Chapter 231: The Slayer

“What the fuck are you doing? Are you mad?”

Celerin Crest pulled his hair — what else was he supposed to do? He ignored the gasps, the glares, the ‘oh!’ of consternation. This was too much. Too much!

“Nero I swear to Maranor!”

“Do not.”

A monstrous aura swept the tent, quieting the courtiers and generals under a cloak of cold control. Even Crest’s fury was quenched from a raging fire to dull embers of simmering resentment.

“Do not pronounce Her name in vain.”

“You can stop me from swearing all you want.”

“Enough!”

Crest’s mouth shut with a painful click. This was it: the price of obedience, the consequences of his choices. He was no longer someone to be listened to, and he only had himself to blame.

Not for being unconvincing, for not leaving back in the Shadowlands when Nero had started to hang entire families. Throwing his hands up, he turned away.

“Do not turn your back on me,”

The wave grabbed his shoulders, but Crest pulled away. It took every bit of his considerable willpower to even oppose it, but in the end, he could not. He had already bowed. Now, the power wouldn’t let him go, so he did the next best thing.

He turned half way and let his obedience serve as a platform for one last act of defiance.

“Your hubris is going to kill us all,” he spat.

“It is necessary. Param will belong to mankind. All three continents will, eventually.”

There was much Crest could reply to this. It would be a waste of his time. Oleander no longer took any counsel, from anyone. He had spent too much time rushing ahead of the consequences of his decisions, and now, he believed himself to be immune.

The man who used to be the mastermind of their adventures had disappeared, replaced by absolute conviction.

Crest left the tent. The worst thing was, he would go with his lord to a stupid and unnecessary confrontation because what else was he going to do? Switch sides? After all the horrors they’d committed together? It would be a betrayal of all the efforts he’d made until now. No. He was going to be a coward and commit.

His gaze went right towards Enoria’s central massif. Only a fraction of the army stayed on the slope while the rest traveled west, always west, pillaging granaries as they went. It was barely enough to sustain their numbers, with most of the grain taken away and hidden before they came. Crest ought to be at the fore, opening portals to make them progress faster instead of here on a vainglorious errand. But here it was, in the distance, the scorched ruins of Aristan. A place of memories and revenge.

“We shouldn’t have come here,” he whispered.

Deep inside, he suspected that this was a destiny thing. Divine magic and the like. So far, the witch had been ahead of them every step of the way, turning the populace against them as Maranor’s Kingdom had turned from liberators into locusts. Oleander had lost all the credibility and benefits he might have had from allies in a matter of weeks. He desperately needed a win. This… was not it. They could have rebuilt a city, or slain a perilous monster instead. But no.

They were going to tempt fate instead.

Crest shuddered. He’d seen Oleander kill a dragon before, and that was before he pathed up, but surely… and the consequences…

His confidence cracked.

**

Nero was in control. He had been praised for his sangfroid back home where sky ships and pneumatic guns ruled war. Warbands had followed him even in the days of old Enoria, before the civil war even started, because nothing could make him lose his calm. He was no different now.

“Milady, I ask for your light.”

The tent around him faded, the familiar object dissolving like shadows. He was standing in a room of impossible proportion, facing a noble throne upon which sat a tall figure. She was striking with raven hair and a robe that started white, then darkened and bloodied near the hem. Shadows of dying warriors could be seen, perishing in the skirmishes that played at the periphery of his great push.

“My champion. Speak.”

“I require advice for the fight ahead.”

The goddess’ expression didn’t change, yet somehow, it still radiated disapproval.

“You should have asked before committing. Your decision is correct, but terribly mistimed. Your quarry is not to be taken lightly.”

“Should he perish, the other dragons will fear me.”

“Yes,” the figure said, leaning forward. “And they might have fled the continent, but you have left a flame of revolt to burn in our splintered mankind. A few will rally around her rather than observe. It was a foolish decision.”

She sat back, still radiating annoyance.

“Your overconfidence will cost you.”

“I must be victorious. I must prove myself to her, and to the world.”

“And you will be. Your success is fated, but you might pay a heavy price for it.”

She shrugged.

“It will depend upon your ability. Remind yourself that if you are only faced with bad options, the fault for the situation often lies in your own past. I dare hope you will prove more… insightful in the future.”

“I will. Success might have made me complacent but I will expiate with my soul if I have to. May I have your blessing in this endeavor?”

“You always do, my champion.”

Nero hesitated, then asked what he always wanted to know.

“Why have you not cursed her for opposing me?” he finally asked.

“Because she is following the rules of the great game, Nero, and because, like it or not, she too is a face of civilization. Now go, and be victorious, one way or another.”

“Thank you, milady.”

“One last thing.”

Nero didn’t dare meet the goddess’ eyes, now that a warning had seeped in her words.

“Do not waste any more time for it is not on our side. You are cornered. Win now, or it will forever slip through your fingers.”

“We will go to her immediately afterward.”

“See that you do. This victory will not offset weeks of plunder and starvation.”

**

Outside of Aristan, nature had reclaimed the land once dominated by mankind. Roots had broken the cobblestone, and branches emerged from the collapsed roofs like limbs reaching for the sunlight. It was still dreadfully cold on the slope of the mountain. The breaths of the vanguard came out in small puffs as they waited in their assigned positions just above the city in that fateful spot where the devastation had begun. They were the best of the best, the only ones capable of even affecting the battle to come — if battle there would be. To be honest, Celerin Crest had no idea if their would-be foe would deign to take the field. It was probably a question of pride.

In front and above, Oleander walked up at a sedate pace. The small cavern where the eggs used to be lay abandoned, barely visible between brambles on a background of glassy stone, black and pitted by ancient fire. It was a hellish landscape that reminded Crest of the flanks of Old Red Light, the volcano that turned the Shaded Lands into the Shadowlands. The region was still scarred and blighted after all these years. It certainly brought back memories. Oleander was older now, comparatively more powerful. In a way, Crest understood. His old friend had never let go of his regrets. His guilt. So they had returned. Oleander cut an impressive figure, Celerin had to admit, with his white armor stained with bloody figures at the bottom, but it was the crimson wings fully deployed from his shoulder blades that made him other, more than human. A messenger from another world carrying fate on his back. Celerin could only pray that it would be enough.

“You know we’re here. Come on out,” Oleander said.

Crest looked at the cavern although he knew, absolutely knew that there was no way the dragon would fit into something that could barely accommodate three men abreast. That might be why his breath caught in his throat when the landscape moved. What he had assumed to be a craggy cliff moved, sliding out of the mountain in a delicate landslide. Yellow eyes as large as plates opened. The dragon was massive, but he was so large and since the light seemed to blur around his edge, it was difficult to exactly say when the dragon stopped, and the mountain started.

The thoughts aimed at Nero made him wince. Some of the vanguard fell to their knees, hands on their ears as if it would make a difference.

I was out all along, Champion of maranor.

I sincerely hope you will prove a better conversationalist.

“There is nothing to discuss, Desolation of Aristan.”

I go by… Judgment.

The weight of the dragon’s attention fell on Crest’s shoulder. The beast was ancient, and immensely powerful. Oleander looked like a child in comparison.

“I have come back after all these years to make you pay for this… this slaughter!”

It had been so long since Nero had shown any emotion. Anger was not a surprise.

Oh?

Are you going to stand and flight properly, this time, o chosen one?

“You are trying to provoke me, dragon, but it will not work. You have slain countless humans and now you will pay the price. You said your name was Judgment? Today, I am the judge.”

Ironic, coming from an egg thief.

The thoughts sharpened to a painful edge with those last two words.

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A supposed judge and guardian of order and your first action is to take revenge upon the one who punished your vile theft.

Fitting, for a servant of Maranor. Hypocrisy has never stopped any of you.

“There is no crime against an enemy of mankind!”

The dragon smiled like it knew how it would reveal swords-length fangs.

Then why did you scurry like a scared rat, thief, if you did not take the measure of your terrible transgression?

“Enough! I am beyond doubts!”

The dragon almost looked… sad.

So you are. Well then. Shall we begin?

Nero struck with his sword, a powerful artefact in its own right. His intent carried through the blade in a visible wave that could cut through armor like butter. Even from here, Crest could feel the pressure. The dragon swiped it with a hand the size of a cart. It dissipated. And then all hell broke loose.

Dozens of spells, arrows, and stones crossed the air at great speed, aiming slightly up but the dragon didn’t fly as expected. Instead, he punched forward, a blow blocked by Nero but he was still sent flying. Others of the vanguard engaged. Jar’ko was the first to die again, cleaved in two. The dragon rampaged on the ground while the many projectiles pinged against scales as hard as diamond.

“Nets!”

Crest watched Eran the Mousey die. He managed to teleport Sarya of the Six out of the way before she could be crushed. The dragon leapt forward, the net traps mostly missing him. For such a large creature he was so impossibly fast, a whirlwind of death and claws, strangely silent.

Nero was back into the fight. A shot by Aragan of the One Breath aimed for the eye and Crest was certain it ought to have hit, but light blurred and the javelin-sized arrow bounced on a horn as thick as a trunk. A shield blocked some of the nastier spells. Crest was done casting. He opened a portal over the dragon. Magma from a nearby volcano fell in a shower of incandescent stone. The dragon shook his massive frame, rolling to get rid of them while a tail swipe struck Nero true, smashing him into the mountain’s flank. He grabbed Jar’ko and spoke for the first time.

Have I not killed you? Ah, such an unfortunate path you’ve picked.

He pressed the man’s skull, but not enough to kill him. Crest swore. Someone would need to finish Jar’ko off so he could regenerate. Nero and the others pushed the dragon, or they tried to. Sila Blade and the Hammer of Old Ash died.

“Now!”

Only Nero stayed while the others ran. The Immortal unleashed a flurry of monstrous strikes, each one carving the ground and taking the dragon’s full attention. The monstrous entity blocked and parried every shattering blow with a skill and grace that made Crest realize that the dragon wasn’t relying on his strength. He was beating Nero on technique. But the others were ready. The earth trap they’d spent days preparing unleashed all at once.

A cataclysmic volley of stones filled the valley, enough to darken everything, enough to blunt even the body of an old dragon, but Judgment moved into the last flurry, grabbed Nero, and swung him into the incoming devastation, then Crest saw colorless mana gather in a monstrous ball around the dragon’s head. He pulled his wing back, jumped, and roared at the same time.