Chapter Three

The Weaver of Souls

Walter dove to the side just as the lightning came crashing down and rolled, pulling his blade out as he rose to his feet again. He turned to find Nora, who was busy trying to convince Sylva to stand back. He then turned to Benton, "Tempuer, we attack together, agreed?"

Benton nodded, and they both ran for the sage. The robed man smiled, his next attack flying from his lips. He brushed aside the lance tip, ducking over the blade in the same motion. "Thunder." Benton froze as the bolt of lightning clipped his back, and he smelled his singed tunic as he tried to force his limbs to move.

Sylva tried to ignore Nora's constant prodding as she opened her spell book. "Come on!" the younger girl whined, "We need to get out of here and…"

"How are we going to do that?" Sylva interrupted, her gaze never leaving the words inscribed in the old tome, "If you can find a way for us to get out through that…" she made a brief motion to the leering and snickering men that had them penned in, "… I'd be happy to leave with you. Now leave me alone." The next words to leave her mouth were the runes of her next attack.

Another stab from Benton, and the sage seemed to slide aside, as though he were standing on ice. His hand calmly rose to catch the heavy blade. Grenbien gaped open-mouthed in amazement; though his opponent showed obvious discomfort holding the Light blessed weapon, no blood came from the open wound the warrior was sure was there. The sage's free hand came up to intercept the incoming lightning bolt-to Sylva's equally open-mouthed astonishment –and redirected it to blast into Grenbien and send him back almost into the expectant throng.

Benton worked in an utter frenzy, stabbing and thrusting, punching and kicking, desperately trying to land a hit on the undeniably calm sage. He was casting again, but something was weird. He was not producing the normal Anima seal; this one was black and seemed to be sparking and wavering as he summoned it. Sylva cried out "Dark magic!" just a moment too late, and before Benton could properly react, black tendrils of malignant energy wrapped around his legs, anchoring him to the ground as more of the cursed tentacles rose from the ground.

"Fools…" The sage chuckled, his mirth harboring a hint of bloodlust, "…to think you could stand against Morph. I am a being far beyond your comprehension of power; you should have thrown yourselves at my feet and asked for a painless death." Benton by now was completely wrapped in the dark energy, laboring to draw breath let alone move. Morph raised his hand and opened his mouth to speak the triggering rune for the deadly spell, but he was interrupted by a more forceful voice's dweomer.

"Aurora!" Grenbien's voice seemed to echo even though they were outdoors. Morph yelped, realizing he was outlined with Light energy. He screamed as though he was burning, his agony intensifying as Grenbien brought the now glowing blade closer and closer to the sage.

The magic lessened, Benton broke into a run for the distracted opponent, shaking off the trailing enchantment with a defiant growl. The sage tried to deflect the weapons tip again, but he only managed to make sure it avoided any vital spots, the lance still finding its home in his hip.

Some of the thieves at that point went pale-faced and mysteriously fell to the ground, dead instantly. To the two ladies curiosity, something left those bodies. It looked like a blue, soft burning flame, which floated slowly from the new corpses to the cornered Morph.

Benton retreated, unsure of the mysterious beings. Grenbien, though he did not back off, made no more movement forward, concerned this may be an attack. Morph laughed manically, his face still contorted with pain, as the blue flames touched his body. They did not burn skin, as the four had expected, but instead seemed to be absorbed into his skin. All traces of the sage's pain seemed to almost completely fade away. Still limned in glowing energy, Morph began chanting again.

Benton ran to attack again, trying to shake off the still pursuing energy, but Morph decided to make the upstart his first target. He raised his hand and spoke the previously unspoken rune: "Flux!" Benton screamed as the cords tightened and then exploded. The teenager fell to his knees, blind with pain, and then he only felt the sensation of falling…

Grenbien came charging in, prepared to slice the enchanted sword through the bastard's neck. Something stopped him, and he realized that Morph was chanting again, but he wasn't looking at him. No, the sage's gaze was centered on…

"The women!" he cursed and ran in front of the two girls as Morph cried out his next enchantment, sending a fireball careening for them. Walter got his sword up to block, hoping the magic would fend off the assault. The fire flew for the warrior, then remarkably ducked under the blade and ignited on contact with his gut.

A scream, a pillar of fire, then the last thing Grenbien could remember of that day was the fast-approaching ground…

Morph laughed louder as the aura finally dissipated and began slowly advancing for the two cowering girls. His mirth was quickly robbed as he felt a disturbance in the air. He looked to the side, where a quivering arrow had imbedded itself in the wall of a nearby house just past and unflinching bandit's head. On the rooftops, a female figure could be seen fitting another one to her shortbow.

A second figure slowly ambled past a breach in the bandits, made by the sudden death of a few of them, to the battle field. The newcomer, a cloaked man, shook his head and turned to Morph.

"I do apologize, good sir," he began, "but such wanton destruction is not what I normally go by the wayside. Please withdraw before I am forced to take negative action on you."

Morph laughed, and the bandits, as if on a silent signal, closed in the circle so they were again closed in, "Negative action? Sir, you are outclassed! I offer you no chance to take back your words; you will d…"

His boasts were cut short as the cloaked man cried out, "Nosferatu!" Several of the bandits fell to the ground, blue fires forcefully torn from them, but instead of going to Morph, they floated up to the sky. The woman planted an arrow in the surprised sage's side as he looked with despair at the fleeing flames.

"You are the one who is outclassed!" the man yelled, cloak fluttering on an unfelt breeze, "You use your skills recklessly, and you toy with human life! For that, you will find no mercy! Know the wrath that is Bartholomew Cantus!" As the woman fitted a third arrow and prepared to fire, Bartholomew was already beginning his chant. Morph cried out as black tendrils of energy pinned him in place. "FLUX!"