Kargaroth

by Mark B Frost

  The combined impact of the two spells caused a shockwave that rattled the entire cave. It took everything the two knights had to stand firm and keep channeling their spells, as they were nearly blown back by a rush of wind and deafening noise.

  Relm worked through the haze of blaring sound and blinding lights. For seconds that felt like hours, she carefully circled the lethal energies of the spells into a latticework. It was not long before she had the spells where she needed them, and she dropped her protective barriers.

  The two energies came together and the wind in the room suddenly reversed direction and collapsed to Relm’s location. The spells began dissipating, causing no harm to the girl, and for a moment it seemed she had planned perfectly.

  But Kinguin’s creation was not to be so easily undone. The mystical wall sensed danger approaching and raised its defenses. It briefly severed the cycle of energy feeding its growth, and instead blasted the total raw power it held in reserve directly at Relm.

  She screamed in terror as blue and white blasts struck her from every point on the wall, and the Felthespari’s spells began to break apart. Abaddon tried to dash in, but the structure repulsed him and sent him barreling into the cavern wall. Cildar heard Myris scream something inaudible and he tried to stop his Holy Wave spell, but found himself paralyzed.

  They watched horrified as Relm’s body was crushed down and lost within the maelstrom of power. The battle of magics continued, the mystic wall fighting diligently to dissolve the white and black energies that continued to collapse into each other, still threatening to form a vortex. In the midst of this storm there suddenly appeared a sharp silver light, cutting through the others. It was small at first, but rose and expanded until it had taken human shape. It thrust its hands forward, and a wall of silver energy materialized and smashed into the rune wall. The rune structure’s defenses were halted, the two spells stabilized, and the vortex formed.

  In that instant, everything disappeared. The white light from Cildar’s spiritual energy, the dark light from Myris’ shadow spell, the blue light from the rune structure, and the silver light of unknown origin faded to darkness in the span of a second as everything went quiet.

  For a moment no one reacted. Then Relm’s voice was heard in a pained moan, followed by a soft thud. Cildar used grey magic to adjust his eyes to the cavern, now pitch black without the light from the rune structure. His sight restored, he dashed to Relm to check her pulse, but his hand was deflected by a flash of energy. He saw that her eyes were still open, but her irises—once light blue—were now an eerily solid silver.

  “Myris, come and see this.” When no response came he looked back, but the Cainite was frozen solid, staring across the room. “Hey, what’s wrong with you?”

  The man stammered something unintelligible, then raised his arm and pointed across the chamber. The Dragoon followed his gesture and saw a huge broadsword lying on an altar in the newly revealed section of the cavern. Behind the sword there was a darkness that even his enhanced vision could not penetrate.

  He shrugged. “Alright, we found the sword. We’ve got bigger priorities now. Relm needs a priest and there’s an army of monsters blocking her from the Church.”

  Abaddon moved nearby, then knelt down and touched Relm’s forehead. Cildar found it odd that the man’s hand was not repulsed, and assumed the strange effect had passed. The mystic nodded. “You’re right. She needs help. But she didn’t go through this for nothing. I’ll grab the sword and we’ll go.”

  “For her sake, I suggest you make it quick.” As Abaddon moved across the room, Cildar once again reached down and tried to touch Relm. Again his hand was repulsed by a pulse of energy. “Dammit!” he muttered to himself. “How am I supposed to get her out of here if I can’t touch her?”

  Abaddon stood before the altar of the sword. He spent a moment admiring the craftsmanship of the weapon lying across the thick cloth atop the stone slab. It was six feet long from hilt to tip and nearly half a foot wide, with a blood groove that ran three quarters the length of the blade. The blade itself was glistening silver, forged from a flawless metal and free of stain or scratch. The hilt was deep gold, with the grip wrapped in a thick black leather Abaddon had never seen, and a large dark ruby was set into the pommel. As a final touch, two menacing black spikes rose out of the cross-guard, angled between it and the blade. Everything on the sword was crafted at perfect angles, symmetric and aligned to detail that he had never before seen.

  As he reached out to grab the sword, Myris found his voice. “Lord Abaddon, do not touch that sword!” he screamed across the room. His warning came too late, just as the man’s fingertips brushed the hilt. A sudden rush of ether flowed from the direction of the cave’s entrance and poured into the darkness before him.

  Cildar stood and drew his Trine Lance, dashing deeper into the cavern. “Another of Kinguin’s security measures? What in Pecoros’ name is wrong with him?”

  Abaddon stood frozen as this impenetrable darkness coalesced and took shape. Myris dashed to Cildar’s side. “It’s a shadow dragon. It just absorbed the life from the monsters of the cave into itself. This will render it quite powerful.”

  The dragon’s head nearly touched the top of the cavern, and it stood firmly on all four legs, running over a hundred feet long from its head to its tail. It walked forward and looked down at Abaddon, smiling cruelly with a mouth of hundreds of razor-tipped fangs.

  “Why doesn’t Abaddon do something?” Cildar asked. “Maybe he can use this sword that’s so special.”

  “There is a suffocating field around him,” Myris responded. “As soon as he touched the sword he was trapped by it. It looks like this is Kinguin’s next level of defense.”

  “If that rune structure was so unbeatable then why is there another level of defense?!”

  The dragon raised its front leg and moved to strike Abaddon. The Lord of the Phoenix reacted fast, drawing his Morabet and flinging it at the beast. The blade struck it in the knee, causing no damage but successfully gaining its attention. It whipped around quickly and came straight at Cildar and Myris, leaving Abaddon frozen uselessly behind.

  “I hope you have some rather brilliant ideas on how to handle this,” Myris remarked.

  As the dragon crashed down on them, both soldiers leaped nimbly to opposite sides of the room. Cildar got a foothold on the rock wall and launched himself at the beast’s head. He slammed into its nose hard with the Lance, then used a weak Aura Blast to propel himself back out to safe range.

  Myris flew in lower and slashed across the base of the creature’s neck with his Soul Scythe. As he started to make his own move to leap away, the dragon turned its attention to him and released its breath attack.

  The Cainite tucked himself into a ball as a wave of darkness hit him, sliding harmlessly through the attack. He landed lightly on the ground and dashed to Cildar’s side. “Why did your Lance not do more? I thought it held the power to destroy evil creatures.”

  The paladin looked to the Lance, which did not possess its usual radiance. “If the wielder’s soul is powerful enough. I used nearly all of my spiritual energy with Holy Wave. As things are the Trine Lance is next to useless, and I can’t manage any potent magic. What about you?”

  He shook his head. “The dragon is somehow monopolizing the currents. I cannot get a spell to ground.”

  The dragon spread and flexed its wings. It stared down at the two warriors, waiting for them to make their next move.

  “What do you think we should do?” Cildar asked.

  “Abaddon is frozen, the Trine Lance isn’t working, and neither of us have our magic. I see no option but retreat.”

  “We’re not leaving the others here,” he retorted angrily.

  “I agree. But I see no other options.”

  “There’s always something.” He ran several scenarios through his head as he stared at the beast in front of them. “There’s always at least two options left—retreat, and death. I choose death. I’ll
hold him off as long as I can. Use your speed to grab Relm and get her out of here. Even if Abaddon and I have to fall, she doesn’t deserve this fate. As soldiers, our first and final duty is to protect the citizens. Save Relm, get her to Felthespar, and raise the defenses.”

  “Cildar, you cannot just—”

  The Dragoon did not await the objection. “Move!” he shouted, then blasted himself once more at the dragon’s face. Myris knew that he had no time to second-guess, and dared not waste the opportunity Cildar had purchased, so he moved swiftly to Relm. Her eyes had drifted shut and the energy around her had faded. He lifted her and turned to dash for the cave’s entrance, but hesitated as he looked up to see the paladin snatched from midair by the dragon.

  Ancient claws cracked and sliced against the paladin’s armor, then with a sharp whip of the wrist, the creature sent him spinning into the rock wall. When Cildar hit the floor his sides had been pierced between the plates of his mail, and he lay gurgling weakly for a moment before losing the last of his strength.

  The dragon’s tail crashed in front of Myris, trapping him where he stood. It turned to him and glared with small, wicked eyes.

  “Don’t be leaving so soon, darkling.”

  Myris gently slid Relm to the ground and drew his Scythe. “It has been some time since my people were known as darklings. You must be an archaic creature.”

  The dragon gave a chuckle. “Let’s play a game. We’ll see how much of my shadow breath your weapon can absorb before you begin to melt.” It drew in a breath, and black energy began to swirl around its body.

  Myris raised his scythe and braced himself. With the limited protection his weapon offered him he could easily escape the attack, but he did not know how to save Relm. His mind raced to several spells he could cast, then he bit his lip as he remembered his magic was not working. He could not die now. He was so close. Kargaroth was so close. He considered abandoning Relm and going for the sword, but if he did he would be trapped by the same magic binding Abaddon. He was so close, yet his mission seemed more impossible than ever before.

  Suddenly he felt the pressure in the room change. His head began to hurt and his breathing became shallow. He heard a strange humming, and realized that the very air around him seemed to be vibrating. His vision blurred and he fell to one knee, disoriented.

  The energy surrounding the shadow dragon dissipated, and in response the creature looked in Abaddon’s direction. “No!” it hissed. “You cannot!”

  Myris turned as well, struggling to watch the Daemon through his shaky sight. Abaddon’s body had begun to move, although only in weak, struggling motions. The magics holding him in place convulsed, then grew stronger, then convulsed again. Slowly, fractions of an inch at a time, his right hand slid forward. Finally his hand closed, wrapping tight around Kargaroth’s leather grip. The air around him erupted into purple flames, as the air in the rest of the chamber returned to normal.

  With the disturbance gone the dragon gathered its power again and sent a wave of black energy at Abaddon, threatening to blanket the entire cavern in its shadow breath. The mystic knight lifted the sword and set it lightly on his shoulder. As the wave of darkness reached him he raised his left hand. The blast came to a halt, then began to shrink into his palm. A few seconds later the darkness had been absorbed into his arm, and vanished as flickers of dark energy continued to pulse over his body.

  “By Vaelius,” Myris muttered. “This is the power of Kargaroth.”

  The shadow dragon moved closer to Abaddon. “You fool! You cannot use the sword! You must not!”

  The man looked up. His normally blue eyes were now black, and his hair moved as if drifting on a light breeze. “So ended the life of Ethakarlata the Fallen,” he taunted in an unnaturally deep voice that echoed across the chamber, rattling loose rocks from the walls. He leaped from the altar and flew to the dragon, his feet hovering inches above the ground. The shadow dragon released a furious onslaught of spells of thunderous power, but as each one struck Abaddon they were absorbed into him harmlessly. When he was within two yards, the beast lashed out with its claws. Abaddon vanished, moving faster than even Myris could follow. He reappeared beneath the towering creature, the blade of Kargaroth already thrust into the shadowy belly.

  The dragon let out a shriek of terror as its body came under attack by magic that dwarfed its own. Streaks of purple fire and lightning ripped up through its frame, then suddenly formed into giant demonic claws. It seized the beast and slowly crushed it, collapsing its body into the blade of the sword, where it vanished.

  Myris took a step. “Lord Abaddon? Are you unharmed?”

  The conquering warrior moved slowly, mechanically, lowering Kargaroth and laying it gently across his back. It stayed firmly in place once he released it, in spite of not being bound. “Get Relm,” he said in a shaky voice, as his eyes resumed their normal dark blue color. “We should leave.”

  “As you wish,” the smaller man said furtively. “I am one step behind you.”

  While Myris lifted Relm, Abaddon moved to Cildar and threw him over his left shoulder. They walked slowly through the now empty cave, Abaddon uncharacteristically uncertain of his steps. At the cave’s entrance Myris moved to take the lead, climbing out and crossing the glade. He sat Relm down on the soft grass, then turned and drew his Scythe as the big man stepped out.

  “Our paths must part here, Son of Pecoros.”

  Abaddon stared at him but offered no response. He gently leaned down and slid Cildar to the ground. As he stood his eyes had once again turned black, and purple flames began to lick the paladin’s blood from his clothing.

  “I ask your forgiveness for what comes next. I hold you in high regard. You and I are kindred spirits, but that sword cannot be yours. Your people stole it from mine three centuries ago, and it is time for it to return to its own. Surrender it willingly, and I will spare the lives of Relm and Cildar.”

  The Daemon continued his silence, his black eyes betraying no emotion.

  In spite of himself, Myris smiled. “Of course not. Surrender is not in you Onion Knights, is it? It matters not. You have used Kargaroth’s power, and it has three days dormancy between uses. Normally I am no match for you, but activating Kargaroth for the first time is an exhausting experience. I see it in you. You can barely stand. Before you die, know that your death was one of honor.”

  Even as he spoke the final word, Myris raised his scythe and dropped low, dashing across the glade at a speed he had not even shown to Cildar. He was already swinging his scythe as he moved, with a blow that would land firmly in Abaddon’s eye socket. He caught a flicker of motion from his target, raising his right hand from his side. Myris was impressed that the man had been able to respond to his speed, but knew the hand would never reach Kargaroth in time to manage a defense.

  Then, with a flash of black fire, everything changed. Abaddon’s arm was stretched out and Kargaroth already rested in it, the tip of the blade pointing at Myris’ throat and suddenly only inches from it. Only because of his Cainite blessings was Myris able to save himself, planting his left heel firmly and spinning away, the tip of Kargaroth grazing his cheek as he fell to the ground and rolled past the Daemon.

  He gathered himself into a crouch and leaped back, now several yards behind his opponent, his breath rattling through his throat in a combination of exertion and terror. The man turned his head slowly and gave Myris a sideways glance. The Cainite tried to gather himself, to make a plan, to even make a comment, but his mind was blank. A thought echoed repeatedly in his head, and he could not shake it. He could not wipe the white sheet of fear washing his mind clean.

  You have angered The Destroyer.

  The big man turned slowly, raising Kargaroth only slightly, then swung it to his side in the Cainite’s general direction. In spite of the twenty feet separating them, Myris felt the visceral pain of the uppercut of a sword lifting him into the air. As he fell to the ground dozens of unseen blades struck him, shredding clothes and fl
esh alike. By the time his body hit the ground in a sickening splash of his own blood, his mind was already lost.

  Chapter 22.

  Shadow Against the Light

  Kinguin quickened his pace as he approached Church property. He had spent day and night fighting with the poison that Atheme had contracted, but remained unable to find a cure. As the exact nature of the toxin continued to elude analysis—and Atheme’s time grew ever thinner—he had decided it was time for a different approach.

  The Lord Archmagus entered the infirmary and nodded cheerfully to the dutiful priests he passed. Some of those more familiar with Kinguin were caught off guard by his jovial mood. He hurried to the back office, where the Lord Cardinal was still trying to isolate an antidote.

  “Good morning, Lord Aveni. What have you found?”

  “Good morning, Lord Kinguin. I have learned a bit. In studying the Church’s archives, I have determined that the poison in Atheme’s system appears to be curated from several diseases from the southern continent. Together with some natural toxins and what I can only assume was carefully controlled evolution, it has created a poison that’s capable of taking many forms. It evolves in response to treatments brought against it, eventually looping back to its original state. I’ve extracted samples of the toxin and used white magic to accelerate its life cycles and noted the results. I have been able to come up with a treatment pattern that would force the disease to run its course in six months. I estimate Atheme’s odds of survival at one in three.”

  “I have an alternative approach,” the mage responded. He held up a vial containing a grey liquid. “I have developed my own disease, to hunt this one. It is a series of microorganisms designed to destroy cells showing irregular infection.”

  Aveni rubbed his hands together. “Destroy the cells themselves? That would cause massive deterioration and organ failure. Your cure would kill Atheme more certainly than the poison.”