Chapter 234: Hellbringers

Mages peered up, distracted from their spells. Soldiers stole upward glances when they were not fighting. Archers and crossbow wielders sometimes felt the weight of mana on their shoulders. Knights rode aware of the death that could fall on them at any moment while commanders wondered if an errant attack would destroy the sons and daughters of their cities in single instants. Above the Plain of the Gods, demigods fought for supremacy. Oleander struck in seamless hurricanes of blade strikes, each one capable of cracking a mountain, each one either parried or blocked by an impenetrable shield of black mana. Meanwhile, the dragon/elemental pair threw back spells to shatter cities.

 

[Combined repertoire: meltdown]

 

A curtain of black and red mana scorched the very air, forcing Nero back. Though he tried to cut the spell, the fragments reassembled to cocoon him in a death embrace, forcing another set of strikes and a quick escape.

 

[Combined repertoire: salvo]

 

A torrent of black mana spheres, tainted rocks, and dark fire spears expanded in a cone that spared nothing. It was dense enough that an insect could not have escaped. Nero parried what he could, the rest landing on his armor but a zip to the side and counter forced the two Harrakans to dodge. The battle resumed.

 

“Desist!” Oleander screamed.

 

A mocking series of images replied to his senseless demand. A black dragon, fast and deadly. Wise. A paragon of flawless technique and control. A human with feathery wings like a farm creature, waving a stick around. The more experienced among them felt a voice in their head.

 

How in the name of all of Nyil did you dare attack Judgment with this pathetic swordwork?

 

How did you even presume you had a chance without that magical cheat stick?

 

Charlatan!

 

They moved at impossible speed over the battlefield, sometimes high, sometimes low, evenly matched, and everyone on the ground prayed that they would stay away, for they knew that proximity meant death.

 

***

 

Viv was not panicking but it was a close thing. Her mind was so focused on staying alive she didn’t even have the time to swear in French. Oleander was fucking monstrous. Even as a sixth step sword master he was out there. Endless stamina. Absurd speed. Every strike threatened to obliterate her. It just never stopped. Only her training, powers, fate-driven instincts and the persistent help from ‘Always a Chance’ and ‘Vive la Revolution’ kept her ahead of the onslaught. Truly Oleander was the “hidden boss of the DLC” as her friend Gevaudan would say. She had to use her true aspects even though it made her vulnerable because at this stage, having an immaterial body wouldn’t make a lick of difference. If he hit her, she was dead.

 

[True aspect of the Guardian]

 

[High Sequence: Triple Aegis]

 

Viv blocked another flurry of strikes, Arthur weaving between another two. He moved closer. She was ready.

 

[Meteor]

 

Her shield exploded in Nero’s face like a grenade. Fragments ruptured his skin, drawing blood. He cried, dashed back and carved the world with wild slashes. Arthur dodged another four in quick succession.

 

Lousy flier!

 

You know what flies better than you?

 

Fish!

 

Fish with wings!

 

I saw them; they exist!

 

Fish with wings fly better than you!

 

Nero roared. He used a skill. Spears of red energy surged towards them. She felt something guide them

 

[Remonstrance]

 

“Oh shit.”

 

Viv instinctively felt Arthur’s intent when the dragon flew directly at the attack that would surely mince them. She opened a portal in front of them and behind the attack, bypassing it completely but she felt her spell crack behind her. Nero’s attack had demolished it.

 

Arthur breathed fire at the surprised Nero, though he recovered very quickly. Arthur swiped him with a powerful wind blade that knocked him down. Viv was in range.

 

[Guillotine]

 

A cage of concentrated annihilation closed on him. He failed to break the blade at his back.

 

Then Viv was through, and Arthur came around with a sharp turn. Nero hadn’t reacted. He floated above the field, face lost, fingers rubbing his back.

 

They came back red.

 

“I… bleed. I bleed?”

 

Had he lost it? A powerful cross of linked blasts forced Arthur to veer away.

 

“I bleed!”

 

His eyes turned to her. They were mad with rage but that was not what stopped her.

 

For the very first time, it felt like he truly registered her existence. He was really looking at her.

 

“You will regret this! [Shadow Dance!]”

 

[True Aspect of the Guardian.]

 

Arthur moved through the world with aerial grace, dodging strikes by a hair. Viv was focused on their backs to block what couldn’t be avoided. The shadow dance was strange, rich with fire mana that left a burning taste in her mouth. It was as if limbs grabbed at her between two sword slices. Nero was close. They weren’t going to make it. In a fit of inspiration, Viv switched to the offense.

 

[True Aspect of the Destroyer]

 

[High sequence: Hyperbeams]

 

Ray of pure black, too fast to miss at this range, hit Nero in the eyes. Only his abnormal reflexes allowed him to parry the blow.

 

[High Sequence: Astra Swarm]

 

He disappeared behind a deluge of exploding bubbles. Unfortunately the next attack broke through them.

 

“That thing can swallow a company,” Viv complained.

 

But he was after them again. Viv alternated between attack and defense, attack and defense. Switching aspects was tiring her mind, but fate guided her. She couldn’t let them be hit even once. Nero’s dueling wasn’t that much better compared to Solar. It was just more damaging and very, very persistent. She needed to do more. It wasn’t going to end like this, just as that asshole woke up with his bullshit god-given powers and despite his cracked soul. Pressure grew into pain behind her ears, more than she’d faced in a long time.

 

Mother?

 

She had to be able to face him. Fate needled her on. They would not back out.

 

“Keep going.”

 

You are in pain.

 

“Everyone is watching us, She-Who-Feasts-and-Collects. We can’t let them down.”

 

You are right, mother.

 

We can be tricky.

 

But dragons never run.

 

Except my brother!

 

Viv ignored that last part. The two of them turned for another faceoff. They went straight at him, surprising the champion. The pain hit something and then, fate coalesced in her chest.

 

This was it.

 

 

Black mana ballooned in and around Viv. She looked at Nero. Her confidence surged as the power around her rose to a crescendo.

 

***

 

Nero had difficulty processing how the bitch wasn’t dead yet. He was pouring everything he could into killing her but she was such a stupidly hard nut to crack. Worse, he was bleeding. And he wasn’t healing. Not as fast as he should. There was something terribly wrong with her spells, the way they made his danger sense scream. Danger sense was a skill he hadn’t had a use for since the Shadowlands. Now it wouldn’t stop. He dodged another hell of sharpened stone loaded with black mana. Something was happening. He could feel it in his blood.

 

The witch was changing. Her armor was expanding, merging into a wide form. The anchors on her back lengthened, thickened. Scaly skin covered them until they formed wings that reminded Nero of Judgment, black as night. The wind caught them with a clack. They mirrored the dragon’s much larger wingspan.

 

The witch blocked his next assault with far greater ease, and she managed to counter at the same time. Now a continuous barrage of spells smashed into his form, adding minor injuries to his skin through the ravaged armor. He was on the backfoot. His inspection skills nudged him.

 

Nero frowned. Surely, not to him? They couldn’t kill him, right?

 

Something cracked in the mask of bored, absolute certainty that had led his actions since he had begun his conquest.

 

He couldn’t possibly die, right?

 

***

 

Finally.

 

“Maybe the moment is poorly chosen?”

 

Oh but humans can’t grow wings.

 

Oh but that’s not how my skills work.

 

Oh but you have to wait, daughter.

 

So many excuses!

 

I always told you. What did I say?

 

“We’re fighting for our lives here!” Viv screamed, blocking yet another blade while Arthur dove under two others.

 

I said if you eat enough meat and believe in yourself, your wings will grow, and what happened? Hmmm?

 

“Daughter!”

 

I was right!

 

I am always right!

 

I said you needed proper wings and for ten years you ignored me and now you have finally grown proper wings just as I said you should and would!

 

“You’re going to be so insufferable…” Viv moaned.

 

I am always riiiiiight!

This story originates from a different website. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there.

 

In her heart, Viv couldn’t really be mad. Arthur was right. Dragon wings were fucking badass. Even if they were just the canards to Arthur’s much larger wings for now. She didn’t know shit about aerodynamics but surely, it would help?

 

In front of them, Oleander caught a boulder in the face.

 

“I have had enough of this!” he erupted.

 

Obviously fed up, Oleander dove towards the Harrakan lines. Viv and Arthur dove after him but not too fast. Only one thought burnt through Viv’s brain.

 

She needed to trust her allies. She also needed a break to replenish her reserves. ‘A light that never dims’ was working overtime to heat up her core. More mana than she’d ever wielded thundered through her conduits. And still, it wasn’t enough to match Oleander. She needed the pause.

 

Her friends were elites in their own right. They deserved her faith.

 

Oleander veered down towards the Enorian army of all people, which was fine. Sidjin could handle any location on the battlefield. The champion of Maranor threw a slash at the shield protecting King Sangor and his son. His attack was stopped but he broke through the magical membrane to land in front of them. The shock of his arrival threw dust and grass in the air, and the bodyguards in disarray. They couldn’t stand against his aura.

 

When the dust settled, both men stood facing him with their blades in their hands.

 

“You traitors are nobodies. You will die nobodies,” Nero spat.

 

He threw a contemptuous slice. To his surprise, a growing briar blocked most of his attack, and what remained was stopped by both men working together on a decent parry. He didn’t have the time to strike again. Danger screamed for him to move. He did. An instant later, a titanic claw swiped the air where he had stood. He struck back and was blocked by a sword as tall as most spears. He was now standing in front of a titan of steel and silverite, mask carefully engraved to show vague contempt.

 

The golem pulled back and took a defensive guard. Oleander’s mind worked hard. He was stronger, but the witch was coming. Did he have the time? Should he try to kill one, then flee? The golem barely managed to block his next thrust, but the follow up was blocked by yet another sword emerging from a portal.

 

The witch or one of her servants was teleporting elites around the battlefield to slow him down. Redoubling his efforts, he realized he could simply not break through the new man’s defenses. Only after a few quick exchanges did he realize that his own strikes were stopped by an artifact.

 

“You… the sword…”

 

“Lots of raw power in this body of yours,” the man replied conversationally. “Not a lot of spirit. Barebone technique. You’ve been relying on brute force for too long, right? Let me show you real fencing, boy.”

 

The man disappeared, accelerating beyond anything Nero would have thought possible. Only his skill and centuries of battle experience allowed him to turn and block — and even that failed. The blade caught him in the ribs, near the heart. His armor did almost nothing to stop it. Pain carved a narrow line along his rib, and then he was pushed off and rolling on the ground.

 

Nero stood back up immediately but the mysterious man was still standing where he was. He then jumped back to avoid a black meteor, then flew away, hand reaching for his flank. He was wounded. It wasn’t closing very fast. Cracked ribs too, perhaps.

 

But still, he was alive.

 

“I am The Immortal. You cannot possibly kill me,” he growled.

 

His intimidation lashed out, only to hit a wall of absolute certainty that shielded even those behind. The man returned to the default stance for the old Baranese dueling style as if he wasn’t facing a demigod. Nero was sure of it: this man was impossibly good.

 

“I may not be able to kill you, boy, but I will watch you die with great pleasure.”

 

Nero wished he could hone his skill against this foe. Unfortunately, he had other concerns. There were no more spells coming from his side, which meant something was wrong with his mages, and he needed to find out what. As he landed among his confused troops, Crest appeared. He looked freshly healed but his robes still bore the marks of combat.

 

“Report,” Nero ordered.

 

“Our mages have fallen to some illness. They have terrible rashes, and they cough like their lungs are on fire. There is blood. The healers are doing their best, but as a result, our losses…”

 

A shadow fell over Oleander. It was the most uncomfortable sensation he’d experienced in recent memories. Even Judgment’s strikes had not stung so painfully.

 

It was doubt.

 

“Pull back for now. Night will fall soon. We will resume our attack tomorrow.”

 

“As you will.”

 

***

 

With all the grace of a king among blade masters, Eron sheathed his sword. The artifact hummed contentedly after drinking the blood of an Ascended. He let out an anxious breath.

 

“Neriad’s bollocks, that blow would have skewered a gods-cursed dragon.”

 

//Durability assessment: impossible.

 

He and Junior watched the human-fowl hybrid fly away on twilight wings.

 

“We can slow it down, but how do we even defeat that?”

 

//She will find a way.

 

//There is always one.

 

//Even if it means grinding him bit by bit.

 

Horns blew. In front of them, the Maranorians retreated, leaving many dead behind. The sun was setting on the first day of battle.

 

Param still stood.

 

***

 

It was night. Lak-Tak surveyed the battlefield in front of him with immense satisfaction. Where fallow fields waited before, now it was a pit of craters and corpses striated by the damage of potent spells and skills, a truly apocalyptic scar on the face of Nyil, a show of what destructive power left behind. And he was a major contributor. And it was just the beginning.

 

He ignored the squads of Sisters of Enttiku collecting the bodies, as well as the roving bands of hadals on their way to a good night out. They knew not to approach the central area of his main target.

 

The Maranorian army was camping five leagues away, covering the land like lice. He felt personally insulted that they would think themselves safe at such a short distance.

 

“What are we waiting for?” his second in command clicked.