that matter in this situation? With haste, he raced down the side of the street and darted across the open space to the fortress gate.
As he neared it, he passed by several corpses. He didn't recognize any faces, but some of them could've been from the strike force.
It was only a matter of twenty seconds or so before he passed under the open gates of the fortress. Now protected by the mostly intact roof, he dropped the dresser drawer and slowly stepped into the courtyard area. It hadn't been covered before. When he was last here, it had been open to the sky. But now, there was a roof far above his head, and lanterns burned all around, illuminating the courtyard as well as the stairway that went up to the throne room. The very same room he'd been killed in.
Within the courtyard were more bodies. They wore gleaming dark plate armor with the crimson ring on the chestplate. These were Grittin soldiers, but there were also numerous non-Grittin bodies. From the outside street, he'd only seen the dozen or so corpses around the gate, but within the courtyard, the place they were originally supposed to arrive… it looked like a bloody massacre.
There was no nameless blood here, but there was plenty of blood of men and women. Humans, fighting for their freedom, for Mi
nara, and for Karnith's war machine.
Several faces he recognized. A woman with blonde hair. He'd seen her line up against the wall when Boru formed his group. There was a short stocky man with black hair and a scar down his cheek. He'd noticed him in the group just ahead of his own. His brows lifted, his eyes wide. There, not ten feet away, was Hurim, the very man he'd eaten breakfast with not more than an hour ago. His sword was inches from his fingers, his mouth agape. A deep gouge continued to seep blood around him from his chest. His right arm was nowhere to be seen.
Chaxin surveyed the area. There were bodies everywhere.
Crunch—schlick.
The sharp sound drew Chaxin's attention ahead. He peered around the lamp posts and stepped cautiously to the side. The courtyard was well-lit, but there was debris from the roof, along with several broken wagons. The sound he'd heard had come from the other side of one of the wagons, closer to the steps that led to the throne room doors.
Crunch—schlick.
Chaxin drew his mage-caster and pulled his saber from the scabbard. He side-stepped quietly, keeping his eyes on the wagon. The sounds didn't seem like those of the tentacled monstrosities. As he got closer, he caught movement just behind the wagon.
A figure stood tall, encased in the same black metal suits he'd seen on several of the corpses. Some of the dead soldiers had been missing their helms, giving detail to the man or woman beneath. But the figure behind the wagon wore a black metal helmet that curved upwards on the sides, making it seem like the helmet had horns. The nearby fire light of the lanterns flickered and glimmered off the sides of the dark glossy armor. On the right pauldron, Chaxin could see the red circle. The symbol of Grittin.
But more notable than that was the weapon the soldier wielded.
A long spear with a mechanism, a cylinder, and a lever.
