by Hooke, Isaac
She turned around just as the Darkness smashed into her. It slowed to a complete stop, its tendrils wrapping around her arms and legs to yank her into its malevolent depths.
But she resisted, using all of her dark power. Black streams flowed from her, causing the surrounding air to come alive, forming bonds of ether that countered the nightmarish pull, holding her fast and preventing the Darkness from taking her.
The Darkness remained waylaid, no longer chasing him. Instead, it was concentrating all of its efforts on devouring her. For once, it had found something else it wanted more than him.
Ghostly chains no longer held Abigail and Agantas: Ziatrice had released them in her struggle to survive.
“Stay where you are!” he warned the dragons, knowing that movement could attract the Darkness.
He carefully approached.
Ziatrice remained spread-eagled before him. Her hands were empty: she had dropped the halberd. Dark veins crawled slowly up her arms and legs where the Darkness touched her. Her face was set in concentration, and sweat beaded her brow.
Her eyes focused pleadingly on him.
“Help me,” she whispered.
His beast sense told him she was weak. Perhaps enough to Break.
He could have simply let the Darkness take her, and perhaps he should have, but the temptation to control such a powerful pawn of Vorgon was too great. He had to at least try to conquer her.
So he reached out and enclosed her will with his own. The tendrils of his mind didn’t evaporate upon contact this time, and he was able to fully wrap his will around hers. He squeezed.
Her eyes widened.
She fought him, and her mind writhed violently beneath his grasp.
The turmoil he was stirring inside her head caused her concentration to ebb, and the dark magic holding her in place weakened. She slipped backward into the Darkness.
He shot out a hand and gripped hers. The dark veins began to spread onto his own flesh.
He ignored them. He was certain he could Break her, if he just concentrated…
“Malem!” Abigail said. “What are you doing?”
“Stay back!” He shouted. “You too, Agantas!”
The king and his daughter retreated, giving him room.
He squeezed her mind at the same time he yanked on her arm. Slowly he freed her from the Darkness. But he had less luck with her mind. She constantly evaded his grasp.
The Darkness began to fade. Disappointed that it couldn’t take the night elf, it lunged instead for Malem, but had already overstayed its welcome in this realm and quickly began to fade. The dark tendrils that wrapped around him became translucent threads, and vanished entirely a moment later.
He released Ziatrice and the two of them collapsed, panting, to raw dirt that had been stripped of its cobblestones. He kept his will wrapped around hers, not letting up his mental attack. He was vaguely aware of the dark veins evanescing from his hand, leaving behind only the bloody runnels they had carved into his flesh. The Darkness left similar wounds in Ziatrice.
The night elf suddenly scooped up her halberd and swiped at him. He rolled to the side and with effort climbed to his feet. She sliced her weapon at him again, and he dodged, striking her with a riposte. The blade nicked her upper armor, cutting a small gash in her bicep.
Balethorn hummed hungrily, but the strike gave him no vitality.
Figures.
But at least he had confirmed that she was too weak to use that magical shield of hers. He attempted to tighten his grip around her mind, but once more she evaded him. Not that weak, then.
Maybe I should have let the Darkness have her.
He heard a roar to his right and realized Abigail and Agantas were protecting him from the black dragons and oraks that were now closing to attack him; the creatures had been mentally summoned by Ziatrice, no doubt. Other Metals came, too, some airborne, forming a protective half-dome around him as they defended against the incoming attackers.
Malem took a hit then, a slice to the chest, and he staggered. It was glancing blow, thankfully. But it had come too close. His strength was flagging.
He reached out with a portion of his will, searching for weak minds to crush, finding none, mostly because he was in no condition to conquer any minds, not with most of his will consumed with restraining Ziatrice. He’d have to release her entirely if he wanted to find another, and yet he feared if he did that, she’d bounce back to her full strength.
And so, he kept his mind around hers and fought on, growing wearier with each passing moment. She fared little better herself, but that meant little in the scheme of things if he couldn’t best her.
He realized he’d made a mistake.
He wasn’t going to win this.
A shadow blotted out the sun as a black dragon came at him from above, escaping the protective half-dome provided by the Metals.
It flapped its wings rapidly, switching its descent to a hover, and darted its head toward him. It didn’t dare spray acid and risk harming the night elf who fought so near to him.
“Thank you,” he told Ziatrice as he sidestepped. He sliced out with his magic blade at the same time, and the sword hewed deep into the dragon’s face, underneath the eye. Enough for Balethorn to drink its fill.
Vitality flowed through Malem’s veins as he removed the blade.
An airborne platinum smashed into the black dragon from the side, shoving it away, but in truth the dragon was probably already close to death from that lethal blow.
Full of energy, he readily blocked another strike from Ziatrice and then spun around to plunge Balethorn into her belly, penetrating straight through her magic armor.
He let go of the weapon, leaving it embedded, and stepped back as the night elf fell to her knees.
He felt pain emanating from her mind then, along with disbelief, and regret.
He tightened his will around Ziatrice once more. This time she didn’t fight him. Instead, she surrendered.
As he began to seize control, he realized there was someone—something—else already inside her mind. He pushed the sinister presence away, and was surprised when it readily yielded. He figured it was because his will was stronger.
As he embedded the tendrils of his mind firmly inside her, the presence returned—it had only temporarily retreated. Apparently its capitulation was a trick, because it wrapped its own will around the mind of Ziatrice now, trapping Malem’s inside with hers.
He was the one who was thrashing about and struggling to break free now. But it was no use. The sinister presence had him and Ziatrice firmly bound.
He heard distant laughter as reality winked out.
42
Surrounded by black dunes, Malem stood in a desert. It was twilight, judging from the light levels, but the clear sky was starless above.
Motion drew his gaze to the right, where a demonic creature towered before him. The body resided in shadow, though blue flames surrounded it, silhouetting a powerful torso with thick arms. It stood on two legs that seemed to bend backward at the knee like a horse. It also had a pair of horns at its head, partially folded wings on its back, and a tail swishing back and forth above the sand—all of them outlined by that malevolent flame.
“Tool of Banvil, I will destroy you!” a terrible voice roared.
It swung a fiery battle-ax toward him.
Malem tried to run, but his feet were locked in place. So instead he ducked and instinctively held his arms before him, trying to shield his body from the coming doom.
A translucent black sphere materialized around Malem as the ax struck, and the blade glanced aside harmlessly, striking the sand. The sphere promptly vanished.
“What?”
The demon struck down again, and once more the sphere arose to deflect the blade.
The creature cackled maniacally. It was the same laugh he had heard in the distance before leaving the real world behind for this place.
“He protects you now, as suits his whim,” the creatu
re said. “But that protection will not last forever. The time will come when he cannot protect you. When you lay before me, broken and dying, I will banish his tendrils from your mind and make you my general. You will replace the Black Sword you have stolen from me.”
“Vorgon,” Malem said in awe, recognizing his foe for the first time.
“Yes, doomed mortal,” Vorgon said. “We will meet again. And when we do, I will take what is owed.”
The shadows that composed Vorgon swirled inward and he vanished.
Just like that Malem was standing on the ruined city street once more, with Ziatrice kneeling hunched over on the ground before him, and Balethorn skewering her.
The sinister presence was gone. His mind was entirely intertwined with hers. He had won.
He staggered, and collapsed. Breaking her had utterly exhausted him.
He realized something. She didn’t seem to use any slots in his mind. In fact, it felt like his mental capacity had expanded further.
The weakness began to fade away, replaced by growing vitality. He looked at Ziatrice in shock: he thought she was merely a night elf. A monster that he could Break. But she must have been only a half elf, with the other half being human, because the bond he felt between them was the same type as that he had formed between himself and Abigail, or Gwen. Thick and substantial. And permanent. Not requiring slots. Instead, it gave him slots.
And yet he felt that added strength slowly slipping away as her stamina ebbed, and she inched closer to death.
He frantically gave stamina to Ziatrice, draining both Gwen and Abigail.
We need a healer! he sent to the both of them.
He heard a shout of victory. Glancing to his right, he realized the defending Metals there were currently occupied by two black dragons, which they grappled, allowing the oraks to penetrate the defensive ring and rush Malem with their swords.
Ziatrice. I want your troops to stand down.
But she was too far gone to comply.
So instead he reached out and instantly broke several oraks in the vanguard, converting them to his side. There were still a few he couldn’t squeeze his will around completely, but far more of them were now weaker-minded in his eyes.
He conquered ten in total before he reached his mental capacity, meaning he now had twenty slots. He ordered his new oraks to form an inner defensive ring around him, and they slew the others that poured through to attack.
He felt faint from the exertion, and nearly keeled over. He was already on his knees, so he held an arm to the ground to hold himself up. He crushed two of the oraks that he had taken with his will, and took their stamina—like before, they hardly restored him, as he had drained too many in this manner already.
Abigail had been drawn away by a black dragon, but she landed near him and cleared away the remaining oraks, along with a good portion of his own.
Careful! he sent. The oraks surrounding me are mine.
“Bit late to tell me that now,” she commented. “You need a healer?” Her neck didn’t appear as ghastly as before—the scales at the base no longer jutted up where Ziatrice had peeled them, and instead seemed to have been restored.
“Yes,” he said.
“Father, the healer!” she called. She breathed fire at a nearby black that was assaulting another Metal, and caused the dragon’s wounds to smoke.
An unfamiliar dragon landed beside Abigail atop the ruin of a house.
“I’m Drax, the healer,” the dragon said in a deep male voice.
Ah.
He thought they would have to fly back to Mount Ademan, but they already had a healer in their midst. So that explained how the Metals were able to fight for so long, given how outnumbered they were. That was also why the base of Abigail’s neck seemed mended.
“Heal her,” Malem said, pointing at Ziatrice.
“What?” Abigail said. “Why?” She breathed fire on more of the incoming oraks.
“I’ve taken the will of the Black Sword!” he told Abigail. “Heal her, and her army is ours!”
Abigail hesitated, then nodded at Drax, indicating the dragon could approach.
Xaxia and Gwen rushed through the defensive ring to join him.
“Watch out, those are his oraks,” Abigail commented. “He gets pissed if you touch them.”
“We figured that out,” Gwen said. She fired into the crowd with Wasp, while Xaxia slew with Biter.
Drax came forward, and lifted a foreleg toward Ziatrice. The Metal dragon used two talons to grip the hilt of Balethorn, and slid the weapon out, causing a stream of blood to emerge with it.
Ziatrice let out a moan, and collapsed entirely. Her breathing came in ragged, weak bursts.
Drax dropped the weapon as if stung. “Terrible thing.”
Malem scooped up the blade and it hummed in his arms. It wanted him to slay Drax. He ignored it.
The healer brought his large head forward and examined Ziatrice.
“A fierce wound,” the healer said. “I can fix her, but it will drain the last of my power.”
“Do it,” Malem said.
Drax glanced at Abigail for confirmation, and she nodded before returning her attention to the incoming oraks.
Blue mist emerged from the eyes of the healer. That mist congregated around the belly wound Malem had caused, and the raw red tissue seemed to fold up. It was still covered in blood, but healed, as far as he could tell.
The bloody runnels in her arms and legs caused by the Darkness also mended, and her breathing became less ragged, stabilizing.
The blue mists dissipated.
“It’s done,” Drax said, withdrawing his head wearily. His eyelids were half closed. “She will need to rest.”
“Thank you,” Malem said.
The dragon nodded slowly and retreated to rest nearby, staying within the defensive half dome.
Malem poured stamina into Ziatrice, taking liberally from Gwen and Abigail.
“Hey!” Gwen said. “Shit. I’m trying to fight here.” She drew and fired her arrows more slowly.
The night elf opened her eyes and sat up.
“Ziatrice,” he said. “Order your army to cease its attack. They are to offer no resistance to the Metals.”
Instantly the attacking oraks froze in place and lowered their weapons. The black dragons ceased their struggles on the ground, and any airborne dragons landed.
The Metals continued to attack until they realized their opponents weren’t fighting back. Across the street, dragons and oraks simply stood in place, fodder waiting to be slaughtered. At that point the Metals began to glance at their king in confusion, looking for some kind of confirmation that they should continue this slaughter.
“The army is ours now,” Abigail announced in her booming voice. “Cease killing.”
The Metals backed down, but they kept a suspicious eye on the black dragons, and oraks. Those that were overhead landed on houses nearby, using the roofs as perches. The roof beneath a bronze dragon gave way, and the Metal crushed the house and was forced to find a different perch.
Malem sheathed his blade, because the urgings from Balethorn were becoming hard to fight with all these dragons around.
You should give in to the urgings of your sword, Ziatrice said in his mind. Kill all of the Metals.
Would he have to fight her, too, now, and not just the sword?
We can take this city, you and I, the night elf continued. With my army, and your mental powers, we can be unstoppable.
Be silent, Woman, he ordered.
But Ziatrice ignored him and sent: We can rule this world as king and queen. With our combined powers, we can destroy Vorgon and take his place, then conquer all those who refuse to kneel before us.
Malem would have been lying to himself if he didn’t admit he wasn’t tempted. I warn you…
He tightened his grip around her mind and drained some of her stamina.
Ziatrice swayed slightly, but smirked as she sent: We’ll discuss this another time. Don
’t you worry.
You won’t bring it up again.
Her smug smile only deepened. We’ll see.
Xaxia stood next to him, and gazed at something past the defensive ring. “They’re not worth the help we gave.”
He followed her gaze to the main keep. As far as he could tell, the defenders of Fallow Gate had remained within its walls the entire time, offering no help. None at all.
“I agree,” he said. “I tried to warn Abigail.”
“She’s just a naive princess,” the bandit said. “Doesn’t know any better.”
“I heard that,” Abigail said, the silver dragon swiveling her neck so that her head was right behind her. “I’m naive now, am I?”
“Damn, I’m never going to get used to her in this form,” Xaxia commented. She glanced at the dragon. “The fighting’s over. Why don’t you become human now?”
“You just want to see me naked,” Abigail said.
The bandit laughed. “Maybe I do. And back to your original comment, when it comes to humanity, you’re naive, yes.”
“Maybe I am.” Abigail agreed. “But that’s better than hating them all, like some of my kind do. Or used to.” She glanced at the night elf, who remained seated on the ruined cobble before Malem. “She has the same link to you as Gwen and—” It looked like she had been about to say “I” but caught herself just in time. She didn’t want all the other eavesdropping Metals to know that Malem had Broken her. Especially not her father.
“The night elf does,” he told her.
Abigail nodded.
I can partially sense her presence through you, she sent over their telepathic link.
Yes, that would be one of the signs of a similar link to yourself and Gwen, he agreed.
Can she hear our mental talk?
No, he sent. Only if I want her to.
Abigail cocked her head slightly, as if in thought. "She touched the Dark realm, as you did long ago. I wonder if that has given her any new abilities, like it did for you..."
