Chapter 6: Down in Flames
Rohan: Ruined Snowbourn
Persephone Killgore was having a very bad day, again. Something that seemed to becoming a rather disturbing trend. For the second time she had to chase down Eomer, only this time she had no way of prying information out of the locals. None of them would know where that country bumpkin was headed, and none of the court had returned so she could only assume that they had all died trying to chase their king down. She had taken that frustration out on the "town," which unfortunately left a rather putrid burning scent on the air that she couldn't quite completely ignore.
She scowled and pounded a fist down on the large map draped across the table in front of her. "Damn it, where is he going?"
It was partly a rhetorical question. She had studied Rohan enough to know that there were two places Eomer would go if he were really serious about resisting her hostile takeover. The problem was that those potential locations, Helm's Deep and Dunharrow, were very, very far from each other. She could easily waste a whole week going to one only to find that Eomer had gone elsewhere. The fortress had suffered heavy damage during the recent war, but it was likely still serviceable enough to be defensible, at least from a normal man's perspective. Dunharrow, it was a hill with a steep path. Primitive, but it could work. She knew enough about how wars were fought to recognize the advantage such a position offered. Her father had been good about passing that information along unintentionally as she was growing up during his long campaigns in that world apart from the Netherworld. But as to the binary choice laid out before her, she had a sinking feeling in her guts that she was doomed to pick the wrong one.
She started muttering to herself. "Dunharrow or the fortress… Helm's Deep or the hill…"
A familial voice burst from just behind her ear. "BOO."
Completely against her will she shrieked and dove forward over the table, unceremoniously sprawling head over heels as she tried to turn to face the intruder. Although in the back of her mind she knew who it was, and she was already furious at this smack to her dignity.
Sure enough, Acheron, her brother, was standing just a pace back from where she had been standing, laughing like a demon. "Oh, oh hell, I've got you good some times before now but THAT, that was comic gold, or at least silver." Slowly, her "older" brother calmed down and gave her a wicked smile. "What's wrong sis, running into some more unforeseen problems? Karma biting you in the ass?"
She stood slowly, dusting herself off, even more pissed off. "For your information I am doing just fine. I suggest you go back to Gondor and mind your own business until you actually seize control of the whole province."
Acheron didn't say anything. Instead he just smiled at her. It was an Evil smile, but, "Evil" wasn't quite strong enough of a word to describe it. She had no idea her brother was capable of making an expression so utterly frightening, and as the gash across the young Overlord's face lingered a horrible, nightmarish thought occurred to her.
She spoke her thought aloud. "No, that's not possible. You can't be done already!"
Her brother, from out of nowhere, produced a glittering silver, winged crown, and dangled it off the end of his finger like it was a piece of trash. "You were right to try and punk me with your little game. Nice thing about my Devil Fruit is that it makes it really, really easy to move over long distances. It took me a day to cross the bulk of Middle Earth, towing an army along with me, and I blitz-raped both the border guard and Minas Tirith in less than an hour each." The self-titled pirate chuckled momentarily before striking a melodramatic pose. "Fear my gratuitous badass-ery, for it is lethal!"
She scowled, crossing her arms while parking her behind in one of the few un-upended chairs. "No need to rub it in. You finished first, big deal."
Acheron abandoned the pose, grinning even more. "Well, look who's the little hypocrite. It's perfectly fine for you to drag me and dad across the whole continent to rub our faces in your botched victory, but if I do it it's a jerkass move?" Her brother's grin morphed into a devilish smile. "And me getting first place 'isn't a big deal?' So, you really think you're going to outrun our father, the god, in the sprint to the finish line? Because that's the only way you can void this little side-bet of ours."
In spite of herself she did feel a flush building in her cheeks at the prospect of losing the game she had devised and stacked in her favor. Not to mention how humiliating it would be to streak across the overworld naked. Although maybe if she lost she could entreat her brother to at least let her keep her lingerie on… No, thinking like that was a step towards accepting defeat. All she needed was one lucky break, just one, and that was bound to be headed her way considering all the crap she had been putting up with up until now, right?
She stood and put on a brave face, strutting over to the map and leaning against the table. "Then consider it voided. Because my intuition tells me that Eomer has gone to ground… here!" She jabbed her finger down on the dot that represented Helm's Deep. "I'm going here, I'm going to smoke that mongrel out like the animal he is, and I am going to punish him severely for making me look like an idiot."
Acheron shot back. "Oh that's entirely you're fault. Can't blame some scrappy rebel for your image."
She whirled on her brother, feeling the urge to slap him but restraining herself because she knew it would do nothing. "Shut up! Now if you are just going to stand there and bad-mouth me I have work to do. So you can just haul your pirate ass back to Gondor where you can wait for all of this to be over." She waited for approximately five seconds before adding; "Seriously, go, now."
Acheron's face never flinched from an expression of great bemusement, and even as the young man backed away through a portal she could tell that he was silently laughing at her.
Moria: Depths of Khazad-Dum
Erasmus Killgore knew not where exactly he was going, for his knowledge of these tunnels was still only infantile, but he did know that whatever he was headed towards was something ancient, something Evil, something powerful. It set his blood afire just imagining what he could be facing. Some ancient, eldritch abomination perhaps? A great beast of terrible and genocidal power? A combination of the two?
His right fist closed in a vice-grip around Soul Edge's hilt. "Fate permit I finally meet a worthy foe."
He picked his way deeper, weaving his way between old rock-falls and jagged black rock walls, all the while drawing nearer to the red-orange glow. From time to time that gleam would vanish, either obscured by a dip in the floor he was traversing or by some motion in the source of the light, but it always returned. It struck him eventually, that he was currently inverting a horrifically cliché story trope; the "climb to heaven/rise from the depths" piece that heroes often tread. He was explicitly, and knowingly, going down into the earth. In story terms, he was chasing the light of Hell. Which he found rather amusing.
Soul Edge whispered in his mind. "Hurry up. This delay only exacerbates my hunger."
He glared down at the blade before whispering. "If I cared about that, I would be running. Discretion is the greater part of a warrior's wisdom."
The bloodthirsty sword grumbled a bit, but went silent all the same. It was worth it to endure these occasional outbursts to carry a sword as peerless as Soul Edge. It cut arcanium while barely slowing down, and arcanium was the most potent metal he knew of. That assumption could be subverted when he started working with mithril, but he seriously doubted it.
He reached the end of the passage, lingering momentarily as his eyes attempted to identify the source of the malice. However, like the great hall above which he had initially entered, this chamber was massive and filled with equally large columns that obscured all real observation, although in a considerably worse state of wear. It was odd, he disliked diving in without knowing what he was facing, and yet at the same time it sent a thrill through his body. It was horribly irresponsible of him, considering that he now had a home and family to care for, but the possibility of a satisfying battle…
He leapt forward into the open, bracing himself to immediately either defend himself or throw himself out of the way. And yet nothing immediately sprang to punish his brashness. He did however, see a more intense gleam with which to hunt down his unseen quarry. Now though, the light was moving, casting great orange walls of luminance that filtered through the gaps in the great pillars. It could just be show, but he didn't think so.
He drew his gun and pointed it off into the dark, in the vague direction of the malefic light. "What manner of beast are you? Will you run if challenged, or will you fight?" He fired, the report of which reverberated through the grand chamber for an incredibly long time. "I'm right here, come and get me."
After a long moment, during which the orange light remained motionless, the glow promptly stopped moving away from him and instead began to approach him accompanied by the sound of some very heavy footfalls. And yet still, he could see nothing of substance that he could call an enemy. On a whim, he began walking perpendicular to the approaching light, crossing one, and then two of the rows of pillars. He was rewarded, and that term would be used very loosely, by a backhanded blow from something extremely large that smote him through one of the stone columns.
He shook his head as he rose from where he had been struck, chastising himself. "That's what I get for pursuing combat so eagerly."
As he regained his footing he looked towards where he assumed the blow to have come from. What stood there was a great beast the likes of which he had never seen. It was black, all black save the places where flames licked across its body to give it a hue more akin to dried blood. Its hide looked the texture of dried lava, and two large bat-like wings could be seen through the cloud on inky smoke that curled off of its body. Twin horns curled down around what he could call its face, framing a face that looked little more than the front half of a skull.
He smiled, planting Soul Edge in the floor next to him momentarily to allow him the scant second it took to crack his knuckles. "Well, you certainly look the part. Do you live up to it though?"
The beast roared and drew itself up, flames erupting from and wrapping around its body as if it were a funeral pyre. A long tail thrashed against the stone, shaking small pieces free from the ceiling far overhead. And a hot wind blew against his face.
He plucked his sword from the floor. "I shall take that as an acceptance of my challenge."
He charged forward, Soul Edge ready, and expected to dive under or around another bare-handed swipe from the beast. What he did not expect was for a wave of the creature's arm to conjure a gigantic sword of nothing but raw flame and strike at him with it. Reflexively, he raised his sword to block, and he was even more astonished by the fact that his physical blade made physical contact with something that, by all means he had available to him, was completely intangible. What's more, the monster was quite strong, enough so that his knees and arms definitely felt a twinge when the blow struck. Worse still, the sheer length of the fire sword gave the monster a tremendous reach advantage.
He snarled and shifted his weight, shunting the creature's weapon aside to strike the stone floor while he charged forward again. Inside the arc of the large weapon's swing he was instead countered by the beast's other hand striking straight down with a great punch. The blow missed him, but it did leave a small crater and shook the floor enough that it upset his footing. Regardless, he was not upset enough to prevent him from striking, though the results of said strike were far from encouraging. His blade connected solidly with the wrist of the arm the beast had used to try and punch him with, however instead of slicing the appendage clean off all he got was a pretty shower of sparks and a shallow, molten yellow trench where Soul Edge had connected. And he got backhanded again for his trouble, skipping off the ground like a rock off of a pond for several dozen meters before coming to a stop with a crash against one of the columns.
The creature pursued him, driving its flame blade forward in a grand thrust meant to skewer him to the pillar. He swatted the point aside with Soul Edge as he rose, deflecting the flame to gouge out a great trough in the floor as it passed. He ignored the logic issue and dove forward, driving the spiked shoulder of his armor into the monster's chest. This was slightly more successful, as not only did the creature roar in apparent pain but it also staggered back a good way. It did not fall, but it was unbalanced. The con to this move was that he felt as if he were a hairsbreadth away from bursting into flame from such close contact with the monster's hide. Also, though his armor's spines did puncture the beast's chest, he did not immediately fall away, and was swiftly pulled away in the free hand of the monster. It hurt, a lot. For although his armor did keep the creature from actually touching him the close proximity was enough to make it feel as though he were bathing in molten rock, making it his turn to express his pain. He managed to keep such expression to a hiss through clenched teeth.
He lashed down with Soul Edge, striking the beast's fingers and leaving another thin trench, but the release was the more important part. His feet hit the floor and he sprang back, distancing himself while he simultaneously drew his pistol and fired three rounds. The magic bullets connected, but were less than effective. They produced showers of sparks where they struck around and in the puncture wounds on the beast's chest, but accomplished little more than enraging the creature.
The beast of flame spread its great wings, flapping once and hurling itself forward through the air towards him. While he did backpedal out from under its clawed feet, he was not far enough away to escape the wash of flame that erupted from the stone around the impact sight. The fires swam around and through the gaps in his armor, charring his flesh even as the burns from the creature's burning grasp began to heal themselves. He did manage to protect his eyes from the onslaught by covering his face with his free hand, but he had not experienced such pain for many long years.
He felt himself getting picked up again, and cleared his vision quickly enough to discover that he was being drawn closer to the monster's mouth. If it could cause flame to erupt from the ground with just a stomp, he had no doubt it now intended to burn him to ash with flames from its mouth. Perhaps he could withstand it, but he would rather not.
As close as he was he could not miss. He hurled Soul Edge like a javelin and the demonic blade sailed straight into the tiny point of light he assumed to be the monster's right eye. He was dropped instantly as the beast clawed with both hands at the giant greatsword now sticking out of its eye, extinguishing its flaming sword in the process. Not wasting even a fraction of a heartbeat for the pain of his burns to subside he raced between the beasts legs and grabbed ahold of its tail, pulling and spinning simultaneously. It took a great deal of effort, but the creature of flame was taken off of its feet as he spun and repeatedly smashed its great body through pillar after pillar. The dwarves would be furious with him, but he figured they would hate the giant fire monster more.
The monster's circular path stopped abruptly and its tail slipped from his grasp. It had seized one of the columns with one hand and dragged itself free, apparently content momentarily to leave Soul Edge where it currently was. Which put him in an awkward position considering that he was now weaponless against a creature that would burn him if he touched it. He reached out, calling Soul Edge to him, but the blade was stuck fast.
He took a deep breath. "So I guess we do this the hard way."
He charged again, fists tensed and clenched tightly into sledgehammers. His adversary conjured another flame weapon, a whip this time, and brandished it about briefly before flailing the flaming end down towards him from on high. He sidestepped the crack, and the burst of flames, before grabbing the body of the whip, assuming that it would be the same as the sword and oddly tangible. It was, and though the flesh of his hands were seared he gave a mighty heave and pulled the great creature towards him and off balance. As it attempted to right itself he sprinted forward again, dodging around a sluggish backhand swipe and stopping behind his enemy's left knee. He drove his right elbow into the joint with a loud crack effectively hamstringing the beast and bringing its torso lower.
He punched the black, rocky hide repeatedly around the wound created by his shoulder charge; each blow cracking the surface a little more and sending the monster about half a foot into the air before it fell onto his next punch. The flesh of his hands was burned beyond feeling, but he could still see what he was doing, and that was what mattered.
His enemy flapped its wings again, throwing it back and away from his merciless onslaught, but he pursued, jumping over the burst of flame and performing a full drop-kick dead center of the monster's worsening chest wound, kicking off and tagging it on the chin with both feet as he flipped up. His enemy fell to its back as he rose into the air, letting gravity do the work of sending him back at the beast. It stabbed at him, conjuring its flaming sword out of the ether in a fraction of the time but missing him by inches as he fell and slammed his elbow into the same wound.
His foe roared in agony once more, and while it flailed at him he scrambled up to its eyes and tore Soul Edge out, leaping back to the same spot on its chest and driving the sword's point down with all the weight of his armor and charred body. His enemy's body resisted, as it had been continuously doing, but inch by painful inch Soul Edge sunk deeper. The beast blew flames at him, ignited its whole body, but he did not move. Even though his flesh was in agony beyond description he did not flinch, did not budge until his sword sank to its hilt and the monster stopped moving.
Rohan: Helm's Deep
Persephone could not have been any more furious and/or upset if Acheron had shaved her head and thrown her into a mud puddle in a highly populated area. Not only was the fort completely empty, there was even a derelict notice left pinned to a wall urging all the "sons of Rohan" to marshal at Dunharrow. She was metaphorically screwed. All she could do at this point was scream at the sky and rage against the unfairness of it all.
