Thanks to anyone still reading this!
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Chapter Thirty-Three: In Darkness There is Light, pt 3
Night had fallen. The only sources of light came from the torch braziers lining the walls at every inch of space otherwise it was total darkness. Only Lance was able to see clearly in the dark. Not only could he see well, but he could hear the approaching army. He was sure his men could hear it too and no one dared to speak, as if they feared they would be struck down immediately.
Bruno stood at his side his bow raised. "Darkness descends upon us. I do hope we are not dragged to an early grave, but I trust in you, Lance."
Lance nodded his gaze fixated on the plains. Where were the wolves? He supposed they would come during the battle from the flank. "We just have to hold on."
"Easier said than done. Not all of us can clearly see our opponent."
"They will not succeed. They can't," Lance replied. He grabbed one of the torches and held it high. "Archers, ready your bows! We can't let these them pass!" he ordered. The archers dipped their arrows into the braziers and prepared to fire.
He could hear them in the near distance approaching the wall. Thousands of them. Far more than the castle could handle. They would be able to survive the first few waves, but eventually they'd run out of arrows and men would become exhausted. All they could do was hope to make them incapable of moving by crippling them.
He squeezed between two men and gazed up. No stars tonight. A thick layer of cloud spread across the sky concealing the stars and the moon. It would probably rain tonight. That would make the battle even tougher to win. No light. But he didn't need light to see. His keen sight allowed him to observe the battlefield. There was a sea of skeletal beings wielding broken shields and swords marching towards the walls. It was impossible to note how many there were. More than a few hundred. Probably two thousand. No sign of the living. He supposed they were hiding at the back.
As the dead drew closer, Lance was able to see the backline. The necromancers. He counted thirty. They were dressed in black robes, their faces concealed by their hoods. They carried swords of their own. What caught his interest were the soldiers to his far left. They also wore black, but they wielded staves instead of swords. Seven in total. Still no sign of their leader whom he assumed would be quite easy to identify.
"Knight-Commander, what should we do?"
He had to remind himself the men could not see what he could. If they could see what they were fighting, they'd have a better chance of defending. "Fire the arrows. Light up the field." A grass fire. The grass was short but would suffice.
"Archers, fire!" the man replied, raising a hand, and bringing it down.
A barrage of arrows flew through the night sky then landed on the grass below. The flames touched the grass and the field lit up. The flames slowly spread. The army of the dead walked through the flames, untouched. Those that had straps of clothing still attached caught alight, but the skeletal being itself remained unharmed. "What in the hells?" murmured one of the other men.
"The dead," Lance answered. "My grandfather's past mistakes have returned to claim their vengeance." The dead mages. That's whom Ghetsis had resurrected. It made sense. After all, Edward Blackthorn had turned his back on them all leaving them to a cruel fate. The gates had been shut. The sick had not been allowed back in. He claimed it was a sign from Arceus that mages were the minions of Giratina, god of the underworld and chaos itself.
"How are we going to kill them, knight-commander?"
Good question. How could you kill something that was already dead? "We don't. We just survive. Sword can break bone. If they can't move, they can't attack." Every archer was trained with a blade too.
Monstrous roars from the dead filled the air as the creatures charged at the wall. Lance frowned. The necromancers hadn't brought anything that could help bring down walls so why charge? It seemed pointless. They weren't even carrying ladders. Could they run up walls? He couldn't avert his gaze. He had to know what the plan was.
The grass fire spread across the battlefield. The dead continued to charge through the flames, undeterred. A deep rumble from the clouds above made Lance look up. Thunder but no rain. A dry thunderstorm. Lightning briefly lit up the up clouds. Another crack of thunder. He pulled his gaze away and looked down below. The dead kept charging towards the walls.
"What are they doing?"
Another roar. This time it wasn't thunder. "Did you hear that?" Lance said.
"Just thunder, knight-commander," the archer replied, his bow still raised and ready.
Lance shook his head. "No. It's something else." He looked up again and squinted. At first, he saw nothing but lightning. But as his eyes adjusted, he noticed another shape emerging from a thick cloud. Much larger than any creature he had seen. A dragon. It had to be. He had never seen any bird this size. The largest bird was a fearow and its wingspan only reached twelve feet. This dragon had a wingspan double that length and it had three heads. "Hydreigon," he whispered. "Get off the walls!"
The dragon flew towards them. Panic spread. The archers left their posts and hurried towards the stairs. In a state of panic, one of the archers tripped over. Lance turned around and helped him to his feet. When they climbed to their feet, the dragon roared and launched a giant ball of fire. It hit with the strength of a trebuchet and smashed through the wall, shattering it into pieces, as if it were made of fragile pieces of wood. The force of the impact threw both Lance and the archer to the ground.
He landed chest first, the wind almost being knocked out of him. Perhaps it was the werewolf blood in his system, but he recovered and was able to stand. The archer had met a different fate. He didn't stand again. Now the dead had a way to enter the city. The walls that had protected the city for decades had crumbled so easily. They hadn't been designed to ward off against dragons.
"Head to the upper walls. Protect the men on the ground. Provide cover as best as you can."
"But what about the dragon? It's going to burn us all!"
"I'll handle the dragon," Lance said then turned away, shifting his attention towards the uppermost tower. The old ballista overlooked the battlefield. The original keepers of the castle had designed it to strike at far away targets, but to his knowledge it had never been used. Now was the time to see if it worked otherwise the entire city would crumble.
He sprinted through the streets. The monstrous roars of the dead were fast approaching. Soldiers raced past him heading towards the fallen wall, yelling at each other to inspire encouragement. The dragon flew over the city and breathed down fire from three heads. The dead burst through the fallen wall. The living clashed with the dead. He could hear bloodied screams of pain.
Smoke clouds filled the air, limiting his visibility. Even his enhanced senses weren't accustomed for this. His eyes stung, but he continued to move ahead. Something tackled him from behind. He fell forward, sword flying out of his hand, as he hit the ground. A deep groan escaped his throat. The creature climbed off him then grabbed his right arm, effortlessly flinging him to the side. Lance grunted, and crawled over to this sword, then climbed to his feet, pointing the blade at the skeletal being.
He had faced off again many men before and claimed many lives, but not once had he fought against the dead. The skull grinned at him, a maggot clinging to its right eye socket. It carried a rusted long sword. It hissed and leaped forward, swinging the blade. Lance parried the blow and kicked a leg forward. His foot connected with the skeleton's left leg. The creature recoiled as if frightened. Lance stared at his sword. The usual grey steel had turned white.
"Arceus," he murmured.
Much to his surprise, the skeleton retreated and ran. He thought about chasing after it and striking it down, but the roar of the dragon above reminded him reaching the uppermost guard tower was his objective. The ground shook again as another fireball made contact creating a small tremor. More screams in the background. He was surrounded by the stench of fire and blood. Arrows rained down behind him. Lance didn't look back. He kept running through the winding streets, bypassing soldiers heading towards the fight.
"Lance!"
Brawley's voice. He glanced to the left and found Brawley fighting off a skeletal knight. The alpha wolf grabbed its arm and tore it off then slammed it into the skeleton's head, splintering the hard bone. The skeleton collapsed. "I told you we would come."
"We can't possibly fight them all! They'll just keep getting back up again!"
Hydreigon roared. Lance looked up. The dragon flew back and forth over the city. "The southern wall has fallen, and the dead are coming through. I'm heading towards the tower now to use the ballista to bring down the dragon," Lance explained. "The rest of the men have retreated towards the city centre. Meet with them there. Try to keep as many alive as you can."
Brawley nodded. "You have my word." He gestured towards his wolves and the pack ran off.
A slab of the castle wall fell down a few feet away from him. A sign to keep moving otherwise there would be no tower to climb. He hurried through the street, jumping over fallen men, and avoiding falling debris and raining fireballs.
"Lance!" Bruno this time. The man was sporting a few bloody wounds, but nothing fatal.
"Bruno! Retreat to the city centre. This part of this city is lost."
"We still have men here fighting. I'm not leaving without them!"
"That's an order, Bruno!"
"I don't serve Blackthorn, Lance. I serve myself." Another part of wall crumbled.
"I need to reach the ballista to bring down the dragon."
"I'll cover you on the ground." Before Lance could continue moving, Bruno grabbed his arm. "You better hope that thing works because every man knows we're not going to make it to the morning. This is a slaughter, Lance. The dead just keep getting back up again. They're not going to die until he's dead. I shot one of them four times in the head. Nothing. And now there's a fucking dragon?"
Lance pulled his arm free. "This fight was always going to happen. My grandfather sealed this city's fate when he turned his back on those who needed help. He's just fortunate he doesn't get to see it collapse around him. Even if we decided to flee, they'd still catch up to us. This fight ends here." Another fireball. Another tremor. More screams. And the necromancers hadn't reached the city yet. It was only going to become worse when they arrived. "All you need to do is cover me. Can you do that?"
"I can, but I don't know for how long. These things don't die."
Bruno nodded. "Then let's end this before we join the dead."
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Mothers held their children close, their arms wrapped around their bodies as if it would provide comfort. Some children cried. Others closed their eyes. But most remained silent and wide-eyed, jumping every time they heard the dragon roar. His grandfather was sitting next to Koga in the eastern corner. Lyra stood by herself near the ladder, as if contemplating to climb it or not.
Gary approached her. "You know there's nothing we can do."
She jumped at the sound of his voice then relaxed. "I know. But I feel so helpless."
Agatha, the strange old woman, was standing in the centre of the room gazing upwards, seemingly unbothered by the sounds above. As if the woman noticed he was watching, she lowered her gaze and turned her head to face him. He looked away, unsettled. "We'd be more helpless out there and you know it. We're not fighters."
"No, we're mages. We're the hunted. We're the despised. We are the monsters in this story."
The hatred that had gotten them into this mess. "All men have the potential to be monsters, Lyra. Mage or not. Edward Blackthorn was no mage and yet his actions resulted in hundreds of mages being sentenced to early deaths. Fear makes cowards of us all."
She looked at him, her dark eyes filled with concern. "I wish my mother had told me what I was. Maybe I could do something more in this battle rather than just stand here like a helpless child. But she didn't tell me anything."
"My grandfather didn't tell me anything either. I found out the hard way. I mean. Just because my great grandfather was a mage didn't mean I was one too, you know? I thought it might skip a generation or two. Grandfather certainly never practiced magic." He glanced in the direction of his grandfather. He was in a deep conversation with Koga. What could they possibly be talking about?
"You were kept in the dark."
"This is all my fault you know. None of this would be happening if I hadn't obtained the sceptre." He drew in a deep breath and sighed, avoiding her gaze. "Bugsy. I believed him. I took pity on him. The townsfolk talked about him a lot. People often caught him doing weird things like talking to bugs. I should've listened. But I didn't. I followed him to the cave and broke the seal. Nathaniel buried that sceptre with him for a reason. He used dangerous magic to keep it away from Ghetsis knowing this would happen. And I made his sacrifice mean nothing." That damned sceptre.
"You felt sorry for him when no one else did."
He snorted. "Yeah and look where it got us."
"You can't blame yourself. You didn't know what was going to happen."
"But I still trusted him. He was talking about treasures and relics. I should've said no. But a part of me wanted to find something important. I could've followed in the footsteps of my grandfather. Become a potions master. A doctor so to speak. But I chose to work at tavern because I like being around people, and you don't get more social than a tavern." He sighed, raking a hand through his hair. "I guess I was foolish enough to believe finding this sceptre would make life better."
"You discovered you could perform magic."
He nodded. "Blood magic. I had to cut my arm open to break the seal. Blood is power."
"Blood is power," Lyra repeated. "It's all about bloodlines. Ghetsis wants a race of only mages. Edward Blackthorn didn't want his bloodline being tainted by the werewolf curse, so he prevented Lance from turning."
"Assuming we survive this war… What happens next? Surely the news of Benga's death has reached his people. They'll want revenge. That's what any grieving family member would do." Another war, but could Blackthorn even withstand another fight? From the sounds of it, things weren't going smoothly above. Lyra didn't respond. She didn't have answers. Probably hadn't thought that far ahead in the future.
After a few moments pause, Lyra spoke up again. "Did you know your parents?"
"No. Grandfather never spoke of them. Did you?"
"I was just a young child when father never returned home from the woods. But I was close to my mother. She taught me everything I know today…. Everything but the world of magic. She was cut down by bandits."
"I'm sorry."
"Don't be. If mother hadn't of died, I wouldn't be standing here right now. Everything happens for a reason. The death of my parents. The slave auction. Chuck purchasing me for the royal family. Clair poisoning Prince Benga. You found that sceptre and Morty took it from you. Arceus wanted us to be here together."
"I never took you to be a believer in Arceus. You have no reason to believe in Him."
"Only a god could be so cruel. That's why I believe in Arceus."
"I've never considered that perspective before. Me? I've never been a believer."
She nodded. "I hear that one a lot. I have yet to see strong believers."
He held back a laugh. "That's because you've been a slave. Slaves don't have the right to kneel before Arceus or visit the shrine. The clerics think you people will taint the holy ground. It's the same reason they don't approve of people like me. Drinking. Sex outside marriage. Magic. They're quite big on their sacred vows. Boring group of people to be honest."
Lyra frowned. "You have a partner?"
"Several actually. I'm not really one to stick with one person. Of course, I don't just sleep with anyone. Only the ones that impress me. That whole settling down and having a family thing people seem to think is how we should live? That's not for me."
She folded her arms. "I don't believe that."
"Really?"
"Look at me directly in the eyes and repeat it."
He turned to face her and tried to repeat his words, but they wouldn't come out. "… Oh come on."
She arched a brow. "You were rejected."
"I was not rejected. I was just…"
"…Rejected?"
"…She didn't want to be with someone who was just a tavern worker. That's it."
A smile spread across her face. "I knew you were hiding something."
"Was it that obvious?"
She chuckled. "You're not a bad looking person, Gary. And your family isn't exactly poor. Not wealthy like the royals clearly, but you're more than just a peasant. Any woman would be lucky to have you and I'm not just saying that because we're friends."
He rolled his eyes. "Oh, spare me the lecture. I know there's a battle happening above us, but I don't need to hear this motivation talk. She left Blackthorn years ago. Misty. That was her name. She's from Cerulean City on the northern side of the region. I'm originally from Pallet Town, but we moved here because grandfather heard the king needed a doctor. It's certainly a better life here than in some village."
"Did she go back home?"
"No. She was captured by pirates along with her three sisters. I don't think about it. What does it even matter? She's gone. Probably dead. Besides, she turned me down anyway. I wasn't… good enough for her," he replied, tone laced with distaste. It was as if he had eaten something foul. Clearly their last conversation had ended on a poor note. "We don't get to choose who we love, but it hurts all the same."
"We might still be able to find her."
"She's over there actually. Sleeping. Morty rescued her from the dungeon in Ecruteak City," he said, tilting his head towards a sleeping red-headed woman. She was curled up in the corner. "I don't know if there will be a future. Do we survive this war?"
"We will survive. Lance won't fail."
Gary fell silent. She was confident. He wished he felt the same, but without knowing how the soldiers of Blackthorn were faring, it was hard to be confident. He turned his gaze away and looked at the ceiling. Every couple of moments the ground would quake, and bits of dirt would loosen and fall. All their hope rested on one man. "And so, we wait here and hope this isn't the end." His words were greeted with a silent nod.
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Morty sprinted through the bloodied streets, avoiding the rain of arrow fire. Men were engaged in battle all around him with the dead, but soon they would tire and eventually fall. As for the dead, they didn't tire. They could keep fighting for as long as Ghetsis lived. There were too many to fight. This was a slaughter and the people of Blackthorn were unprepared.
Ghetsis had succeeded. The dead had been resurrected. Not only that, but Ghetsis had managed to bring a dragon under his control too. The giant beast was flying around in circles, aiming fireballs at the ground. Ghetsis didn't seem to care some of his own troops were caught in the blast. He didn't need to. They'd just stand up again. The same couldn't be said for the men of Blackthorn.
"Morty!" Chuck called, running towards him. Blood from his men coated his armour.
Morty came to a halt. "Shouldn't you be on the eastern walls?"
"And doing what? Arrows don't do anything. Swords are useless. We'll have to shatter bones."
A club would be useful, but they didn't have any clubs. Not even blood magic would work. They didn't bleed so he couldn't his powers against them. All their hope rested on Lance succeeding. The soldiers were just a distraction to buy Lance time. "We're just here to keep the dead occupied. Then the necromancers will come to kill us off."
The ground shook. Morty held his arms out to the sides to steady himself as he waited for the vibrations to pass. Glancing up, he noticed that one of the fortifications had been struck by one of the fireballs. Parts of rubble crashed down to the ground. One of the soldiers cried out in pain as he was buried alive beneath the debris. Another person lost.
Chuck looked at his men. "Stand your ground! If we're going to die today, then we'll die as heroes!" he ordered. His group of soldiers nodded and sprinted towards the newly fallen fortification.
Morty glanced over his shoulder. Several of the dead soldiers were on the ground picking at the flesh of one of the dead Blackthorn archers. One of them even snapped an arm off to bite at the flesh. The others opened a hole in the stomach. He looked away. Ghetsis. The madman. He had helped bring this man's plans to fruition. He opened his mouth to speak further when he noticed the blood rising into the air.
"Rally the men and tell them to retreat. The necromancers have arrived."
"Retreat?"
"Do you want to boil from the inside? You'd be surprised to see what the higher-ranking necromancers can do." Naoko and her remaining sisters. "I saw Bruno and Lance heading towards the tallest watch tower. I'm not a commander, but I know these people better than anyone else and that's why I'm telling you to leave. You want to succeed? Protect Lance."
"And what are you going to do?"
"Confront an old friend." Eusine. The man had tried to get him killed. Naoko could wait. "Don't bother asking questions. You won't understand. Just get out of here and be a hero." Chuck looked to argue, but Morty turned away, shifting his attention to the battle ahead. More dead were pouring through the broken wall and the dragon was still circling the castle grounds. The necromancers split into smaller groups – one group for each quadrant of the city. The older man left.
Another fireball sailed through the air, colliding into the western part of the wall, taking another chunk out of their defence. Someone screamed. Morty looked to the right. One of the necromancers had created some blood tendrils and it had lifted one of the soldiers. The tendrils wrapped around him, squeezing him until his bones were crushed. The man screamed again. The screams came to an abrupt halt when he was thrown to the ground.
A part of him wanted to leave. This wasn't his fight. He didn't have to be here fighting for the living. But there was no place to run. Not even the passageway was safe. Even if he survived the fight, death still awaited him after. Lance wasn't going to let him go free without facing a trial. Best to make the most of what time he had left. Besides, he wasn't a coward. Better to die fighting for the right reasons than die for a madman.
Morty ignored the soldiers. He weaved his way in between the battles keeping his eyes trained on Eusine. The man was cutting a path through the dead and the soldiers with his blood magic. A skeletal knight jumped at him. Morty used both his blades to deflect the blow. Fighting was pointless. Best to conserve energy for someone he could defeat.
But the skeleton was persistent. It lunged at him. "I don't have time for this," Morty snarled, swinging his blade. The skeleton lunged forward again, reaching out its free hand to grab his arm. Morty stepped back and bumped into another soldier. He ducked as the skeleton swung the blade, the steel connecting with the head. It fell on the ground, the eyes wide and mouth agape. Morty kept moving. No time to mourn the dead.
Eusine walked up some stairs leading onto one of the remaining parts of the northern wall. Morty supposed he was trying to get a better view of the city. It also meant he'd keep some distance between himself the dead and he'd be less likely to get killed from a fireball. Morty followed him. He ascended the stairs stepping over a dying archer.
"Eusine!"
The man overlooked the battle and raised his hands. He conjured more tendrils from the fallen, wielding their blood like two swords. If Eusine had heard his name, he didn't show it. One tendril slapped a soldier in the face. Another plunged through the chest of a wounded man. Lightning struck the ground. A loud bang. Cracks in the dirt. Several skeletons caught in the blast splintered into hundreds of smaller pieces. Perhaps Arceus was watching them. Perhaps now he had chosen to act.
Morty charged and threw himself at Eusine, tackling him onto the ground. The tendrils imploded, blood splattering in all directions. Fingers curling into a fist, Morty pulled his arm back then slammed it forward, knuckles connecting with Eusine's nose. The man growled and threw him off. Morty rolled over then stood up, his sword drawn.
Eusine snarled. "You survived."
"I'm a survivor. You should know that. You tried to have me killed."
"It's nothing personal." The man kept his arms raised.
"You think you're powerful now because Ghetsis has returned? You can't beat me in a fight."
Eusine lowered his arms and pulled out his sword. "I'm stronger now."
Morty gave a sardonic laugh. "Perhaps you pretended to be a weakling all this time to lower my guard so you could overpower me and boast about your skill.
"You can't win."
Morty shrugged. "Maybe. Maybe not. If I've learned anything it's not to believe you."
There was a pause then, "Ghetsis is not the leader I thought he would be. N was the final part of the ritual. Naoko was sacrificed to awaken Ghetsis then N was killed to raise the dead. The sages have returned. The dead have risen. But knowing the truth doesn't change anything. Ghetsis will win. It's not too late to come home." Eusine pointed his blade at him. "You helped make this a reality. You made the city vulnerable."
Morty held back a laugh. "And I regret my mistakes, but I can't change what has happened. But I can stop you from enjoying a victory." He lunged forward, both blades drawn. Eusine snarled and met his blades with his own. Morty pulled back then stepped forward, swinging his right blade. Eusine blocked, withdrew, and thrust his weapon. Morty stepped to the side. "I was going to make you the same offer. Switch sides. Even if Ghetsis wins, do you think you'll be free?"
Eusine raised his free hand and made a fist, conjuring tendrils to rise from the dead. "One last chance."
"You won't change your mind. I won't change mine. You're not leaving this city alive."
"Then so be it. Choose death."
Again, he lunged. Morty parried. Eusine wielded his sword with both hands and swung multiple times, each swing being met with Morty's own blades. Blades raised in a defensive manner, Morty circled Eusine like a predator waiting for his prey to show weakness. Eusine brought a knee forward, but Morty jumped back. Conjuring a tendril, Eusine swung it like a whip.
Instinctively, Morty threw his swords up to defend himself, but was swatted aside. He fell on the ground, releasing his grip on both blades. This wasn't a fight he could win with swords. He grunted, and forced himself up from the ground, his gaze fixated on Eusine's face.
"You're a damned fool, Eusine! You think we don't have a plan?" He gave a sardonic laugh. "But you're never going to know what that is." He brought a hand forward and made a fist. Magic wasn't his greatest strength; he had always preferred to fight his battles in sword-to-sword combat, but Lyra had given him back the ring. The ring he had found in the caves. Agatha claimed it would grant him extra power.
Eusine just chuckled. "You've never been a great sorcerer, Morty."
"And you've never been much of anything. You know the truth. Why continue to fight?"
Eusine swung his blade. Morty parried the blow. "I want to be on the winning side." He moved closer and thrust his palm forward.
The tendril grabbed Morty by the right ankle and picked him up. It flung him to the side. He hit a wall then fell on the floor and grunted. Eusine was playing with him like an animal played with its food. He tried to scamper away, but the tendril grabbed him by the legs again and pulled him back. Twisting his body around, he swung at the tendrils trying to sever them. His blade cut one. It imploded. Another one appeared and plunged into his right shoulder blade causing him to drop both weapons. It happened so fast he hadn't had time to react. He cried out in pain but tightened his jaw to lessen the volume.
"Have you been holding back on me all these years?" Morty replied, clutching his shoulder. "Pretending to be weak?"
Eusine stood over him. "You just always underestimated me."
Morty winced. "You fight for a madman."
"Because it's the only way."
Morty shook his head. "Once there was a time, I believed in only one path, but I've seen another. You've just chosen to be blind." Blood seeped through his fingers. His arm throbbed. Just a small movement sent a wave of pain down his arm. Never had he been beaten in a sword fight, but Eusine had broken the rules and used magic to put the odds in his favour. Still, the battle only ended when one of them died. The man was arrogant. Pride was a man's downfall. "You failed to kill me once, and you're not going to succeed now," Morty replied, drawing in deep ragged breaths.
He dropped his other blade and brought both hands together. Another bolt of lightning struck the castle. A piece of wall shattered. Large pieces of debris flew. Several soldiers both dead and living were crushed. Pained cries rung throughout the streets. Ghetsis's dragon continued to fly in circles above the city, reigning down fire on the people below. He raised a hand and pointed it towards Eusine.
Eusine picked up his sword and closed the distance between them. The tendrils wrapped around Morty's arms and legs, keeping him pinned to the ground. But he could move his fingers and that's all he needed. Eusine dropped next to him. "If only you valued me better than you did." He drew the blade back and plunged the tip into his stomach. The tendrils released him.
Morty gasped, his right-hand clutching at the blade, blood spilling out of the wound and covering his hand. Eusine didn't withdraw the blade. He kept his gaze fixated on his face. "You… really are… a fool. You… haven't given… me enough credit," Morty managed to rasp, his vision beginning to cloud. "I'm… not dying… not now. Not here." He grabbed the blade with his other hand and focused his mind on the blood spilling out of his own stomach.
Now Eusine noticed. "…What…." He didn't manage to speak another word when a tendril struck him through the chest. He gasped and started to choke. Hands releasing the blade, he grabbed his throat, as if trying to dislodge whatever was inside. Blood seeped through his lips. Like a river, blood poured from his ears, eyes, and nostrils too. With a grunt, Morty pulled out the blade in his stomach and pushed Eusine off him. "I never underestimated you. You were always weak." He crawled over to the corpse and drank as much blood as he could as if he were dying of thirst. The wound started to heal. Again, he had cheated death.
He rolled over onto his stomach and gazed up at the sky. A few drops of water landed on his forehead. Rain. He looked up at the sky again. The dragon was still alive. Lance. He hadn't yet reached the tower. Clambering to his feet, Morty picked up his swords and hurried down the stairs. The battle hadn't been won yet.
.
Clair awoke to the sounds of screaming from above. Rushing to the prison bars she pressed her head in between the gaps. "Lance!" she called out. "Anyone! Someone!"
"It's just us, Clair," Siebold replied, his tone controlled. How long had he been awake for?
"What is going on?" she demanded. More screams. Unhappy ones. There was no celebration taking place upstairs. "Siebold? What is happening?" she said, trying to keep her tone steady to not show fear. There was a battle. That much she was certain of. But she didn't want to say it out aloud.
"We are under attack," he said calmly, as if having accepted death.
"By whom?" Siebold didn't answer. She gripped the prison bars tighter. Had Benga's people come to attack? No. Her scouts would have reported something if Benga's people had come. Had the city turned on itself? But Lance was in charge. Why would the city revolt under his leadership when he was the one people wanted as king? "The necromancers," she murmured, recalling Benga's tales.
"Necromancers? Siebold repeated.
"Edward didn't like talking about it, but Lance said he caught sight of necromancer activity. I believe him." Lance had no reason to lie. Unlike her grandfather. She pulled away from the bars and crawled back to the farthest wall. "Is this our life now? Die here in a dungeon behind bars?" Another scream full of anguish and pain. She brought her knees to her chest, wrapping her arms around her legs.
"We have been abandoned."
Clair snorted. "Lance was always the one destined to be someone." And she was the one to be married and cast away to a family who approved of magic and encouraged its use while Lance would sit on the throne back at home. "Life is a cruel joke. Doesn't matter if you are born wealthy or poor. I thought I did the right thing."
If the necromancers had indeed arrived, how was Lance supposed to survive? How many necromancers were even alive? How effective was magic against werewolves? And what would happen if the people found out Lance wasn't human? So many questions, yet she knew it would be a miracle if any of them were answered. They had been abandoned. Her own cousin.
For once, she was helpless. Powerless. Now she knew what Roark and the others had felt. The ones she had sentenced to death for no reason other than to take the blame for Prince Benga's death. Perhaps this was divine punishment from Arceus.
Footsteps interrupted her thoughts. Someone was coming down. Hopefully, it was someone who would let them out and help them escape. Maybe Lance had come for her. But it wasn't Lance who arrived. It was a soldier she didn't recognize, and he didn't make it far. The man tumbled down the stairs. He lifted his head and glanced in their direction. "The dead… They've breached the walls," he said in between ragged breaths. "We're all doomed. The castle has fallen." He coughed. Blood sprayed out onto the floor.
Clair covered a hand over her mouth to muffle her shock. "Fallen?"
"The necromancers… They are here." He coughed again. "We are all dead. We have been forsaken by Arceus. Abandoned to our fate." His head dropped onto the ground and not another word was said.
"This is the end," Siebold said, banging against the bars.
Clair jumped, startled. "It can't end like this. They're not going to come down here." She heard another noise. A growling sound like a wild bear. "Siebold… Did you hear that?" His silence confirmed her fears. He had heard it too. Something was coming down, and it wasn't human.
Frantically moving her head left and right, she tried to find something in the cage to protect herself with, but all she had was a leftover bowl from the food the other day. Perhaps if they stayed quiet, the necromancers would leave? More footsteps. A slow but heavy thud. She covered her mouth again and backed up against the wall once more.
Two skeletal humanoids came down the stairs. No clothing. No weapons. Just animated bones covered in blood. Although they had no minds of their own, they seemed to know what they were looking for. One of them crouched down besides the dead human and plunged its hand right into the lower base of the spinal cord. The other stood to the side as if it were keeping guard. They hadn't noticed her yet.
Eyes wide with shock, Clair watched on as the two skeletons tore the man's arms. She squeezed her eyes shut at the sound of snapped bone, and turned her head away, biting down hard on her lip trying to muffle any sound from escaping from her throat. She brought her hands to her ears to mute their sounds, but it changed little – she could still hear their noises.
Where was Lance? Was he even still alive? Were they losing the battle? Or worse, had they been overrun and forced to flee? She fought hard to keep the tears at bay, but the tears flowed down her cheeks like a waterfall. She moved her hand to her neck, grasping at a necklace that was no longer there. That damned amulet. None of this would've happened if she had moved to Unova. She wouldn't be sitting in a cell.
She forced herself to look at the skeletons again, clamping her jaw tight. The creatures stood up and turned their heads. They couldn't eat the corpse – there was nowhere to store it – but they had decapitated the body. The man's head was faced towards her, the eyes frozen in fear and pain. An image that would haunt her until death, and perhaps beyond the grave too if there was even an afterlife.
"Lance… Where are you?" she murmured.
They moved towards the cages. Clair pulled back, drawing in deep breaths. There was nothing she could use to defend herself. But how could you defend yourself against something that was already dead? One skeleton grabbed the bars and started to pull. Fortunately, the bars didn't bend. Magic hadn't given them inhumane strength.
"Siebold!" Clair called out.
"It's over, Clair," he replied tonelessly. "This is the price we pay."
For the death of Prince Benga. For rebelling against her grandfather's wishes. For playing with dark magic. That damned amulet. Believing in the lies of magic. She had been weak. Like Giratina. Cast into the underworld. Corrupted. Lance had abandoned her. He hadn't even bothered to release her from the dungeon. Had he wanted her to die? "We're not dying here."
"What do you propose we do, Clair? It's done."
Defeated. Siebold had given up. "No. They'll find us. Lance will come."
"He forgot about us. He turned his back us already. He's not coming to save us. He's probably dead."
Clair punched the wall, tears rolling down her cheeks. Siebold was right. The damn fool was right. Lance wouldn't forget her. He wouldn't. He was dead. Yes. That made sense. "I don't want to die," she whimpered. The skeletons stuck their arms in between the bars, trying to grab her.
"There's nothing we can do but pray for a miracle."
He sounded defeated. As if he had already accepted death. How else could he be so calm? It was her fault. All of it. All because of pride. She wiped her eyes. All dead. Because of her. Her grandfather had been right all along. He did know what was best. More skeletons walked down the stairs. They walked towards the prison bars drawn by the scent of blood.
"Let us just be done with it all," Siebold said.
"Someone will come," she said, trying to convince herself it was true.
"Goodbye Clair. It has been an honour to serve."
She saw him hold his arms out through the bars. He was really going to allow himself to die. Surrendering to death. He had lost all hope. The skeletons moved to him. Two skeletons grabbed an arm each. One brought its head down and bit into his arm eliciting a scream from Siebold. Clair screamed. Several skeletons rammed into the bars, trying to grab her, but she moved away to the farthest wall. She sunk to the ground and wept, Siebold's screams filling the air.
.
Arceus had abandoned her. Lance had forsaken her. Even Siebold had given himself up to death. No one was coming to save their queen. A title only meant something if there were people around to lead, and there was no one else around. Pulling in her knees to her chest, she wrapped her arms around her legs, squeezing her eyes shut. Death would come soon enough.
Lance sprinted up the stairs to the highest point. He had a hundred stairs to climb. Hard work when dressed in full armour, but determination spurred him on. The lives of Blackthorn depended on him. The future of the city rested on his shoulders. He could hear the dragon roaring. Each roar sent a chill down his spine. He should've been accustomed to it now, but every roar meant the end of another life.
Bruno guarded the stairs. He could hear the man yell below. Lance didn't look back. He kept moving up the stairs and didn't stop until he reached the top. Drawing in deep ragged breaths, he took a few moments to steady his racing heart then hurried over to the ballista. Layers of sheets had been thrown over the top. He removed them and threw them to the side in a pile. Not surprisingly, the weapon was covered in dust. Would it even work? The spear was already loaded onto the weapon. All he needed to do was pull back the lever to release the rope to shoot the spear.
He looked around to see if there more spears stashed away. Having never used the ballista before, it would take the will of Arceus to shoot the dragon down on his first attempt. Fortunately, there was a crate of spears nearby, but he counted only three. Three chances. He stood behind the ballista and waited for the dragon to fly by. He had to shoot not at the creature directly, but a few seconds before it.
He gazed up and turned around. There. The dragon. It was currently hovering above the southern gate breathing down fire. More screams. More lives lost. He wondered how many people would still be standing after this? It would take years to repair the damages. To make matters worse, it started to rain. He could feel droplets of water fall upon his skin. Just what he needed.
The dragon pulled back and flew towards the northern gates again. Lance pushed the ballista to face the dragon then placed a hand on the lever, ready to release it when the time was right. It drew closer… closer still. He released the lever. The spear was unleashed just as the dragon veered downwards. It sailed past the creature. A clear miss.
He picked up another spear and carefully loaded it onto the ballista. All that time in lectures learning about weaponry, combat and defences as a child had paid off. It included knowing how to use trebuchets, catapults, and ballista even though his grandfather never poured any money into having them made. The former king clearly had invested some money into siege equipment, but his grandfather wasn't interested in sieges. A good defence was a good offense in his mind.
Still, it was useful information to learn. Ghetsis hadn't seemed to realize there was a ballista shooting at his dragon. The rain probably clouded his vision. Either that, or he was more interested in the battle taking place below than what was happening on the tower. He fired again. This time his aim was more accurate, grazing the dragon's tail. That caught its attention. The dragon gnashed its jaws at the air and turned direction, its head now facing the tower.
Rain bucketed down, drenching all standing in its path in water within moments. He grabbed the final spear and loaded it onto the ballista. One final chance otherwise all would burn. "Arceus guide me," he murmured, holding his nerve. "Don't let this all be in vain." He pushed wet bangs out of his eyes and focused on the target ahead. The dragon beat its wings and sped towards him. Lance waited until the dragon filled up most of his view before releasing the lever once more. This time the dragon was unable to escape, and the spear plunged into its chest. It unleashed a pain bellowing roar and barrelled into the tower. Lance was thrown off his feet and landed on his backside, the foundations under his feet beginning to crumble.
He didn't have a chance to run as the tower crumbled. He fell with it, buried under debris. Yet, he survived the fall and it was sure it was because of the werewolf blood in his veins keeping him alive. No normal human could survive that. He grunted, forcing his way through the stone, and pulled himself out of the debris. The dragon had landed a few feet away from him, its rider also on the ground. Bruno couldn't be seen, but Lance hoped the man had managed to escape in time.
Climbing to his feet, Lance searched for his sword, and found it poking through the remnants of the ballista, poking through the gaps between the debris. He reached down for it and picked it up, fastening his hold around the hilt. With sword back in hand, he shifted his attention back towards the dragon. It clambered to its feet clumsily and plucked the spear of its chest. The dragon was also connected to Ghetsis's power it seemed, but fortunately its wings had been damaged in the fall. Its right wing was dangling loosely whilst a part of its left wing had been ripped away.
"Impressive," Ghetsis said, picking up his staff and approaching Lance, his black robes dragging across the floor.
Lance noted his right hand looked twisted. The resurrection hadn't restored him to peak health - only stopped the illness from spreading. He also only had a single eye. The right eye seemed to be sealed shut.
"You brought down the beast. You're a Blackthorn. I know the blade. Forged with dragon fire many centuries ago and passed down from generation to generation."
Lance glanced down at his sword. It was no longer blue. It seemed it only turned blue in combat. He looked up and pointed the sword at the man. "You've heard the stories."
He took a few steps closer. Lance took a step back, cautious. The dead seemed to keep their distance from Ghetsis and the dragon. "Henry Blackthorn liked to talk about it often. He bragged he had slain a dragon himself and that is why the dragons left. No one can confirm if this tale is true or not, but that blade you wield is unique. But that story made him king."
"And my grandfather overthrew him."
"Because of the plague. The plague only affected the mages."
Ghetsis was tall. He hadn't paid much attention earlier, but now that the man was only a few steps away, did he realize how tall he was. Lance was considered tall. He was almost six feet. But this man towered over him and the robes he wore only made him appear bigger. "And he was convinced the sickness was a sign from Arceus to strike down mages," Lance concluded. "I know the tales. I grew up listening to them repeatedly."
"Henry was overthrown, and your grandfather took over. The former king was left to rot in the dungeons. When Edward Blackthorn claimed the crown, the people believed the city would become stronger. They believed it would become the Jewel of the North." Ghetsis paused, the edges of the right side of his mouth curving upwards into a smirk. "He had always feared magic. He was a cowardly fool. Used to look away every time magic was performed in the halls. Swords make men, he said. Magic is a coward's game. But he allowed magic to be practiced. He hadn't a reason to forbid it yet."
"You made a deal with the god of the dead."
"Indeed. And it came at a cost. The plague happened."
"And hundreds of people died," Lance remarked. "For what purpose?"
"To cheat death, you need power. The power of mages. The plague had to be spread. I was the first." He took a step towards him.
Lance tightened his jaw. "You wanted all those people to die… Your own people. You betrayed your own kind."
"Nathaniel and Krahiya refused to join me. Edward did not trust me. He feared magic. Hated it because he could not perform magic himself." Ghetsis then smirked. "Did you ever wonder how Henry Blackthorn died? Edward Blackthorn killed him with poison. No one would dare suspect the king's son of murder."
Lance glared. "Untrue," he said firmly.
"He did. It was the best way to claim the throne without plunging the city into civil war. He blamed it on magic. And it was enough to convince the people mages could not be trusted. The plague confirmed their fears and we were marched one by one outside the city gates towards an unnamed prison in the wilds," Ghetsis explained. His eyes darkened, his eyebrows twitching with cold fury.
Edward Blackthorn, his grandfather, the king. A murderer. The killer of his own father. All for what? Power? The crown? The right to rule? How did Ghetsis even know? Lance pushed the thoughts aside. "How do I know you're telling the truth about Edward?"
"Because it happened at the beginning of the plague. I was there." Ghetsis drew in a deep breath as if to control himself then continued. "After Henry's death, the townsfolk turned on us, believing Edward's lies. We were hunted like animals. Nathaniel and Krahiya fled before they could be executed."
"He didn't know better. He had to protect the people," Lance argued.
"You defend him, yet you know he did wrong."
"And you sentenced your own kind to an early grave in exchange for power," Lance retorted.
Ghetsis raised his staff and slammed it into the ground. It started to emit a dark purple aura as it drew in blood from surrounding bodies. In the background, the dragon charged down the street, gnashing its jaws at any poor soldier caught in its path. Lance saw one man get picked up and chomped in half, his intestines dangling from the upper half. "All they had to do was side with me. But they didn't. Yveltval's demands will be answered."
"For what gain?"
"A purification of the world. A world for mages only."
The man was mad. His logic made little sense. Kill mages for power then raise them from the dead again? "I won't allow your dream to become a reality," Lance declared.
Ghetsis laughed, a cruel glint in his eyes. "Your walls are broken. Your people are tired and so few in numbers. Yet you think you can defeat me? A young prince with no magical powers to speak of? Perhaps you need to be convinced of your defeat." He raised his staff high and uttered a few words Lance couldn't decipher. The Old Tongue. A language spoken by the priests which was adopted by the mages. His staff absorbed the blood around them. He thrust it forward.
His skin tingled. Itchy at first, but it was short-lived. Heat poured through him but disappeared just as quickly as it had appeared. Lowering his staff, Ghetsis tilted his head to the side, his thick brows furrowed. "Your spells don't work on me," Lance remarked, fingers tightening around the hilt of his blade. He took a few steps towards the man as a bolt of lightning lit up the sky. A crash of thunder followed, temporarily drowning out the cries of men and clashing of steel around him.
"You're a werewolf," Ghetsis said, eyebrows arched in surprise.
"Which means your spells are useless. Seems you don't know everything after all." He swung the blade. It connected with Ghetsis's staff. He half-expected the staff to snap, but it was no ordinary weapon. Ghetsis withdrew and swung the staff. Lance ducked, narrowly avoiding getting struck in the head. His sword turned blue.
"And a wolf is still vulnerable. You still have weaknesses that can be exploited." Ghetsis swung. The staff glowed a dark red. Lance was thrown back a few feet, landing on his backside, his sword still in hand. Tendrils appeared from the tip of the staff. They wrapped around Lance's arms and legs, keeping him pinned to the ground. He tried to free himself of his restraints, but the tendrils would not relent.
Lance grimaced. "You're overly confident."
Ghetsis walked over to a half-eaten corpse and dabbed his staff into the blood. Although he knew his efforts were futile, he continued to fight against the hold of the tendrils. "Dragons absorb the properties in the blood of their prey. Most dragons are carnivorous. Herbivores like to eat plants… and some of them can stomach poisons humans would find deadly. Does wolfsbane mean anything to you?"
He remembered his first encounter with wolfsbane. Samuel had been in the process of developing a potion harmful to wolves. Touching it had felt like putting a hand into a fireplace. It burned. His jaw tightened. Ghetsis turned back around. "I'm familiar with it."
"A shame really. I thought you'd be a challenge." The dragon charged down the street, tail wildly swinging back and forth, knocking both dead and the living over. Ghetsis walked back towards Lance. "Still, I must commend you for attempting to fight, but I'm an impatient man. There are other cities to conquer. Do not worry. I will raise you from the dead."
In the corner of his eye, he saw Bruno charging forward. The man had escaped the crumbling tower. Lance tried not to make eye contact with him in case Ghetsis turned around. All he had to do was keep Ghetsis distracted long enough. Ghetsis seemed oblivious to his surroundings – he was more concerned with Lance than anything else. The dragon was also preoccupied. Bruno charged and flung himself at Ghetsis. He stabbed him in the back. Ghetsis screamed. The tendrils imploded; the spell interrupted by Bruno's interference. Lance climbed to his feet.
"Bruno!"
Bruno pulled the sword out and took a step back. Ghetsis pulled the sword out and threw it on the ground. Blood poured out of his back. He raised his free hand. "I will not be so easily brought to my knees!" Ghetsis lowered his arm then thrust it forward, palm exposed. He then made a fist. Bruno clutched at his chest, eyes widening with shock.
"No!" Lance called out. Ghetsis turned back around. Holding his sword with two hands, Lance charged and swung. Ghetsis raised his staff to deflect. Lance kicked him in the stomach then elbowed him in the face. Ghetsis staggered backwards. Bruno dropped to his knees, blood spilling out of the gaping hole in his chest. Ghetsis brought his staff forward and slammed the ground with it. Another tremor. He then raised a hand towards Bruno, his fingers curling into a fist. Bruno screamed. His entire body started to burn, layers of skin peeling off.
Lance tackled Ghetsis disrupting the spell. He made a fist and punched Ghetsis in the face. Ghetsis thrust his arms forward, pushing Lance off. Surprisingly, he was abnormally strong. Presumably, because of the magic that had been used to bring him back. "I've had enough of playing games. You've had your chances. The blood of an oracle and a dragon flows through my veins. I can't be killed so easily. I have the strength of a dragon."
He grabbed Lance's arm and twisted it back into an unnatural angle. A bone cracked. A pained scream tore through his throat. Ghetsis kneed below the stomach then shoved him to the ground. Lance collapsed, overcome with pain. Every muscle ached. Werewolf blood couldn't repair broken bones as fast. He grabbed his staff then brought it crashing down through Lance's broken arm's left shoulder. Nothing hurt more. Even his broken arm paled in comparison. Searing burning pain overcame him.
"Pathetic," Ghetsis said, leaving his staff in Lance's arm, keeping him pinned to the ground. "The poison will stop you from healing. It'll reach your heart and then you'll die."
Lance remained still, drawing in deep mouthfuls of air. Perhaps if he stayed still, the poison wouldn't travel so fast. "…As long as I still have air in my lungs, I can fight," Lance said through clenched teeth. With his free hand, he tore himself free of the staff, tearing through muscle. He grabbed his sword then thrust it into Ghetsis's right leg. Ghetsis cried out. "…I do not fight alone. Arceus fights with me."
Ghetsis toppled over. Lance plunged the blade through his heart. Nothing happened at first. Then multiple high-pitched screams tore through the ravaged city. One by one, the dead soldiers turned into ash. Even the dragon perished. Weakened, Lance dropped to the ground and lay on his back, gasping for air. His body was trying to heal but was fighting a losing battle against the poison slowly spreading. His world began to spin, and he squeezed his eyes shut. Someone was calling his name, but he couldn't tell who. Blackness overcame him.