Chapter Eight
Not the last elf...
Trent groaned as he returned to consciousness. Raising himself to his elbows, he took a look around the unfamiliar landscape; what had once been the gloomy innards of a draconic temple was now a deep, lush, temperate lowland forest. In other words, not only was he not in the temple, he wasn't even on the same island anymore.
He shook his head in consternation. "I swear, I am the only man who has ever lived that could possibly get deja vu from getting blasted into new surroundings via interdimensional jumps." Rubbing his now sore head, he grumblingly tried to finish getting up. "At least this time my memory's intact."
Emphasis on TRIED to finish getting up. He didn't make it beyond sitting up before he noticed a weight across his legs. A very shapely, and at the moment feminine weight.
Zelas groaned quietly as she snuggled closer to the source of warmth. Not that she needed it, but it was comforting if nothing else. On the other side of the dark elf/dragon, Delphine sighed blissfully in her state of near-sleep as she snuggled closer as well.
To understand Trent's reaction, you'd have to understand his upbringing and early life. His father and mother had both been outcasts with death sentences hanging over their heads should they be found. As such, Trent didn't exactly grow up with a whole lot of other people for company. His two parents, two sisters, and the occasional ranger who chose not to be offended by dark elves; that was about it. He'd had the basic lessons and such in manners and socializing; you know, about the bare minimum required to keep from getting yourself beaten severely for a social gaff.
None of this exactly prepares you for waking up in the middle of nowhere getting affectionately cuddled by a pair of breath-takingly HOT females of the...or A species. As such, Trent's reaction was par normal for him.
Zelas started as she felt a whisper of cloth against her, followed by a brief wind. Looking around, she noticed Delphine next to her, a near- identical look of startlment on her face. "Um...what just happened?"
Delphine shook her head as a new voice emerged from somewhere higher in the air. "Please don't do that anymore."
The two mazoku lords stared at the currently floating elf, then slowly smiled. Unlike say, Zelgadis, Trent had yet to complete his development of the iron-hard, coldy aloof mental image that the chimera had mastered recently. As such, while NORMAL irritants such as what Xellos might do couldn't get through his defenses, there were other things that could.
Namely, attempted seduction.
Trent's mind began short-circuiting as the two began slowly to climb up from their still reclining positions, making sure to stretch as slowly as possible, flaunting every square picometer of some of the most attractive female flesh he was aware of in existence. Right about the time he caught their hungry smiles, his conscious mind shut down completely, as for the first time in his life he passed out with a nose-bleed.
Delphine pouted at the now blissfully unaware elf/dragon. "Well, drat. He didn't stay conscious long enough for any kind of real feeding."
Zelas just grinned. He was just SO much fun to tease.
--------
Trent groaned as he regained consciousness. "Oy. Deja vu." He stiffened (not like THAT, YOU HENTAI!) as he recalled the last time he'd randomly awakened. More to the point, WHO he'd woken up next to. Luckily for both him and his blood pressure, the two monsters were simply sitting there and watching him.
Resolutely ignoring the playful looks on their faces, he somehow managed to compose himself. "I don't suppose either of you know where we are?" At the identical shrugs, he groaned again, rubbing at his temples.
THOOOM.
The three turned in surprise at the sound of an explosion; approximately fireball intensity judging by the burst of smoke. Not one to complain about free distractions, Trent ran off towards the nearest fight scene.
Ignoring the protests of the two mazoku lords behind him, he shifted into high-speed combat mode; not something as strange as a machine changing gears, but rather a change of mental state. His eyes and ears accelerated as his mental faculties based on sensory comprehension went up around sixty percent; muscle tone and response increased only slightly less.
There would be prices to pay for it, especially if the fight went on for a long time with him stuck at high-speed. He burned calories less efficiently at this rate; he'd be eating in a manner to earn Lina's respect if he went on too long. He'd be exhausted in virtually all other respects as well; dull-witted, physically tired, emotionally drained...the list went on and on. More likely however would be a quick, brutal strike against anything that he could handle with just his swords, then a quick return to normal speed to start using draconic abilities and spells; he REALLY liked his laser breath attack. And not having to chant anything struck him as ridiculously convenient.
He also shifted his movement to the high road of the tree branches. Though he was still irritated about his forced transit to this temperate area, he'd concede that he preferred the conifers and oaks to palms and shrubs; you just couldn't get decent foot holds there. Fading in and out of sight as he leapt silently through the trees, he quickly found the source of the explosion, and felt a shock run through him.
Elves.
Almost forty of them, surrounded at the moment by around two dozen heavily armed and armored bandits. They could have passed for soldiers elsewhere; their ring mail armor was identical and interchangeable, their bastard swords obviously of high quality. However, the bandit was overwhelmingly clear; no real soldier would growl, belch, curse, and scratch themself like that, nor would they have allowed their armor to get so pitted and scratched, and have worn it so poorly.
Quick lesson in making snap decisions. When two groups are about to enter combat, one of them is most likely in the wrong. If size is the only factor, then it is likely the smaller group that is being persecuted. If armaments are the critical factor, then often those bearing the most advanced weapons are the malefactors; you don't see many mobs of righteous peasants defending themselves with claymores and halberds. Also, the group that is more frightened or resigned is most likely to be the persecuted.
Anyway, the long and the short of the above paragraph is meant only to prove one point. A large group of unarmed men women and children being menaced by a slightly smaller group of scruffy-looking types armed to the teeth and grinning like skeletons is most likely to be the ones who deserve help.
Of course, they were also elves. It wouldn't be fair to claim that their race had nothing to do with Trent's reaction.
Before any snide villainous comments could be made, Trent reached deep down and invoked a tiny bit of his draconic heritage, speaking a single word that came out in a bone-rattling rumble. "RUN."
The bandits reacted with shock and dismay as Trent exploded into action, his katana leaving faint trails of light in its path, those farther away falling to Wind Brid (the wind-equivalent of Flare Arrow.) The fact that he was fighting them so easily was disconcerting in of itself. The eerie part referred to his silence. It was once thing to face down a raging dragon, bellowing and snarling as it ripped apart those in its way. It's another thing entirely to be confronted by a silent razor, a blade that effortlessly seperates you from various important body parts before you so much as feel it.
After about seven of the bandits had been reduced to cooling meat byproducts, the rest took the intelligent route and started running like hell. The elves had long since run off; right after the first attack had begun. Elves are notorious for their emotional control, and the logical thing to do in a situation such as the one above was to follow the draconic voice and RUN.
Then Zelas and Delphine arrived. Neither was particularly skittish. More to the point, they enjoyed beating up bandits easily as much as Lina did, though not for the profits; it was just fun. The fight didn't last much longer after that; about two thirds of the bandits were killed before the rest managed to finish running off.
Delphine brushed her hands off in satisfaction as they scurried away. "Well that was fun." She turned to watch as Trent finally returned to normal sight. "Any idea who they are?"
Trent shook his head. "Bandits, or mercenaries, or bounty hunters. Judging by the armor and weaponry though, someone else is providing them with arms and equipment."
Zelas shrugged nonchalantly. "In other words, someone's taking street scum and making an attempt to turn them into a private army."
Trent nodded, his forehead beginning to furrow with confusion. "I just can't imagine who. I don't know of anyone here who would be interested in taking over; there's really nothing here TO take over.
Delphine raised an eyebrow. "Here? I seem to recall you mentioning that you didn't know where we are."
Trent nodded absently. "Yeah, but that was before I noticed those elves. To my knowledge, the only place left for them is the hotsprings paradise; Mipross island."
"You seem a bit too familiar with elves," came a new voice.
Trent spun in shock, cursing himself for letting his guard down. The biggest problem with learning he was part dragon was that it gave him a sense of invulnerability. In comparison to what he'd been before his power had awaken, that could have well been considered the truth. The problem with believing that you're invulnerable is that it makes you sloppy; especially dangerous when you're made aware of the fact that there are other people for whom your supposed strength doesn't mean squat.
As he let his senses re-acclimatize, Trent winced. Standing in front of him was a fairly tall (for elves; he only stood about five eight) man. Dressed in the dull grays, browns, and greens of a ranger, his hair was a glossy chestnut brown died with patches of black and mottled green. He openly wore a katana identical to Trent's, though he eschewed the full daisho of katana and wakizashi. Instead, he wore a set of dirks on his boots; somewhere between being daggers and shortswords, they otherwise resembled normal longswords. As was fitting for a ranger, he also wore a composite longbow across his back, the quiver at his hip rather than across his back.
Worse, he was the only immediately visible one. Now that Trent had taken the time and effort to look for them, he could tell that a decently sized warparty of almost sixty elves (likely the entire settlement's worth of combatants) was grouped in the trees around him.
They weren't any real threat; even before his powers had activated, Trent could have at least outrun them. Now? Between his concealed ring mail armor and his newfound toughness, he sincerely doubted that they could so much as scratch him. That wasn't the problem. The problem was that he could tell they meant business; they intended to kill them, or at the very least drive them off, and would gladly die before backing down.
Given that the two monster lords behind him would be more than happy to oblige, it could well mean the extinction of what was left of a mirror race to himself.
Deciding that the potential risk was too great, Trent did the noble if idiotic thing.
His knife-filled bracers hit the ground only seconds after his swords as he raised his hands in surrender.
--------
Delphine glared at Trent as the door slammed shut behind them. "ONE more time. Why are we putting up with this?"
Trent glared right back at her. "We're putting up with this because the only other alternative was vaporizing several hundred of the last elves left on this world. And before you start telling me something about how little problem that is, keep in mind that I'M part elf. So if you DO try anything, I'll fight for them."
The mazoku lord of the west just continued glaring at him, flouncing down to the stones of the dungeon to pout.
Zelas quirked an eyebrow at Trent as he lowered himself to the stone. The so-called 'dungeon' was little more than ten-foot cube dug into the ground, lined with rough cut stone blocks, a stair well set against one of the walls leading up to a trapdoor. Seeing him pull into a fetal position for a good long ponder, she slinked over to slide up next to him.
He swallowed as she lay against him. "Would you please stop doing that?"
Zelas turned an exasperated look at him; equal parts of confusion and hurt in her eyes. "What is your problem? Why do you constantly try and keep me away from you? I mean, the way you act it's like..." Her voice trailed off in shock as a realization struck her. Since they'd met, she'd been feeling some weird energies and empathic vibes from him. She hadn't set foot off her island for almost a thousand years; she'd almost not recognized it. She finally realized what it was. "You're ATTRACTED to me?" she spoke softly in wonder, as much a statement as a question.
Trent's nervous cough proved answer enough. She blinked quickly, shaking her head in confusion. "But...but why on earth would you find me attractive?"
Trent favored her with a side-long glance. "Uh, I'm going to assume from the way you flaunt it that you're aware of the fact that you're a very beautiful woman."
"I'm also a lord of demons," she pointed out.
Trent just shrugged. "So? I'm a half dark elf half ancient dragon follower of the god of night. More to the point, I'm also an assassin who thoroughly despises hypocrites. A cold-blooded murderer like myself has no business passing judgment on anyone, demon or not."
Zelas slowly scooted away from him, shaken by this new revelation. Slipping into the corner, she sat back to digest the information that someone actually cared for her. Loyalty she was used to; it was a fundamental part of all mazoku. Fear, terror, hatred; they were more than a part of her life, they were her sustenance. Care? Affection? LIKE? She didn't have all that many ways to deal with those kind of feelings.
Especially not when she was finding herself enjoying them.
--------
Anubis paused in his watching over Trent, focusing for a moment on the sound rather than just the sights. At the moment the dark elf was trying to distract himself with his flute; it seemed a nervous habit more than anything else. That didn't strike him as odd; the melody on the other hand...
"A Forcerian dark elf in an elf-run prison on Mipross island in a Slayers world," he stated to Falaris. "How precisely does he know the tune to Simon and Garfunkel's 'Sounds of Silence?'"
Falaris just grinned. "I happen to like the song. Of course, that doesn't mean I distributed it or anything to my followers. After all, that would just be silly."
Anubis rolled his eyes. Falaris had started to loosen up lately; he was beginnig to miss the inscrutable, mysterious god of the night.
--------
Trent looked up as Zelas sat down beside him again. "Did you need something?"
Zelas took a deep breath, composing herself. That had not been what she'd wanted to hear. "Not really. I'm bored more than anything else; especially as you won't let us break out of here."
Trent shrugged. "Sorry about that. Then again, we've only been here a few hours; it shouldn't be too long. Just try and relax."
Zelas rolled her eyes. "Easy for you to say. You're USED to being patient. Monsters are willing to wait, but we're more used to taking what we want, not just sitting around."
Trent winced. "Sorry; I didn't even consider..."
"DAMNIT, STOP BEING NICE TO ME!" Zelas snapped, her voice cracking.
The dark elf turned a slightly nervous look on her. In his experiences, females getting angry usually resulted in him getting maimed either physically or verbally. Not the kind of thing he enjoyed. "Uh...okay. Why don't you like me being nice? I thought you could feed off of positive emotions just as easily as negative ones."
Zelas took a deep, shuddery breath trying to bring herself back under control. She was dignified, if nothing else. She was not the kind to let something like this make her lose control. "Trent...I can feed off your happiness and niceness if I have to. That doesn't mean I particularly want to."
"Why not?"
Zelas winced. That was the center of the whole mess, and one thing she really didn't want him to know about. It would thoroughly destroy his current image of her. At least she thought it would; she wasn't 100% sure WHAT his current image of her was.
Fortunately, she was saved the task of answering by a convenient explosion. They seemed to come up a lot around here.
Delphine sighed in depression as screams started echoing towards their cell. "And thus it begins. Another attack which serves no purpose save to generate food. Really, you'd think that these people would have at least figured out a way to make these battles INTERESTING once in a while." She paused as she noticed Trent standing up to dust himself off. "You're not going to go out there and HELP them, are you?"
Trent just grinned falsely. "Certainly. I'm just insane enough to go and help potential enemies surive."
Delphine shook her head as he blasted a hole in the roof and shot out. "People. I don't think we'll ever understand them; I'm starting to wonder if the monster race is meant to." She paused as Zelas stood as well. "Oh now don't tell me that YOU'RE going to help the elves too."
"Don't be silly." Zelas preened smugly. "I'm just going to watch."
--------
It took Trent a few seconds following his landing to realize a rather important fact.
He didn't have any of his swords or knives with him.
Oh, he could have summoned the opposing swords, or brought out Galfeira; they were still linked to him through the astral plane. But as the proverb went, 'don't use a cannon to swat flies.' In other words, don't waste the power of a weapon made to kill demons, demigods, and gods on few platoons of not-exactly-awe-inspiring bandits and bounty hunters.
Of course, one of the peculiarities of the Slayers universe is that while sword fighting is a well-respected art of combat, there is almost no time, energy, or effort devoted to unarmed combat; there are almost NO martial arts. The only time we ever see evidence for such a thing is in episode fourteen of NEXT, with the two Shampoo-look-alikes. Anyway, the long and the short of it is that if you don't have a weapon or a glowing aura of magic, people will assume you're helpless.
Not particularly intelligent when one is opposing an assassin.
The first grinning and cackling bandit to get to close fell gurgling as Trent used the edge of his hand to shatter the cartilage of the windpipe and larynx; he died quickly of shock. Trent didn't particularly LIKE the decidedly messy attack, but he'd needed something at the time that would scare his current opponents. Scared opponents are opponents that are far more likely to run away.
The scare didn't last long; apparently the bandits decided that he wasn't really any good, he'd just gotten in a lucky if particularly vicious attack. After seven more littered the ground, screaming in agony from an assortment of dislocated shoulders, broken collarbones, and shattered ribs, they chose to be respectful. They didn't break and run yet, however.
They let their mage (apparently their only one, and the source of the earlier fireball) try to fry him.
Trent hated him the instant he set eyes on him; the man resembled Wagnard FAR too much for Trent's approval. Similarly tall and looking corpse-like he was so slender, he had the same pale skin and black hair, though his had been woven into a braid long enough to go tumbling down his back. Likewise, his face wasn't quite so cruel or insane, but it was close enough.
The blood-red robes trimmed in gold and the dragon-headed staff didn't help either.
The mage was respectful, if nothing else. "That's rather impressive combat. I can't say I'm aware of anyone else who uses that kind of unarmed," his voice trailed off as Trent ignored him, using the distraction to snap the neck of a bandit attempting a back-stab. The sorcerer visibly composed himself as Trent continued to apparently ignore him. "As I was saying, you're apparently good at fighting. Unfortunately, that won't do a great deal of good against Me." He raised a single hand glowing with power. "Val-Flare."
Trent irritably cast a Windy Shield as the equivalent of a super-charged flare lance shot towards him. "Yes, that's very impressive and all, but I'm a bit busy now."
The mage began developing the almost trade-marked twitching vein in his forehead. "How dare you treat me like some kind of third rate hedge witch?! I AM NOT TO BE MOCKED, YOU PEON! TAKE THIS; RUNE FLARE!!!"
He grinned tightly as the smoke cleared following one of the strongest spells in fire shamanism. Not even ashes remained of his target.
"Like I said, that's very impressive and all. Still, not particularly useful on someone who's raised running away and dodging to a fine art form."
The nameless sorcerer's eyes widened in shock as he spun to face the currentlyh chanting mage. "Wind which blows across eternity, gather in my hands and become my strength. Bram Gush."
From her point of observation above, Zelas winced as the battering ram of air reduced the mage into a red-robed smear on the otherwise pristine grass. "That couldn't have felt good."
Delphine nodded. "Still, you have to give him credit. That was quite powerful for a medium-high level spell like that."
Zelas's eyes widened as the apparent field commander appeared, ignoring his currently running away and screaming minions. "That signature...he's not human."
Delphine grinned tightly. "Lovely. Another one of those upstart mazoku from overworld, or whatever they call the god-forsaken place. Shall we put him in his place?"
Zelas nodded primly as she began charging her own energies. "I quite agree. They need to learn not to interfere with our world. I'm getting VERY tired of them using our territories like they were some kind of over- sized chessboard."
Aremis grinned at the elf/dragon. "Not bad. Not bad at all. Still, you don't think that's going to do much good against someone who transcends humanity, do you?"
Trent sighed a mushroom puff as the minotaurish-looking demon took a wide- legged stance, apparently daring him to attack. "You guys really live for this, don't you?" Deciding not to waste the energy a spell would have required, he pulled galfeira out of subspace and with a brief pulse of mental energy, ignited the longbow.
Aremis's eyes widened in shock at the weapon; he'd thought he was facing some kind of elvish magus, not the guy who'd taken down Vlardos. He didn't even have time to run as the energy stream fired from the darkstar weapon lanced towards him.
It wasn't enough to finish him off. By itself, the sword of light is roughly equal in power to a fully-charged Ra Tilt spell, or slightly stronger than a dragon slave and a bit less rampantly destructive. While that's enough to kill most monsters, there are plenty who are stronger than that. And even though the bow of light was a fair amount stronger than the sword, it still wasn't enough to finish the creature off. Though it came fairly close.
Aremis gasped as the explosive force of the light began to fade away. "You...you think that's enough to finish me off? You...you've got another thing coming if you do. It's time for you to pa..."
He bellowed in pain as something sliced across his back. Spinning, his eyes widened as he saw Zelas standing there smiling, a whip of energy glowing at her fingertips. "Y-y-you?!"
The mazoku lord's smile widened as the whip faded away, the energy fed towards a blast strong enough to kill the thing; Delphine likewise charging up her own powers.
Trent? He was a bit curious as to what happened when a spell used to enhance a weapon to the Sword of Light's level was used on something that was already stronger than THAT. "Astral Vine."
Aremis suddenly felt very small, as he stared down the 'barrels' of three spell-like attacks that were packing enough raw energy to level mountains. "Uh...what I meant to say was that it's time for you to PLAY nicely?"
Then the beams hit.
Zelas pursed her lips in thought as she looked at the blackened spot on the ground. "You don't suppose that we over-did it a bit, do you?"
Delphine waved her considerations aside airily. "Oh no. We didn't have any idea what he might be capable of; we were just being thorough."
Trent sweat-dropped, but chose to ignore it. Girls will be girls. He instead turned to the nearest elf not trying to run away from them screaming. "Excuse me, but would you mind telling us what's been going on here? I mean, I assume that these guys didn't just pop out of the ground overnight to start terrorizing you. Can you fill us in on some details?"
The green-haired teen (actually he was in his seventies, but that's the elvish equivalent of the teenage years) swallowed nervously. There was a saying about dealing with gods and demons. Be very quiet, be very polite, and pray they go somewhere else with all possible speed. They didn't strike him as that powerful, but they were close enough. "Um...we're not really sure of too much. It all began around a month ago, at least on the island. The elders refuse to talk about it very much." He pointed in a vaguely northern direction. "We know that the attacks always came from the inland, south of the cities and hotsprings left over."
Trent nodded in thought. He paused as the ranger who'd thrown them in their dungeon in the first place approached. Stooping to grab a small dagger from its place in the ground, he began inspecting it for heft and feel. "Thank's for the information. By the way, do you know where they put all of our weaponry? We're leaving, and I'd prefer to have them back."
"If you think we're actually going to ARM our enemies, then you're dumber than I thou..."
Trent tiredly slung the dagger at the elf's feet, a shadow snap freezing him in place. "Yadda-yadda-yadda. Now then, can I get my swords back?"
--------
Delphine snorted in disdain as she stared at the 'hide-out.' "Figures. No imagination left in villains, no proffessional pride whatsoever. Now Rezo; he at least had the imagination to chose his library as a hide-out and sufficiently evil lair. Nowadays, it seems like if its not some festering old ruin or a misbegotten cave in the middle of nowhere, they won't even consider it."
Trent shot her an amused side-long glance. "And of course, your own lair is QUITE a bit nicer?"
"Of course it is. MY lair is a magnificent palace carved into the bottom of the coral reefs and the pearl beds. Truly, a sight to behold."
"Truly," Zelas remarked dryly. "Now then, the subtle approach or the blatantly straight-forward one?"
"In other words, do we sneak in or just blow the sh@% out of it?" Trent shrugged. "Given the mood I'm in, I'd prefer not to waste time. Let's lay the place to waste."
Delphine grinned as she began channeling energy, only for Trent to raise a hand to stop her. "Actually, hold on a second. Rei had a copy of a spell that I've been meaning to test out. May I?"
The demon lord of the east graciously bowed out, her curiousity piqued. "What kind of spell is it?"
Trent closed his eyes, all expression dropping away as he began to concentrate. "I can only assume that it's one of the forbidden spells that was lost in the war of the monster's fall. It was created specifically to deal with monsters, undead, vampires; things like that. A spell that draws on the power of the dragon lords; in essence a white magic equivalent to the dragon slave."
Delphine blanched at the thought. Dragon Slave wasn't all that dangerous to mazoku for the most part. Trying to slay one of them with pure negative empathic energy was akin to trying to drown a whale; it can be done, but there are a LOT better ways to go around it. Monsters were so used to being in the presence of negative emotional energies that black magic wasn't a particularly good way to fight them.
A white magic spell of similar power though... "Uh...would you be willing to NOT teach Lina or anyone else that spell?"
Trent ignored the question long enough to chant the cantrips. "Light which blazes incandescent gold, hear my call and answer." A glowing orb of pure white light crackling with a cat's cradle of pure golden electricity sprang to life between his steepled hands. "In the name of the four kings I swear and shrive this power for good; I summon light to pierce this darkness! Let those who oppose Light feel its holy blaze...GOD'S FIRE!"
The energy build up abruptly shot from his hands in a cascade of white and bronze-colored light; the surge of raw power cutting a swathe of destruction over ten feet in diameter.
Trent grinned, opening his eyes to look over his handiwork. Similar to his dragon's lance, godsfire didn't create a multi-kiloton explosion of magical energy; rather the effect one gets from a spray of water. The huge limestone cliffs had been drilled through evenly, as though some divine hand had pounded the place open. "Excellent. Oh, and I'd be happy to keep the spell a secret, provided you not do anything TOO unpleasant to the people. After all, I'm kind of a pseudo-hero; I'd have to oppose you if you got too out of hand."
"Fair enough. Shall we?"
The trio started through the cave; more than a little suspicious as to why there were no immediately apparent traps or faceless-cannon-fodder-minions- (TM). In point of fact, they didn't have even the tiniest obstacle until they reached the inner chambers of the...whatever it was that was heading up the battallions here.
Rather than waste the time necessary to pick the lock, Zelas quickly and expediently sliced the iron-wrapped oak of the door to ribbons with an energy whip. "Knock. Knock."
Their opponent grinned evilly as they entered. He wasn't what they expected; another of the strange overworlder mazoku that seemed so keen to cause them grievous physical harm would have been the norm. This guy looked more like some kind of merchant gourmand; short, fat, and balding, his pale skin made it look as though he'd been molded out of raw dough. Nor did his curlicued mustachios help him inspire any kind of ferocity.
What completed the image of a gourmand, far more than his massive stomach, was the evidence of his appetite litering the area. More appetites than food, to be precise.
Trent forced his face to neutrality as he regarded the eight or so scantily- clad elvish females around the chamber. They were all young and attractive; given the dancer outfits they wore, that came as no surprise. Nor did their demeanors come as any surprise. Absolutely subservient, no spark of life; neither joy nor hate, nothing but bleak survival; biological systems functioning in a vessel from which the soul had retreated.
Trent calmly turned to regard the fat man. "May I assume that they were unwillingly coerced into serving your...desires?"
Hieros grinned genially. "Why certainly my lad. After all, what other purpose could women have than to serve man? These women are undoubtedly overjoyed by their chance to serve me."
Trent nodded politely. "Clearly overjoyed. Rune Flare."
Hieros's grin never wavered as the spell of fire flickered and faded in transit to approach him, impacting him with all the effect of one of Sylphiel's flare arrows. "I'm afraid that's a rather worthless attack. For some strange reason, the material known as orihalcon seems to be rather common in overworld; magic has become less and less useful as it become more widely used." He shrugged, his face a picture of polite helplessness. "I'm afraid that there isn't a single spell that can survive this place's ambience; you could strike me with a dragon slave, and it would barely even singe me." He began chuckling happily at that, his facade of politeness fading as he openly leered at Zelas and Delphine. "Now as for your friends; I'm sure that they'd be thrilled to serve my...rather unorthodox needs and tastes. Do come a bit closer."
Trent allowed his glare to manifest, for all that it did little to concern the man. "Oh come now, I simply out-maneuvered you. Without spells..."
"Zelas," Trent broke in, "Delphine; I'm curious. Are either of you acquainted with hand-to-hand combat?"
Zelas's smile turned predatory as she produced a three-section staff out of nowhere. "Oh, quite. During our battles, the monster race has found that relying on our power isn't always an option, or an ideal one in any case. As such, we can certainly fight the old-fashioned way."
Trent's glacial calm broke into an equally cold smile as he tossed his sword to Delphine. "I hope you can use that." He drew his katana and tanto in a single fluid motion. "I must admit," he said conversationally to a rapidly paling Hieros, "that your use of the metal is quite impressive. An excellent defensive measure, no doubt as to that. Unfortunately, it has one incredibly apparent flaw. Like the spell Guumeon, it is utterly worthless against an attack which isn't magical in nature."
Hieros managed to smile falsely. "Well, I must admit that I never considered that. I don't suppose we could reach an agreement of some sort?"
Trent answered by ramming his sword through the space in between the fat man's ribs; deliberately missing the heart to puncture the left lung. "No."
What followed is not the sort of thing that one can write in a PG-13 fanfic. Suffice to say, Hieros eventually died. And if nothing else, relatively painlessly.
Trent did SO abhor torture. He'd learned not to do it the hard way after all.
To be Continued...
It's been a while since I posted/updated Descant, and I apologize to my four or five fans out there. I've been trying to get the plot synopsises of the third book on paper, and focusing on a different series kind of screws up my concentration. Therefore, I promise to try and complete this series with fairly REGULAR updates.
Oh yes. God's fire is a spell of my own too. Just FYI
Trent groaned as he returned to consciousness. Raising himself to his elbows, he took a look around the unfamiliar landscape; what had once been the gloomy innards of a draconic temple was now a deep, lush, temperate lowland forest. In other words, not only was he not in the temple, he wasn't even on the same island anymore.
He shook his head in consternation. "I swear, I am the only man who has ever lived that could possibly get deja vu from getting blasted into new surroundings via interdimensional jumps." Rubbing his now sore head, he grumblingly tried to finish getting up. "At least this time my memory's intact."
Emphasis on TRIED to finish getting up. He didn't make it beyond sitting up before he noticed a weight across his legs. A very shapely, and at the moment feminine weight.
Zelas groaned quietly as she snuggled closer to the source of warmth. Not that she needed it, but it was comforting if nothing else. On the other side of the dark elf/dragon, Delphine sighed blissfully in her state of near-sleep as she snuggled closer as well.
To understand Trent's reaction, you'd have to understand his upbringing and early life. His father and mother had both been outcasts with death sentences hanging over their heads should they be found. As such, Trent didn't exactly grow up with a whole lot of other people for company. His two parents, two sisters, and the occasional ranger who chose not to be offended by dark elves; that was about it. He'd had the basic lessons and such in manners and socializing; you know, about the bare minimum required to keep from getting yourself beaten severely for a social gaff.
None of this exactly prepares you for waking up in the middle of nowhere getting affectionately cuddled by a pair of breath-takingly HOT females of the...or A species. As such, Trent's reaction was par normal for him.
Zelas started as she felt a whisper of cloth against her, followed by a brief wind. Looking around, she noticed Delphine next to her, a near- identical look of startlment on her face. "Um...what just happened?"
Delphine shook her head as a new voice emerged from somewhere higher in the air. "Please don't do that anymore."
The two mazoku lords stared at the currently floating elf, then slowly smiled. Unlike say, Zelgadis, Trent had yet to complete his development of the iron-hard, coldy aloof mental image that the chimera had mastered recently. As such, while NORMAL irritants such as what Xellos might do couldn't get through his defenses, there were other things that could.
Namely, attempted seduction.
Trent's mind began short-circuiting as the two began slowly to climb up from their still reclining positions, making sure to stretch as slowly as possible, flaunting every square picometer of some of the most attractive female flesh he was aware of in existence. Right about the time he caught their hungry smiles, his conscious mind shut down completely, as for the first time in his life he passed out with a nose-bleed.
Delphine pouted at the now blissfully unaware elf/dragon. "Well, drat. He didn't stay conscious long enough for any kind of real feeding."
Zelas just grinned. He was just SO much fun to tease.
--------
Trent groaned as he regained consciousness. "Oy. Deja vu." He stiffened (not like THAT, YOU HENTAI!) as he recalled the last time he'd randomly awakened. More to the point, WHO he'd woken up next to. Luckily for both him and his blood pressure, the two monsters were simply sitting there and watching him.
Resolutely ignoring the playful looks on their faces, he somehow managed to compose himself. "I don't suppose either of you know where we are?" At the identical shrugs, he groaned again, rubbing at his temples.
THOOOM.
The three turned in surprise at the sound of an explosion; approximately fireball intensity judging by the burst of smoke. Not one to complain about free distractions, Trent ran off towards the nearest fight scene.
Ignoring the protests of the two mazoku lords behind him, he shifted into high-speed combat mode; not something as strange as a machine changing gears, but rather a change of mental state. His eyes and ears accelerated as his mental faculties based on sensory comprehension went up around sixty percent; muscle tone and response increased only slightly less.
There would be prices to pay for it, especially if the fight went on for a long time with him stuck at high-speed. He burned calories less efficiently at this rate; he'd be eating in a manner to earn Lina's respect if he went on too long. He'd be exhausted in virtually all other respects as well; dull-witted, physically tired, emotionally drained...the list went on and on. More likely however would be a quick, brutal strike against anything that he could handle with just his swords, then a quick return to normal speed to start using draconic abilities and spells; he REALLY liked his laser breath attack. And not having to chant anything struck him as ridiculously convenient.
He also shifted his movement to the high road of the tree branches. Though he was still irritated about his forced transit to this temperate area, he'd concede that he preferred the conifers and oaks to palms and shrubs; you just couldn't get decent foot holds there. Fading in and out of sight as he leapt silently through the trees, he quickly found the source of the explosion, and felt a shock run through him.
Elves.
Almost forty of them, surrounded at the moment by around two dozen heavily armed and armored bandits. They could have passed for soldiers elsewhere; their ring mail armor was identical and interchangeable, their bastard swords obviously of high quality. However, the bandit was overwhelmingly clear; no real soldier would growl, belch, curse, and scratch themself like that, nor would they have allowed their armor to get so pitted and scratched, and have worn it so poorly.
Quick lesson in making snap decisions. When two groups are about to enter combat, one of them is most likely in the wrong. If size is the only factor, then it is likely the smaller group that is being persecuted. If armaments are the critical factor, then often those bearing the most advanced weapons are the malefactors; you don't see many mobs of righteous peasants defending themselves with claymores and halberds. Also, the group that is more frightened or resigned is most likely to be the persecuted.
Anyway, the long and the short of the above paragraph is meant only to prove one point. A large group of unarmed men women and children being menaced by a slightly smaller group of scruffy-looking types armed to the teeth and grinning like skeletons is most likely to be the ones who deserve help.
Of course, they were also elves. It wouldn't be fair to claim that their race had nothing to do with Trent's reaction.
Before any snide villainous comments could be made, Trent reached deep down and invoked a tiny bit of his draconic heritage, speaking a single word that came out in a bone-rattling rumble. "RUN."
The bandits reacted with shock and dismay as Trent exploded into action, his katana leaving faint trails of light in its path, those farther away falling to Wind Brid (the wind-equivalent of Flare Arrow.) The fact that he was fighting them so easily was disconcerting in of itself. The eerie part referred to his silence. It was once thing to face down a raging dragon, bellowing and snarling as it ripped apart those in its way. It's another thing entirely to be confronted by a silent razor, a blade that effortlessly seperates you from various important body parts before you so much as feel it.
After about seven of the bandits had been reduced to cooling meat byproducts, the rest took the intelligent route and started running like hell. The elves had long since run off; right after the first attack had begun. Elves are notorious for their emotional control, and the logical thing to do in a situation such as the one above was to follow the draconic voice and RUN.
Then Zelas and Delphine arrived. Neither was particularly skittish. More to the point, they enjoyed beating up bandits easily as much as Lina did, though not for the profits; it was just fun. The fight didn't last much longer after that; about two thirds of the bandits were killed before the rest managed to finish running off.
Delphine brushed her hands off in satisfaction as they scurried away. "Well that was fun." She turned to watch as Trent finally returned to normal sight. "Any idea who they are?"
Trent shook his head. "Bandits, or mercenaries, or bounty hunters. Judging by the armor and weaponry though, someone else is providing them with arms and equipment."
Zelas shrugged nonchalantly. "In other words, someone's taking street scum and making an attempt to turn them into a private army."
Trent nodded, his forehead beginning to furrow with confusion. "I just can't imagine who. I don't know of anyone here who would be interested in taking over; there's really nothing here TO take over.
Delphine raised an eyebrow. "Here? I seem to recall you mentioning that you didn't know where we are."
Trent nodded absently. "Yeah, but that was before I noticed those elves. To my knowledge, the only place left for them is the hotsprings paradise; Mipross island."
"You seem a bit too familiar with elves," came a new voice.
Trent spun in shock, cursing himself for letting his guard down. The biggest problem with learning he was part dragon was that it gave him a sense of invulnerability. In comparison to what he'd been before his power had awaken, that could have well been considered the truth. The problem with believing that you're invulnerable is that it makes you sloppy; especially dangerous when you're made aware of the fact that there are other people for whom your supposed strength doesn't mean squat.
As he let his senses re-acclimatize, Trent winced. Standing in front of him was a fairly tall (for elves; he only stood about five eight) man. Dressed in the dull grays, browns, and greens of a ranger, his hair was a glossy chestnut brown died with patches of black and mottled green. He openly wore a katana identical to Trent's, though he eschewed the full daisho of katana and wakizashi. Instead, he wore a set of dirks on his boots; somewhere between being daggers and shortswords, they otherwise resembled normal longswords. As was fitting for a ranger, he also wore a composite longbow across his back, the quiver at his hip rather than across his back.
Worse, he was the only immediately visible one. Now that Trent had taken the time and effort to look for them, he could tell that a decently sized warparty of almost sixty elves (likely the entire settlement's worth of combatants) was grouped in the trees around him.
They weren't any real threat; even before his powers had activated, Trent could have at least outrun them. Now? Between his concealed ring mail armor and his newfound toughness, he sincerely doubted that they could so much as scratch him. That wasn't the problem. The problem was that he could tell they meant business; they intended to kill them, or at the very least drive them off, and would gladly die before backing down.
Given that the two monster lords behind him would be more than happy to oblige, it could well mean the extinction of what was left of a mirror race to himself.
Deciding that the potential risk was too great, Trent did the noble if idiotic thing.
His knife-filled bracers hit the ground only seconds after his swords as he raised his hands in surrender.
--------
Delphine glared at Trent as the door slammed shut behind them. "ONE more time. Why are we putting up with this?"
Trent glared right back at her. "We're putting up with this because the only other alternative was vaporizing several hundred of the last elves left on this world. And before you start telling me something about how little problem that is, keep in mind that I'M part elf. So if you DO try anything, I'll fight for them."
The mazoku lord of the west just continued glaring at him, flouncing down to the stones of the dungeon to pout.
Zelas quirked an eyebrow at Trent as he lowered himself to the stone. The so-called 'dungeon' was little more than ten-foot cube dug into the ground, lined with rough cut stone blocks, a stair well set against one of the walls leading up to a trapdoor. Seeing him pull into a fetal position for a good long ponder, she slinked over to slide up next to him.
He swallowed as she lay against him. "Would you please stop doing that?"
Zelas turned an exasperated look at him; equal parts of confusion and hurt in her eyes. "What is your problem? Why do you constantly try and keep me away from you? I mean, the way you act it's like..." Her voice trailed off in shock as a realization struck her. Since they'd met, she'd been feeling some weird energies and empathic vibes from him. She hadn't set foot off her island for almost a thousand years; she'd almost not recognized it. She finally realized what it was. "You're ATTRACTED to me?" she spoke softly in wonder, as much a statement as a question.
Trent's nervous cough proved answer enough. She blinked quickly, shaking her head in confusion. "But...but why on earth would you find me attractive?"
Trent favored her with a side-long glance. "Uh, I'm going to assume from the way you flaunt it that you're aware of the fact that you're a very beautiful woman."
"I'm also a lord of demons," she pointed out.
Trent just shrugged. "So? I'm a half dark elf half ancient dragon follower of the god of night. More to the point, I'm also an assassin who thoroughly despises hypocrites. A cold-blooded murderer like myself has no business passing judgment on anyone, demon or not."
Zelas slowly scooted away from him, shaken by this new revelation. Slipping into the corner, she sat back to digest the information that someone actually cared for her. Loyalty she was used to; it was a fundamental part of all mazoku. Fear, terror, hatred; they were more than a part of her life, they were her sustenance. Care? Affection? LIKE? She didn't have all that many ways to deal with those kind of feelings.
Especially not when she was finding herself enjoying them.
--------
Anubis paused in his watching over Trent, focusing for a moment on the sound rather than just the sights. At the moment the dark elf was trying to distract himself with his flute; it seemed a nervous habit more than anything else. That didn't strike him as odd; the melody on the other hand...
"A Forcerian dark elf in an elf-run prison on Mipross island in a Slayers world," he stated to Falaris. "How precisely does he know the tune to Simon and Garfunkel's 'Sounds of Silence?'"
Falaris just grinned. "I happen to like the song. Of course, that doesn't mean I distributed it or anything to my followers. After all, that would just be silly."
Anubis rolled his eyes. Falaris had started to loosen up lately; he was beginnig to miss the inscrutable, mysterious god of the night.
--------
Trent looked up as Zelas sat down beside him again. "Did you need something?"
Zelas took a deep breath, composing herself. That had not been what she'd wanted to hear. "Not really. I'm bored more than anything else; especially as you won't let us break out of here."
Trent shrugged. "Sorry about that. Then again, we've only been here a few hours; it shouldn't be too long. Just try and relax."
Zelas rolled her eyes. "Easy for you to say. You're USED to being patient. Monsters are willing to wait, but we're more used to taking what we want, not just sitting around."
Trent winced. "Sorry; I didn't even consider..."
"DAMNIT, STOP BEING NICE TO ME!" Zelas snapped, her voice cracking.
The dark elf turned a slightly nervous look on her. In his experiences, females getting angry usually resulted in him getting maimed either physically or verbally. Not the kind of thing he enjoyed. "Uh...okay. Why don't you like me being nice? I thought you could feed off of positive emotions just as easily as negative ones."
Zelas took a deep, shuddery breath trying to bring herself back under control. She was dignified, if nothing else. She was not the kind to let something like this make her lose control. "Trent...I can feed off your happiness and niceness if I have to. That doesn't mean I particularly want to."
"Why not?"
Zelas winced. That was the center of the whole mess, and one thing she really didn't want him to know about. It would thoroughly destroy his current image of her. At least she thought it would; she wasn't 100% sure WHAT his current image of her was.
Fortunately, she was saved the task of answering by a convenient explosion. They seemed to come up a lot around here.
Delphine sighed in depression as screams started echoing towards their cell. "And thus it begins. Another attack which serves no purpose save to generate food. Really, you'd think that these people would have at least figured out a way to make these battles INTERESTING once in a while." She paused as she noticed Trent standing up to dust himself off. "You're not going to go out there and HELP them, are you?"
Trent just grinned falsely. "Certainly. I'm just insane enough to go and help potential enemies surive."
Delphine shook her head as he blasted a hole in the roof and shot out. "People. I don't think we'll ever understand them; I'm starting to wonder if the monster race is meant to." She paused as Zelas stood as well. "Oh now don't tell me that YOU'RE going to help the elves too."
"Don't be silly." Zelas preened smugly. "I'm just going to watch."
--------
It took Trent a few seconds following his landing to realize a rather important fact.
He didn't have any of his swords or knives with him.
Oh, he could have summoned the opposing swords, or brought out Galfeira; they were still linked to him through the astral plane. But as the proverb went, 'don't use a cannon to swat flies.' In other words, don't waste the power of a weapon made to kill demons, demigods, and gods on few platoons of not-exactly-awe-inspiring bandits and bounty hunters.
Of course, one of the peculiarities of the Slayers universe is that while sword fighting is a well-respected art of combat, there is almost no time, energy, or effort devoted to unarmed combat; there are almost NO martial arts. The only time we ever see evidence for such a thing is in episode fourteen of NEXT, with the two Shampoo-look-alikes. Anyway, the long and the short of it is that if you don't have a weapon or a glowing aura of magic, people will assume you're helpless.
Not particularly intelligent when one is opposing an assassin.
The first grinning and cackling bandit to get to close fell gurgling as Trent used the edge of his hand to shatter the cartilage of the windpipe and larynx; he died quickly of shock. Trent didn't particularly LIKE the decidedly messy attack, but he'd needed something at the time that would scare his current opponents. Scared opponents are opponents that are far more likely to run away.
The scare didn't last long; apparently the bandits decided that he wasn't really any good, he'd just gotten in a lucky if particularly vicious attack. After seven more littered the ground, screaming in agony from an assortment of dislocated shoulders, broken collarbones, and shattered ribs, they chose to be respectful. They didn't break and run yet, however.
They let their mage (apparently their only one, and the source of the earlier fireball) try to fry him.
Trent hated him the instant he set eyes on him; the man resembled Wagnard FAR too much for Trent's approval. Similarly tall and looking corpse-like he was so slender, he had the same pale skin and black hair, though his had been woven into a braid long enough to go tumbling down his back. Likewise, his face wasn't quite so cruel or insane, but it was close enough.
The blood-red robes trimmed in gold and the dragon-headed staff didn't help either.
The mage was respectful, if nothing else. "That's rather impressive combat. I can't say I'm aware of anyone else who uses that kind of unarmed," his voice trailed off as Trent ignored him, using the distraction to snap the neck of a bandit attempting a back-stab. The sorcerer visibly composed himself as Trent continued to apparently ignore him. "As I was saying, you're apparently good at fighting. Unfortunately, that won't do a great deal of good against Me." He raised a single hand glowing with power. "Val-Flare."
Trent irritably cast a Windy Shield as the equivalent of a super-charged flare lance shot towards him. "Yes, that's very impressive and all, but I'm a bit busy now."
The mage began developing the almost trade-marked twitching vein in his forehead. "How dare you treat me like some kind of third rate hedge witch?! I AM NOT TO BE MOCKED, YOU PEON! TAKE THIS; RUNE FLARE!!!"
He grinned tightly as the smoke cleared following one of the strongest spells in fire shamanism. Not even ashes remained of his target.
"Like I said, that's very impressive and all. Still, not particularly useful on someone who's raised running away and dodging to a fine art form."
The nameless sorcerer's eyes widened in shock as he spun to face the currentlyh chanting mage. "Wind which blows across eternity, gather in my hands and become my strength. Bram Gush."
From her point of observation above, Zelas winced as the battering ram of air reduced the mage into a red-robed smear on the otherwise pristine grass. "That couldn't have felt good."
Delphine nodded. "Still, you have to give him credit. That was quite powerful for a medium-high level spell like that."
Zelas's eyes widened as the apparent field commander appeared, ignoring his currently running away and screaming minions. "That signature...he's not human."
Delphine grinned tightly. "Lovely. Another one of those upstart mazoku from overworld, or whatever they call the god-forsaken place. Shall we put him in his place?"
Zelas nodded primly as she began charging her own energies. "I quite agree. They need to learn not to interfere with our world. I'm getting VERY tired of them using our territories like they were some kind of over- sized chessboard."
Aremis grinned at the elf/dragon. "Not bad. Not bad at all. Still, you don't think that's going to do much good against someone who transcends humanity, do you?"
Trent sighed a mushroom puff as the minotaurish-looking demon took a wide- legged stance, apparently daring him to attack. "You guys really live for this, don't you?" Deciding not to waste the energy a spell would have required, he pulled galfeira out of subspace and with a brief pulse of mental energy, ignited the longbow.
Aremis's eyes widened in shock at the weapon; he'd thought he was facing some kind of elvish magus, not the guy who'd taken down Vlardos. He didn't even have time to run as the energy stream fired from the darkstar weapon lanced towards him.
It wasn't enough to finish him off. By itself, the sword of light is roughly equal in power to a fully-charged Ra Tilt spell, or slightly stronger than a dragon slave and a bit less rampantly destructive. While that's enough to kill most monsters, there are plenty who are stronger than that. And even though the bow of light was a fair amount stronger than the sword, it still wasn't enough to finish the creature off. Though it came fairly close.
Aremis gasped as the explosive force of the light began to fade away. "You...you think that's enough to finish me off? You...you've got another thing coming if you do. It's time for you to pa..."
He bellowed in pain as something sliced across his back. Spinning, his eyes widened as he saw Zelas standing there smiling, a whip of energy glowing at her fingertips. "Y-y-you?!"
The mazoku lord's smile widened as the whip faded away, the energy fed towards a blast strong enough to kill the thing; Delphine likewise charging up her own powers.
Trent? He was a bit curious as to what happened when a spell used to enhance a weapon to the Sword of Light's level was used on something that was already stronger than THAT. "Astral Vine."
Aremis suddenly felt very small, as he stared down the 'barrels' of three spell-like attacks that were packing enough raw energy to level mountains. "Uh...what I meant to say was that it's time for you to PLAY nicely?"
Then the beams hit.
Zelas pursed her lips in thought as she looked at the blackened spot on the ground. "You don't suppose that we over-did it a bit, do you?"
Delphine waved her considerations aside airily. "Oh no. We didn't have any idea what he might be capable of; we were just being thorough."
Trent sweat-dropped, but chose to ignore it. Girls will be girls. He instead turned to the nearest elf not trying to run away from them screaming. "Excuse me, but would you mind telling us what's been going on here? I mean, I assume that these guys didn't just pop out of the ground overnight to start terrorizing you. Can you fill us in on some details?"
The green-haired teen (actually he was in his seventies, but that's the elvish equivalent of the teenage years) swallowed nervously. There was a saying about dealing with gods and demons. Be very quiet, be very polite, and pray they go somewhere else with all possible speed. They didn't strike him as that powerful, but they were close enough. "Um...we're not really sure of too much. It all began around a month ago, at least on the island. The elders refuse to talk about it very much." He pointed in a vaguely northern direction. "We know that the attacks always came from the inland, south of the cities and hotsprings left over."
Trent nodded in thought. He paused as the ranger who'd thrown them in their dungeon in the first place approached. Stooping to grab a small dagger from its place in the ground, he began inspecting it for heft and feel. "Thank's for the information. By the way, do you know where they put all of our weaponry? We're leaving, and I'd prefer to have them back."
"If you think we're actually going to ARM our enemies, then you're dumber than I thou..."
Trent tiredly slung the dagger at the elf's feet, a shadow snap freezing him in place. "Yadda-yadda-yadda. Now then, can I get my swords back?"
--------
Delphine snorted in disdain as she stared at the 'hide-out.' "Figures. No imagination left in villains, no proffessional pride whatsoever. Now Rezo; he at least had the imagination to chose his library as a hide-out and sufficiently evil lair. Nowadays, it seems like if its not some festering old ruin or a misbegotten cave in the middle of nowhere, they won't even consider it."
Trent shot her an amused side-long glance. "And of course, your own lair is QUITE a bit nicer?"
"Of course it is. MY lair is a magnificent palace carved into the bottom of the coral reefs and the pearl beds. Truly, a sight to behold."
"Truly," Zelas remarked dryly. "Now then, the subtle approach or the blatantly straight-forward one?"
"In other words, do we sneak in or just blow the sh@% out of it?" Trent shrugged. "Given the mood I'm in, I'd prefer not to waste time. Let's lay the place to waste."
Delphine grinned as she began channeling energy, only for Trent to raise a hand to stop her. "Actually, hold on a second. Rei had a copy of a spell that I've been meaning to test out. May I?"
The demon lord of the east graciously bowed out, her curiousity piqued. "What kind of spell is it?"
Trent closed his eyes, all expression dropping away as he began to concentrate. "I can only assume that it's one of the forbidden spells that was lost in the war of the monster's fall. It was created specifically to deal with monsters, undead, vampires; things like that. A spell that draws on the power of the dragon lords; in essence a white magic equivalent to the dragon slave."
Delphine blanched at the thought. Dragon Slave wasn't all that dangerous to mazoku for the most part. Trying to slay one of them with pure negative empathic energy was akin to trying to drown a whale; it can be done, but there are a LOT better ways to go around it. Monsters were so used to being in the presence of negative emotional energies that black magic wasn't a particularly good way to fight them.
A white magic spell of similar power though... "Uh...would you be willing to NOT teach Lina or anyone else that spell?"
Trent ignored the question long enough to chant the cantrips. "Light which blazes incandescent gold, hear my call and answer." A glowing orb of pure white light crackling with a cat's cradle of pure golden electricity sprang to life between his steepled hands. "In the name of the four kings I swear and shrive this power for good; I summon light to pierce this darkness! Let those who oppose Light feel its holy blaze...GOD'S FIRE!"
The energy build up abruptly shot from his hands in a cascade of white and bronze-colored light; the surge of raw power cutting a swathe of destruction over ten feet in diameter.
Trent grinned, opening his eyes to look over his handiwork. Similar to his dragon's lance, godsfire didn't create a multi-kiloton explosion of magical energy; rather the effect one gets from a spray of water. The huge limestone cliffs had been drilled through evenly, as though some divine hand had pounded the place open. "Excellent. Oh, and I'd be happy to keep the spell a secret, provided you not do anything TOO unpleasant to the people. After all, I'm kind of a pseudo-hero; I'd have to oppose you if you got too out of hand."
"Fair enough. Shall we?"
The trio started through the cave; more than a little suspicious as to why there were no immediately apparent traps or faceless-cannon-fodder-minions- (TM). In point of fact, they didn't have even the tiniest obstacle until they reached the inner chambers of the...whatever it was that was heading up the battallions here.
Rather than waste the time necessary to pick the lock, Zelas quickly and expediently sliced the iron-wrapped oak of the door to ribbons with an energy whip. "Knock. Knock."
Their opponent grinned evilly as they entered. He wasn't what they expected; another of the strange overworlder mazoku that seemed so keen to cause them grievous physical harm would have been the norm. This guy looked more like some kind of merchant gourmand; short, fat, and balding, his pale skin made it look as though he'd been molded out of raw dough. Nor did his curlicued mustachios help him inspire any kind of ferocity.
What completed the image of a gourmand, far more than his massive stomach, was the evidence of his appetite litering the area. More appetites than food, to be precise.
Trent forced his face to neutrality as he regarded the eight or so scantily- clad elvish females around the chamber. They were all young and attractive; given the dancer outfits they wore, that came as no surprise. Nor did their demeanors come as any surprise. Absolutely subservient, no spark of life; neither joy nor hate, nothing but bleak survival; biological systems functioning in a vessel from which the soul had retreated.
Trent calmly turned to regard the fat man. "May I assume that they were unwillingly coerced into serving your...desires?"
Hieros grinned genially. "Why certainly my lad. After all, what other purpose could women have than to serve man? These women are undoubtedly overjoyed by their chance to serve me."
Trent nodded politely. "Clearly overjoyed. Rune Flare."
Hieros's grin never wavered as the spell of fire flickered and faded in transit to approach him, impacting him with all the effect of one of Sylphiel's flare arrows. "I'm afraid that's a rather worthless attack. For some strange reason, the material known as orihalcon seems to be rather common in overworld; magic has become less and less useful as it become more widely used." He shrugged, his face a picture of polite helplessness. "I'm afraid that there isn't a single spell that can survive this place's ambience; you could strike me with a dragon slave, and it would barely even singe me." He began chuckling happily at that, his facade of politeness fading as he openly leered at Zelas and Delphine. "Now as for your friends; I'm sure that they'd be thrilled to serve my...rather unorthodox needs and tastes. Do come a bit closer."
Trent allowed his glare to manifest, for all that it did little to concern the man. "Oh come now, I simply out-maneuvered you. Without spells..."
"Zelas," Trent broke in, "Delphine; I'm curious. Are either of you acquainted with hand-to-hand combat?"
Zelas's smile turned predatory as she produced a three-section staff out of nowhere. "Oh, quite. During our battles, the monster race has found that relying on our power isn't always an option, or an ideal one in any case. As such, we can certainly fight the old-fashioned way."
Trent's glacial calm broke into an equally cold smile as he tossed his sword to Delphine. "I hope you can use that." He drew his katana and tanto in a single fluid motion. "I must admit," he said conversationally to a rapidly paling Hieros, "that your use of the metal is quite impressive. An excellent defensive measure, no doubt as to that. Unfortunately, it has one incredibly apparent flaw. Like the spell Guumeon, it is utterly worthless against an attack which isn't magical in nature."
Hieros managed to smile falsely. "Well, I must admit that I never considered that. I don't suppose we could reach an agreement of some sort?"
Trent answered by ramming his sword through the space in between the fat man's ribs; deliberately missing the heart to puncture the left lung. "No."
What followed is not the sort of thing that one can write in a PG-13 fanfic. Suffice to say, Hieros eventually died. And if nothing else, relatively painlessly.
Trent did SO abhor torture. He'd learned not to do it the hard way after all.
To be Continued...
It's been a while since I posted/updated Descant, and I apologize to my four or five fans out there. I've been trying to get the plot synopsises of the third book on paper, and focusing on a different series kind of screws up my concentration. Therefore, I promise to try and complete this series with fairly REGULAR updates.
Oh yes. God's fire is a spell of my own too. Just FYI
