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Charles feels awful: he is looking at his reflection in water and he has never looked that filthy and badly disheveled, like a five year old after playing in mud. His hair is tacky and refuses to cooperate, not properly brushed and fixed how he likes it. His clothes are not faring much better. Also, he is fairly hungry.
Erik, it seems, doesn't concern himself with such trivial matters. He just briefly splashes his face and drinks some water, looks up at Charles from under his eyebrows and his perpetual frown deepens.
"Erik, would you like to have a bath?"
"A bath?" he echoes wryly and murmurs something incomprehensible, which Charles interprets as a sign of grudging affirmation.
"Wonderful!" cheers up Charles and calls forth fire element.
He catches the glimpse of alarm as Erik freezes in mid crouch. Charles is actually too exhausted to bemoan the sheer lack of faith in his abilities.
He lets fire swirl above and around his extended palm and in doing so allows himself a smug smile.
More for Erik's sake, of course.
After he lowers his hand down, water quickly turns pleasantly hot, and clouds of steam rising from the little creek effectively conceal Erik from his eyes. It's probably for the best, that Erik can't see him, as Charles hastens to take off his clothes in record time. Not really self-conscious before, he suddenly discovers that he has trouble breathing evenly and not because of steam. The make-shift steaming lagoon is large enough that it shouldn't be awkwardly cramped, he assumes.
"You're full of surprises, aren't you?" comes from Erik's general direction. Charles beams privately — this sense of victory, though odd, fills him with joy.
Sun is slowly sloping down when they finally emerge from the forest. Charles is barely dragging his feet after their impromptu rendezvous. Unlike him, Erik shows no discernible signs of fatigue, or, maybe, he's that good at concealing it. Probably the latter, decides Charles.
His tired gaze used to be focused solely on the ground: non-tripping precaution is a priority. Yet, he snaps his head up as soon as Erik stops.
Oh dear, at last.
Ahead, there is a small village in the valley. Charles can scarcely discern merry bunch of red and blue roofs and immediately thinks of dinner and bed.
"Charles," Erik tells him as they are approaching the gates, "let's make a deal."
"If you're still worried about your sword and your money, don't be," Charles meets the other's eyes. "I swear, I'll make amends — "
"All right, that's it. You can make amends by leaving me alone," cuts in Erik.
But Erik evidently needs his help. He is just either too prideful or too stubborn to admit it. Yet.
"That's not an option, I'm afraid," shrugs Charles, dismissing Erik's stormy, darkening expression. As eager as he is to engage into debate with his new friend, something else is piquing his interest at the moment.
"…And I repeat one more time that my mission is dangerous. You're not listening to me, are you?"
"I'm sorry, my friend. I'm sure your story is quite compelling," Charles snaps back to harsh reality with regret, eyeing the welcoming tavern sign featuring the animal that may or may not be a two-headed rooster with the lower body of a rabbit. Currently, his brain functions are overruled by his hunger.
"Charles, wait," Erik grabs his elbow, stalling him. "That's odd. Where's everybody? There aren't any guards at the gates and, look here, what is that noise?"
"Oh. Now that you've mentioned it…"
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There are bodies around a fancy purring fountain and all over the central square. A lot of them. Erik steps to the side to avoid tripping over a random limb and slowly turns his head around. So, here are the inhabitants of this valley. The entire village.
"It's not like they are just asleep. Looks like their spirits are elsewhere," Charles' hand is hovering over the body of a middle-aged woman.
There is no evident waver in his voice. Erik is somewhat relieved.
"That noise you've mentioned earlier," Charles is done with the woman. He straightens up and gazes right at the fountain, instead. "Please, describe it."
"It was a song, I think. One of these songs they play during ceremonials," or was it, Erik is not sure any more, there is a heavy cloud residing inside his head.
The echo of melody long forgone is swinging back and forth.
Blasted pendulum.
Then, blistering pain comes and his sight clears.
They are down on the pavement and his hands are doing a damn good job of strangling Charles. Erik's thumbs are crushing his windpipe, expertly trained on fragile bones as extensively practiced.
Charles' grip on his burning wrist slackens as a shock shoots through Erik's body.
"Charles," Erik finds himself saying.
He finally relaxes his hands and lets go of Charles' neck. Reels backwards.
The pounding in his head is now overwhelming, even comparing to his burned wrist.
"Erik, listen," Charles is straining to whisper something.
But the noise is there again. It brings Erik down to his knees: he can swear that the intangible pain he is feeling is tenfold worse than all his previous injuries combined. Tearing apart something from within.
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Charles has spared a single glance in Erik's direction. Poor man is clutching at his head. Charles is so sorry for burning his hand, very sorry, but that was the only thing he could have thought of doing when he was attacked.
This incantation is far from simple. And he decided to use it in his drained state only because the signs were overall too terrifying. Is there really something from beyond? Somewhere here. Obviously watching.
Air over the fountain shimmered and a cryptic hooded shape revealed itself. Hovering just above water level.
"What is that?"
"You all right? Are you sure you should be talking?" tactfully inquired Charles, his own raspy voice startling even for himself.
Erik's sharp look spelled death.
"This is a guest from beyond, I reckon," diplomatically explained Charles. Sadly, his sore throat was not hurting any less. "I assume this will make it."
Nice and neat spell to turn his target into ice figurine without harming anyone else as he formed a shield around Erik and himself simultaneously.
Blue energy blast zipped towards the demon and Charles quickly prepared the deadlier spell, just in case, pulling at his remaining energy. It was then that he felt a powerful tug, and before he could protest Erik tackled him to the ground. Something also slid past his shoulder, fast as light.
Charles got ready to scream when it occurred to him that his shield was still in one piece.
Words got stuck in his throat.
"Run!" Charles blurts then, part command and part fearful exclamation.
Erik asks something, but there's no time for a chat and they duck into the narrow passage between the buildings.
Later, while sitting on the heap of hay in the stable, being watched by local ponies, — and aren't those wet, soulful eyes just heart-wrenching, — Charles finds out that the gash on his shoulder is still bleeding sluggishly.
"Why don't you use your healing magic?"
Oh, yes, how impolite of him to forget about Erik.
"I'd rather not risk using any more magic this instant," he peers at his shoulder and winces. Bless Erik and his good instincts. Could have been worse.
"Can't believe that it, just, went through. Bloody hell…"
Erik makes a small, impatient noise. He searched the stable for weaponry and now was the lucky owner of one rusty pitchfork. Charles considers filing the picture newly equipped Erik makes for further perusal.
"What? We can't run far, I suppose. It's better than nothing," Erik pauses.
He carefully scrutinizes Charles upon coming closer.
"I see. It's worse than that."
"Apparently, yes," frantically whispers Charles, "no tangible or intangible power of this realm can hurt the creature. You saw how its' spire went right through my shield," the stinging in his arm reminded him of that once again, "normally, if magician is overpowered, spell shatters or vanishes altogether."
"So, what's the plan?"
"Erik," slowly says Charles, only slightly hysterical, "were you listening to me?"
"Unlike you I was. I always do."
Charles rubs his forehead bashfully and stares down at his lap. At least ponies are giving him stares which, under the circumstances, might be considered sympathetic enough.
"Yes. Right. I'd like to find out who sent it and why. A summon of this caliber requires plenty of preparation and knowledge. I wonder… no, no matter how I look at it, there's nothing we can do."
"Hold on. Why can't it control you then?"
"No one is getting in here without my permit."
Charles taps two fingers against his temple.
"That's why it attacked you using me."
Erik looks Charles up and down speculatively. Nothing to be afraid of — his eyes are saying.
Spectacular.
Charles slowly gets up, helping himself with his good hand. Enough. He will show Erik what he is capable of.
Right here and right now.
"Lend me this pitchfork, will you," he quickly grabs it from Erik's hold, taps into his own life force.
Runes start running along the handle as he focuses on dead words leaving his mouth. Usually, Charles despises working with weapons, but one — this is only a single pitchfork, what harm it may do, and reason number two — Erik's made him a tiny bit angry.
"Here you are," Charles primly thrusts the now-golden-glowing pitchfork into Erik's hands. "Distract that demon with this. Give me a minute to think of something. Now, off you go."
The above mentioned creature chooses this exact moment to seep and shimmer through the ceiling, taking a shape of the cryptic hooded figure again. Charles wastes no time and dives behind the stall, where ponies are huddled together. They give him a collective wet, solemn look and Charles feels how unapologetically huge has his burden become.
"I'll do my best," he sighs and hunches up in the corner and blinks at the palms of his hands. Last time he did that, his hands ached for weeks afterwards. Not to mention the force of backlash.
If loud noises of on-going battle are any indication, Erik must be doing rather well.
Charles forms a scoop with his palms and starts a summoning. To him, world fades away and he plunges in the swirling ocean of dark as he begs ancient god to grant him power. In moments like this he acutely perceives his mortal fragility. But he goes on and on and finally he registers something in his palms. It spins and extends and thrashes like a heart, torn apart. Without further ado, Charles pushes it into his chest.
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Not only Erik is extremely relived that no one is here to see him wielding the frigging pitchfork out of all things, but he is also glad that Charles has taken cover. Seeing that Charles' last attempt at help went oh so well, hm, and etcetera, etcetera, etcetera.
Erik took to the pitchfork like he would to a javelin.
The monster is in some kind of a hurry, per his careful observation. It emits a screech so shrill, that Erik has to grind his teeth and hope that his ears are not bleeding. Apparently, it had given up on controlling Erik.
He dodges multiple spires and rolls to the side. He misses two spires though and, instinctively, sweeps through projectiles with the only weapon handy. Spires fall to the ground and evaporate with a startling whoosh.
Erik and the monster get suspended in a stalemate.
"Now, now," Erik grins and fixes his grip on the pitchfork handle.
Another spire shower doesn't make him wait. But he moves faster, surer in himself and his weapon. Though, when he nicks the monster with the pitchfork, it does absolutely no damage. Just goes through ghostly body and that's it.
"Damn," he manages and a missed spire pierces his thigh.
"Erik! Down!"
Please, let it not be another lightning — flashes a random prayer.
In fact, it does look like a lightning, if only a bit. Charles can fly too, it seems. He intercepts the vanishing monster in the air and a flourish of dark and silver hits the cryptic hooded figure. At that point, it is Erik's turn to gape in astonishment for that dark and silver shape uncoils in Charles' hands and immediately pierces both ground and the ceiling, leaving identical gaping holes. Then, disappears in a heartbeat.
Erik catches falling Charles because that's what he does lately. Well, he tries. So Charles still falls, but on top of him, and knees his fresh wound because that's what he also does as of late.
"You weigh like a giant stone pile," grunts Erik under his breath as two of them attempt to stand up.
"I firmly deny," rasps Charles, "but, thank you, nonetheless."
"We will be even, if you'd just go back," retorts Erik warily.
Charles, while dangerously swaying on his feet, shakes his head weakly.
"I promised myself, that I'll persuade you to give up your nefarious plot, and I'm persuading you. And I'm not above getting rid of some demons meanwhile."
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