by Levi Samuel
Grabbing at the frayed weave, he trembled, unable to keep his hand steady. It slipped from his grasp.
“Problems?” Gareth asked, impatiently awaiting the return of his vision.
“Give me a minute. I’ll get it.” Ravion demanded, growing irritated at his unstable grip. Taking a deep breath, he thought through his options. Manually undoing the spell wasn’t his only play. He still had one other. Recalling how he’d used it against the other nightkings, Ravion raised his sword. The thin blue threads within the blade danced to the surface, displaying themselves proudly to their master. Ravion could feel a connection to them. It was almost as if they belonged to him, but he knew they didn’t. They were a part of the blade, bound to him when he claimed it so long ago. Letting them burn bright, he laid a quick and decisive slice through the air, intent on a single purpose. The blade passed through the yellow webs, slicing them with ease. He smiled at his victory, watching the threads fall to nothing. And just like that, his vision returned.
“About damn time!” Gareth joked, taking another step toward the base. Surprise and concern rushed through him. He was no longer in a stairwell, but instead in a large underground room. How he hadn’t noticed made no sense. He was certain they were still on the steps, but these surroundings suggested otherwise.
“You shouldn’t have followed me.” Jorin’otth’s calm voice echoed from the darkness.
“Quit the games and show yourself!” Gareth demanded, summoning his psiblades.
“Why would I do that? You’re right where I want you. Away from me and out of my way. Now I can finish this and unleash Izaryle onto this world.”
“Why go through all this trouble?” Ravion asked, stepping to the head of the group. “You’ve targeted each of us in numerous ways. You orchestrated the near genocide of an entire race. And now you put yourself in the middle of a war which has nothing to do with you. I’ll ask again, why go through all this?”
“You wouldn’t understand and, frankly, it’s none of your concern. You shouldn’t have followed me here. You’ll be the first to die!” Jorin’otth began chanting.
Seeing a pulse of multicolored energy radiate about the room, Ravion knew they had to act quick. If they delayed much longer, Jorin’otth would finish the spell. Searching for the threads, he found them buried beneath a thin cloak. Bringing his sword around, he laid a deep gash across it, watching a hole tear in the room. It spread wider, granting the flicker of torchlight to their surroundings. Ravion looked around, seeing the large dungeon chamber just ahead. They were at the edge of the entry way, at the base of the stairs. The room looked as if a large stone had impacted the middle. A deep crater rested in the floor and pools of glowing red liquid slithered from the outer ring toward the center, like an inverted volcano. Glancing up, he could see a round silo going up into the earth, as if something had crashed into the ground and came to rest here. “Give it up, Jorin’otth. We’ve escaped your spell!” Ravion shouted.
The hydralfar paused, turning to look at the three standing behind him, armed and ready for combat. “I don’t suppose I can barter with you? Perhaps offer you your lives in exchange for turning around and going the other direction?”
“I’m afraid not. It’s time you paid for your crimes.” Demetrix stated, his arrow trained and ready to fire. It didn’t matter how many shields the hydralfar had active, he was certain his arrow wouldn’t miss its mark this time. Seeing his brothers ready for action, he released the string, watching the twisting shaft fly toward his target’s face.
“Such a shame, but, I suppose all good stories must come to an end.” Jorin’otth reached for the bronze rod in his robe. It elongated into the aged, yet seemingly new, wooden staff. Slamming its base into the floor, the red liquid shimmered gold for the briefest moment. Jorin’otth smiled, seeing the arrow stop in mid-flight, not a foot from him.
Glancing at the others, Ravion’s sword was raised to strike, and Gareth appeared to be concentrating on something. He clearly wasn’t up to any good.
Shaking his head, Jorin’otth walked softly around the room circling them. They were foolish to come after him, though he couldn’t blame them. His entire existence was built on people underestimating him. A song echoed in his mind, sounding victory after so many attempts to defeat these three. Whistling his content, he completed his circle and approached the arrow.
Recalling the first lesson his master taught him, he plucked the stationary shaft from the air. Studying the simple instrument, he turned and aimed it perfectly at Ravion’s heart. Releasing his hold, it returned to its hovering state, awaiting command. He chuckled to himself, remembering the outcome of an experiment so many years ago.
“It’s a simple task. Stop the arrow and alter its direction.”
It stopped with minimal issue. And turning it was relatively easy, despite his nose bleeding from the strain of the spell. It wasn’t until he released the time stop that he really learned anything new. The fletching end of the arrow launch toward its original destination, embedding itself, feather’s first, in the target.
“You lack alteration of momentum. Try it again. But this time, give it a little help.”
Returning to the now, Jorin’otth gently pressed his finger against the tail of the hovering shaft, delivering a mild force. It wasn’t much, but it was clearly moving toward its new target, be it slow. That wasn’t a terrible thing. He didn’t want to shove it off course. He continued whistling the tune stuck in his head, listening high pitch echo up the overhead tunnel.
Calmly approaching Gareth, Jorin’otth stepped in front of the bald, battle-worn warrior. It was strange not feeling his breath. His chest refused to rise. He was frozen completely, a slave to time, or the lack of it anyway. He’d finally won. There was no denying that. They’d caused him enough trouble for one lifetime. It was time to end it. There would be no mistakes this time. Raising the staff, he channeled his intentions into the weapon, allowing its power to flow forth.
Both Gareth and Demetrix began to age. Their hair grew long and gray. Their skin wrinkled, developed sickly patches of discoloration. It wouldn’t be long now. Aging a body so rapidly had devastating consequences. It’d be a wonder if they even felt it before the end.
Jorin’otth turned to Ravion. Raising the staff, he had a second thought. Having Demetrix’s arrow deliver the killing blow was too perfect to pass up, but that was an unneeded risk. The very mistake he’d made so many times before, the one that always allowed them to escape his clutches. Taking a deep breath, he made his decision. Taking position behind scout, he readied his dagger and released the spell.
The keen arrowhead plunged into Ravion’s chest. It carried through and exited his back with a pop. A small amount of blood dripped from the embedded metal. Hearing the dalari gasp, Jorin’otth brought his dagger down, stabbing it deep into the base of his skull.
Ravion collapsed in a pool of blood.
Whistling louder than ever, Jorin’otth stepped toward the feeble forms not far from him. They looked so weak and pathetic. He was fairly certain Gareth was already dead, but he had to be certain. The last thing he needed was to have one of them interrupt him in the middle of his spell. Pressing his boot into Gareth’s throat, he felt the delicate bones crack and give way.
A weak gasp caught his attention. Glancing over, he saw Demetrix’s eyes slowly open. He struggled to move, seemingly flaccid. If he didn’t know any better, the weakened dalari broke a few bones during his fall. “And so ends the dreuslayers.” Jorin’otth slammed the base of his staff down, letting the capped wood crush Demetrix’s skull with ease. Pursing his lips, he blew, resuming his song. Now that he was free of the pesky defenders, it was time to free himself from the rest of this world.
Chapter XX
Outside the Box
Torchlight flickered in the underground chamber, displaying a single shadow on the rough, stone wall. Not a sound could be heard from the lone being, standing over the bodies he’d just destroyed.
Jorin�
�otth studied them a longer. It didn’t feel right. He’d spent longer than he’d ever admit trying to kill the three, in one scheme or another. Yet somehow, they always managed to survive. Kneeling beside Demetrix, he pressed his fingers against the elderly rendition of the dalari he was before, checking for a pulse. As before, it was absent. He was clearly dead, as was Gareth. And there was no doubt whatsoever about Ravion. He’d finally managed to kill them, but it felt anticlimactic.
He expected some huge weight to be lifted, but none came. It was just him, alone in the dark, standing over the bodies of the only true enemies he’d known in his entire life. Truth be told, he felt a slight bit of remorse in killing them. After the fact, anyway. In the moment, it was the only thing he could have done. Now that they were gone, he felt hollow. Like his only purpose had passed. What was he supposed to do now? Aside from complete the ritual and turn the world dark. That was a given. The churning in his stomach intensified, doubling him over. Grabbing his midsection, Jorin’otth stumbled to the center of the crater. He had to cast the spell now or it would be too late.
A golden spray of light erupted near the corner of the room. Opening like a portal, a man stepped out. Jorin’otth didn’t have to ask. He already knew who he was. The armor alone said that much.
Meaius stood tall in his blackened plate mail. The hourglass engraved in the left shoulder of his breastplate flowed several grains of sand into the lower portion of the body, but it never seemed to empty. His legendary darkstone bastard sword was outstretched and ready for battle.
Jorin’otth knew his time had come. They’d found him. But that didn’t mean his crusade was over. If he could use the staff to kill this duke, he’d have at least a little time before another would come. They’d be too late by then. He’d already be beyond their limited reach. And once the mortal world was cut off from the gods, once the sun was inverted and draining everything it had once nurtured to life, he’d be this realm’s new deity.
“Jorin’otth Amnel of the Toreial Flats, you are hereby found guilty on multiple counts of disturbing the timeline for your own gain. Lay down your arms and surrender or you will be erased from existence!”
Meaius glanced at the bodies littering the floor. Shaking his head, he felt sorrow at their demise. He’d warned Ravion to stay clear of the chronomancer. Slowly approaching, he was careful to keep the hydralfar in sight. All it would take to escalate the situation was a single, quick movement.
Watching the duke approach, Jorin’otth counted the man’s steps. He was nearly half way to him, more than close enough for what he had in mind. “You know, I never asked for any of this. It was thrust upon me. I simply had to make the best of it.”
“Don’t make excuses for your actions. You chose your fate. The consequences of those decisions are yours alone.” Meaius knew the chronomancer was going to use the staff any moment. He could see it in his eyes. He was as ready as he could be. He’d been trained to withstand such attacks, as were all dukes, but an attack from the Staff of Ozmodius, it’d never been done before. There was no certainty his power could protect him from a relic of his god. Were it from a novice such as Jorin’otth, there was little concern. Being a duke meant he had time on his side. He could train and prepare himself until he was a master in all regards. The lowly chronomancer didn’t stand a chance. But when that lowly criminal was powered by a godly weapon, how could he prepare for that?
His eyes followed the plated time warden. Hell was going to break loose at any moment. Jorin’otth prepared himself. He couldn’t show any sign of action until he was ready. The dukes were trained to perfection. Any show of resistance and he’d find himself unable to move. He’d have to strike fast and hard, a single blow to end his oppression. Seeing Meaius breech the crater, Jorin’otth dropped to a knee and let the staff free fall into position. Channeling the energies required to stop time, he let them loose.
The temporal energies gathered and solidified. Meaius twisted them to his own desire, warping the world around them. The dark chamber became a vast ocean. They were submerged beneath its crushing waters. It squeezed their insides, threatening to drain the life out of them.
A fear rose inside Jorin’otth. He’d hoped to stop time, but to do so in such a place would mean both their deaths. He had to do something and quick. Abandoning his intentions, he warped them again. The water disappeared, leaving them completely soaked from the salty substance. They were standing at the center of a pristine city, long before the walls crumbled and turned to dust. A grand temple towered over all else, displaying a large opal over the entrance. A moon and three stars hovered in its focus. It was a majestic sight to behold, but he had more pressing matters. Seeing the duke tarset continue toward him, he summoned the will to stop time again.
Meaius lunged forward, striking at the chronomancer. He was dismayed to see the staff knock the blow wide. He had to get them out of here. Such a period was beyond sanction. It was possible to see something that could not be unseen. Summoning his will, he wrapped them and hopped through time. Images of the past, present and future splayed beyond the wormhole. All was black and blue, and little specks of light could faintly be seen in the distance. They landed in a dense forest. Seeing the ruined city all around them, covered in thick vegetation, Meaius swung again.
It made no sense why the duke moved them. There was no harm in where he’d traveled. Izaryle hadn’t been banished yet. Perhaps he could convince the dark god to aid him. Seeing the incoming attack, he realized he was too late. Moving the staff as not to chip the wooden device, but still deflect, Jorin’otth felt the sword bite into his arm. The sting rushed through his body, settling in the tips of his fingers and toes. It was everywhere, burning his insides. Then suddenly, he felt it grab hold and rip itself free. He felt as if his soul was being removed. No, not his soul, his magic. He screamed, feeling a large piece of himself disappear forever. Dropping to his knees, he felt a hatred he’d never felt before. The duke was going to pay for what he’d done. Summoning all his will, he lashed out, letting the magic of the staff carry itself toward the duke.
Meaius brought his sword around and prepared for another attack. The temporal magics were swarming around them. Whatever Jorin’otth had done, it wasn’t going to be pleasant. But, maybe, if he was quick enough he could stop it before it ever happened. Lashing out, he let his energies envelop the chronomancer.
A stasis field erupted around him, slowing his movement. Time crawled to a near stop. He was almost trapped indefinitely. If he didn’t escape before it closed, it’d all be over. He couldn’t have that. He had a mission to complete. Using the temporal storm he’d created, Jorin’otth forced it through the closing crack. It surrounded the stasis field, sealing him in a field of his own making. The opposing magics fought for control, but he could see his was winning. Victory came seeing the duke’s field dissolve. Redirecting the enraged magics, he launched them at his aggressor.
Meaius tried to absorb the magics flowing into him but they were too much. Even he couldn’t resist the powers of a god. He felt his memories slipping, his body growing smaller, less filling. He was getting younger. Soon he’d be little more than an infant, and then nothing. He had to stop it before he forgot how. Closing his eyes, he recalled the books he’d read on the topic in the libraries of Panthum. It was on the edge of his mind, slipping away moment by moment. Staring helplessly at the chronomancer, he felt a word settle into place.
“Tesrat Ekud!” The energies fanned out, away from him. He felt the change cease, returning him to his former self. Every duke was taught a safe word in the event they lost control of the time vortex. It was a simple phrase that kept them from being lost to time itself and protected them from temporal energies.
“That’s enough of your games, Jorin’otth!” Meaius swung hard, catching the hydralfar in the chest. It wasn’t a lethal wound, but it should drain his abilities enough to keep him from casting for a few moments. Using the opportunity, he ripped them through time, bringing them back to the b
uried chamber.
Jorin’otth cried out. His magic was nearly depleted, but he still had the staff. It was certainly better to fight and die quickly than to experience the slow death of nonexistence. He’d only seen it once, the day his master was captured. If they simply removed you from memory, it’d be one thing. But to be erased meant more than never existing. It meant your family was targeted to the very first generation and executed. All in all, it was roughly forty-five minutes of excruciating torture, feeling your memories rip away one by one until the time distortions finally caught up and claimed you as well. It certainly wasn’t a pleasant was to go.
Meaius watched the chamber settle around them. The three dead dreuslayers were right where he’d left them.
“Your choice has been made. Surrender the staff, now!” Pointing the tip of his bastard sword at the cowering hydralfar, he prepared himself for what was to come. It always came. They never went quietly for some reason.
The blackened sword was pulling at his innards, even from a distance. Jorin’otth could feel it weakening him, like that last hit hadn’t fully disconnected. Tightening his grip around the staff, he pushed himself to his feet and took a defensive position. There was no way he was going to gain the upper hand fighting offensive. He wasn’t a trained combatant. But maybe, if he was lucky, he could defend long enough to displace the duke and complete the job. Slamming the base of the staff into the shimmering red liquid, he felt it come alive. Energy rushed through it, empowering him. It reminded him of the first time he used magic. The feeling he got when the raw energies coursed through his body.
A smile formed on Meaius’ face. He could sense the energy flowing though the hydralfar. He almost felt bad for him, yet he put himself in this position. The magics were going to be his undoing. Taking a lightning quick step toward the defensive mage, he brought his sword around. The girthy blade soar toward its target, aimed to cut him down permanently.
