B4 – Chapter 22: The Hexblades

Tristan scrabbled to his feet and grabbed his sword as he stood up. Maybe a fortune spell can counteract the hex. He tucked his left fist into his chest, thumb facing down, extending it while curling all the other fingers in. He rapidly incanted in Elvish. “The best of luck to you. May the good fortune of the world grace you.” He had no clue if the spell type worked that way, but he had no choice. The Demons had almost landed, and he tried to steady his breathing. Thankfully, the nausea in his stomach faded away – a slight indication that perhaps his theory worked as intended.

The first one of the Demons landed a few feet away, and in Demon’s Tongue, shouted out, “Die!” His weapon blazed with a slightly purple light, and Tristan met the blow with his sword’s edge, intending to deflect the strike. But somehow, his weapon seemed to turn of its own volition in his grip, and the Demon’s mace slid down the length of the blade and impacted the cross guard, forcing Tristan’s hand into an awkward angle. Another Demon flew at him from above, and he was able to get his forearm in the way of the mace that slammed down. His armor took the blow easily enough, but he could feel the force of the impact as the weapon crunched down into the plate. Tristan knew he would be bruised from the defensive maneuver, but he had no choice in the moment.

The weapon had a haze around it, almost invisible until Tristan was as close as he was now, and he could see it almost creep onto his forearm from the impact point, numbing him as his muscle began to spasm like it had when he used lightning elementalism spells in the practice room back at the Citadel. Gritting his teeth through the pain, he was able to step back and take up a defensive posture.

The other four Demons had descended to surround him, with one splitting off to face off against Eloise, who had both daggers in her hands and engaged in a rapid exchange of blows and strikes. She let out a shout in the Standard Tongue, “They are Hexblades!” clang, Tristan blocked a blow and felt his weapon turn in his grip again. She shouted out once more. “Elite Demons!”

Tristan felt blows rain down on his back, the armor taking the hits with ease, but he knew he would be heavily bruised. Fuck it. I’m going all out! Tristan’s spinning crucible poured essence throughout his body, and he felt the spasm in his arm calm immediately as it seemed his heritage’s innate access to fortune as a spell type had some type of countering effect to hexes as a spell type. Pushing the essence into his sword, he activated Winter’s Wrath.

A whirling tempest of silver snow, blue ice shards, and sparks of different colors representing the various dragon crucibles he had absorbed all battered against his assailants. A frenzied flurry of frost and ice that pelted his assailants, and momentarily blinded them. Enough of an opening for Tristan to pivot and stab into an exposed section of one of the Demon’s armored shells. Right into the armpit. The angle was almost perfect, due to their height, and the chainmail did not hold up to his weapon that cut through like a hot knife through butter. He plunged the sword to the cross guard, then pulled it out as the Demon fell.

The others had recovered from their sudden disorientation at his use of Winter’s Wrath, and as he pivoted to face another, a barrage of spells slammed into him. Fire spells, tinged with purple. The flames did nothing to him; he merely felt a little warm. But the purplish hue covering each left that same, muscle-spasming and tingling wherever they impacted. It must be a blended spell; fire elementalism and hexes. And it is doing whatever is most harmful to me – a changing type of damage that takes advantage of the worst weakness the target has. That’s insidious. He spun his crucible faster, letting the essence flow through him to negate the effects of their hex-fire spell as best he could. Thankfully, that seemed to do the trick, but Winter’s Wrath was draining his essence at a rapid pace, and he had to let the spell fade.

“Incoming!” Felicity yelled in Elvish from up above, invisible to all except Tristan, and completely impossible to hear. He took several steps back, having cleared a spot in the center of the circle. Felicity had a barrel in her paw-claws, and she was struggling mightily to hold it and flap her wings to keep in the skies. But, she was able to manage, and kicked against the bottom of the rigged barrel, letting the whole entire load of oil out as is splashed down onto and coated the Demons, two of whom looked up to try and find the source, only for one of them to bit hit by the barrel as Felicity dropped it on their head. “Not lava this time!” Felicity shouted as she dropped a tiny needle. Tristan’s sharp gaze saw it tumble down from above, going far faster than something that small should have dropped. It hit some of the pooled oil on the grass – and then fizzled, popped, and bubbled.

All of the oil coating the ground and the Demons immediately changed from liquid lubricant to acid. The Demons’ armor was eaten through, and they seemed to realize what was happening as they scattered and stripped off pieces of protection; preventing the worst of the injury that could have happened, but also making them much easier targets to injure. Tristan spared a glance at Eloise, and felt his heart skip a beat as he saw her on the back-foot, backpedaling and struggling to hold off the much larger and stronger Demon who seemed to have taken no injury thus far. “Felicity! Help her!” Tristan shouted in Elvish.

“Got it!” Felicity replied as she dashed to help Eloise. Tristan’s attention was fully focused on the four Demons before him, all holding weapons that still surged with the purplish light, and whose armor was in varying states of disarray.

Wordlessly, two of them approached and began hammering at Tristan’s defenses. He used his forearm to block the vertical strikes coming down at him, and his blade to block the horizontal ones. Once more, his weapon’s blocks seemed to always be at the wrong angle, and he felt one strike that snaked past his faulty guard and crunched into the armor just under his ribs. The blow knocked the wind out of Tristan, and he knew that the ribs had pierced his lungs as he could not breathe right. The assault didn’t slow, and he suffered several more strikes. His armor kept him from the direst of injuries. Pushing his dwindling essence into his Amulet Belt, he activated Cure Wound and fixed the most pressing issue of damaged lung and ribs.

The tale has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the violation.

Eloise with Felicity’s aid had managed to dispatch the Demon facing her, and Tristan saw a flash of sickly yellow light out of the corner of his eyes. One of the Demons facing Tristan was splashed with a caustic acid that ate through flesh and bone, resulting in screams of pain as the figure wheeled away, retreating momentarily.

Not under assault from two directions, Tristan let the next vertical strike past his forearm, crunching onto the pauldron which took the whole blow as it was designed for the bite force of a dragon’s maw, and then used his forearm to pin that selfsame mace against his body. That gave him an opening to stab up with his sword, into the now-extended armpit, and into the heart of the Demon. A quick, efficient kill as the foe fell to the ground.