The regiment of roughly fifteen Sourcerers and Seekers reached the drawbridge well past sunset. Their march had been free of any unpleasantries, and Elane enlivened the mundane walk with a relay of the journey across the underground ruins of the island and their meeting with Slane.
They halted on a scrap of a cobblestone road that hadn't yet succumbed to nature. Ifan shot up an arrow that made a loud whizz during its flight, then exploded in an eruption of sparks, informing people on the other side of the wall about their arrival. Delorus was the one to lower the bridge and welcome them back.
"Good to see new faces," he addressed the two women - Elane and another Seeker who decided to accompany her comrades this time.
Leya, as this was the other woman's name, was the one who set the rest of the escapees free of the collars. And, apparently, she was also Gareth's lover, or so the noble deduced from the quick glances the woman cast at the man whenever possible.
Ifan pointed further into the settlements and shouted his orders loud and clear.
"Bring the wood into the keep for storage, we won't be starting anything today. Lass?"
Elane found herself standing on the side, leaning on the planks she was carrying and lost in thought.
"Understood," the elf cried and followed the rest.
As she walked to the keep, she noticed the overall visage of the fort changed tremendously, with the once-jailed Sourcerers prancing about more lively, with hope in their eyes. Braziers and torches kept the outside lit wherever applicable, but those were snuffed out the moment their job was done, in order to save resources. The noble stopped by the fort's main entrance, again contemplating in silence.
"Go to sleep early, we're starting at dusk," Ifan had materialized behind the elf's back and patted her shoulder in a rough manner to get her attention.
"I will," she shrugged. "But I have something to get done before that."
"Suit yourself. As long as you're able by dawn."
She plucked one of the still burning torches out of its holster on the cobble wall and called to the woman who was just walking past.
"Leya, do you have a moment?"
The two made it down to the arena. Once a lively place filled with raw emotion and cheer, now, just as the elf predicted, no better than a tomb. The light of her torch alone was not enough to stave off the total darkness of the underground.
"Sorry for asking this of you," Elane said, waiting for the woman to approach her by the staircase leading down.
"It is fine. You are right, they should not rest here choked," the Seeker answered with a somber note, and the two began their descent onto the battlefield.
Decomposition hadn't had the chance to settle in the mangled corpses yet, be it to their relative freshness or chill of the underground. Still, the smell and, in most cases, view was less than pleasant. The woman managed to brave the worst sights, even the unfortunate dwarf whose head was split in two. Brutal aftermath of Elane's going berserk. They had no hopes of retrieving the body of the gladiator who fell into the bottomless pit, but the Seeker still offered him a quick prayer. The noble mimicked her actions, mostly out of guilt that she had forgotten to spare a thought for her fallen foe. Indifference was not among the traits nurtured by her foster parents, she scolded herself.
Last, but certainly not least, from the shadows emerged Thola's pale face. She was lying in the pool of dried blood where she fell, silver eyes glowing no more. Once again, the elf held the torch high over Leya to let her work in relative comfort. Elane saw her fingers dance across the magic-bound metal several times now and there was nothing out of the ordinary, but her instincts worked faster than her eyes. Source filled her nostrils the moment the collar clunked open and she rushed forward, letting their only source of light fall behind her. She sprung over Thola's body and grabbed the Seeker, shoving the clueless woman back with the collar still in her hand. The following heartbeat, a great release of Source sent them both tumbling across the dusty cobble. The dying fire on the discarded piece of wood became infused with magic, growing into a pillar of green light that lit up the interior with an eerie afterglow. Where once laid the elven gladiator's body, now was the curled carcass of a dragon. Elane felt the woman starting to hyperventilate in her grip, while she herself was dazed from the sudden influx of energy.
The great maw was looking at them with blind, sunken eyes while the rest of the body lay overturned on its back. Shock melded into realization, then fear. The flame burning behind the dragon began dying down, slowly hiding all details back in all-encompassing darkness.
"C-come," the elf roused the woman to stand up. "Let us leave before the light dies down completely."
The very much shaking Seeker complied and allowed herself to be escorted to the exit, throwing glances filled with disbelief back at the Dragon Knight's remains. She climbed the ladder leading back to the fort. Elane wavered at the very edge of moonlight that came from the opening above, transfixed on the Source-infused torchlight reflected by matte scales.
"Please, hurry up! We need to inform Gareth about this," Leya called from the entrance but got no response from the elf.
The torchlight started dwindling and soon expired whatsoever.
The day of hard work came like a blessing after a strangely dark and eerily quiet night. After the midnight revelations, Gareth ordered the trapdoor leading into the arena chained shut and buried under rubble, thus sealing the secret underground. Nothing more could be done for the dead, where there was still an abundance of work for the sake of the living.
Elane enjoyed physical labor far more than she did fighting for survival and doing menial tasks relaxed her. She was standing on a makeshift scaffolding inside the ship's hull. Hammering planks in places it would be difficult for a human to reach without elevating the shabby structure some more. The ship's condition was improving by the day, but the elf doubted it could withstand any longer sail without serious repairs. Her dubious memory of the world's map proved to be of no help recalling the closest port to Reaper's Eye. Because of her mental efforts, she didn't hear the heavy steps that rang on the boards below.
"Ye back with us, ay mate? Your arm has healed well, I see," Beast's robust voice called from behind her back.
As the elf turned around she saw the dwarven castellan himself. The only new thing about him was his attire, including a simple worn beret adorned with an eagle's feather that was sadly plopped on his balding head. She stared at her once-detached limb as if thinking of an excuse.
"Chased off all monsters of isle's terrors and got bored, ha?"
"Well, you could say that I presume," she finally answered. "You can swing a sword only for so long…"
"If ye can tie knots half as good as ye do fencin' and hammerin' then why not join ol' Beast's crew, eh?" He let out a hearty chuckle.
"I might actually, depending on the destination. Do you know where you will be taking the Sourcerers?
"I do indeed, had a run-in with a fellow dwarf from the Seeker's camp, and got some information. We'll take a quick route to Driftwood, then set the folks on their way home. The Lady Vengeance will also sail, but take another course to confuse the Reds."
"You have it all figured," the elf nodded along. "Do remind me, Driftwood is located innn…"
"Reaper's Coast?" the dwarf offered.
Elf's nods turned more energetic. "Then I might hop on."
The dwarf leaned against the bulkhead the elf was fixing, eyeing her with interest.
"Have a business with the Reaper too? Or are ya returnin' home?"
"By a wide berth, sort of-" She shrugged. "I will make it to Stormdale eventually."
"Stormdale! Quite the detour, lass-"
"What is the uproar about?" Vermil, who appeared out of nowhere, asked, two mugs of watered-down wine in his hands.
"I know they call me Beast, but I was far from roarin', boy," the dwarven pirate scolded in a fatherly tone. "I was just askin' our elven lady why she wants to go to Stormdale through Driftwood. Not that I have any business stickin' my nose in yer affairs."
"So you plan on sailing to Driftwood, huh? Seems sensible, given you have a wreck to row," the human commented, handing out the drinks.
"She'll dance the seas no worse than that Magister vessel ya plan on stealin'," the dwarf shook his tin mug at the human.
"But seriously, why go so out of your way, Elane? Gareth and Cork have business in Arx, so they will probably aim with the Vengeance there, wouldn't it be closer to you?"
The noble sighed heavily and sat down on the plank, setting her hammer aside.
"If Magisters already made the effort to force me out of my homeland, I might as well take my time in the big wide world," she surmised, finally freeing the human from the second cup.
The two men laughed.
"Started imprisoned and ended up on vacation. I quite like how this ordeal is unraveling."
The dwarf raised an equivalent of toast, but instead of wishing pleasant things, he reminded them about the abundance of work to be done.
"Before ye can be lazying ye backsides on the starboard, we gotta patch this beauty up!"
He drowned the beverage in one, hefty chug then left the woman alone with her work, hauling the visibly upset man behind him. She took longer to finish her drink, but eventually, the bottom of her mug dried up, and she returned to nailing down planks.
The freedom had the scent of weathered resin and dust.
With the ship mended, supplies secured and people eager to be uncollared and leave the wretched prison, all was in check with the escape plan.
Now the people's hopes hung heavily on the shoulders of the Seekers and battle-able Sourcerers, who gathered before the isle's seaport. They took out the Shriekers dead in the night, to see whether the Reds stationed defending the port would notice, and potentially lure them out of the ancient ruins to a more evenly advantageous ground. However, no one raised an alarm, so comfortable they were behind their wall of nightmares. Nightmares that were lying in piles of their own desecrated gore for hours now. The small cohort was making last-minute preparations on the grasslands extending before the slope that housed the reinforced shore.
Simultaneously, the last rigorous checks were happening in the fort proper. Beast and his crew remained there, keeping the peace in those last anxious hours. A renegade master of tides from the Ancient Empire joined the pirate's entourage. If anything went wrong, and the fighting would take longer than expected, weaving the high tide into a wave that could dislodge the ship onto a safer shore would've been his sole duty. If things go smoothly, considering they were able, Elane and Lohse would assist him. But before any of that could happen, the regiment of Seekers was to depart for Lady Vengeance while the Sourcerers tied the stationary forces with battle. Gareth was repeating the plan painfully often during the last days, and did not spare instructions now, during his errands around the scrambling soldiers as he checked their equipment and weapons.
"Lohse!" he beamed at the woman.
"Yeah, healing not fighting, and staying out of trouble. I get it!" She huffed, irate.
"Vermil, Elane!"
The two stood to attention.
"This once I do not care how you keep yourself or others alive. Bleed Reds dry and sink your teeth into their flesh if you must."
"Open-mindedness by the means of desperation," the human chuckled to himself.
"Not that I would do otherwise without your blessing, but it is appreciated," Elane responded to Gareth's back.
Her gaze wandered from the winged compass needle on the Seeker's cape onto the oddly stiff grip Ifan had on his crossbow.
"Eager to get your work done, huh?" She chimed in, eyeing one, particularly grim-looking bolt in his hoster.
He shot her a nasty grin that didn't bother to elate his eyes. "Guess I am."
"This place is bound to collapse regardless," Vermil noted, checking a phial of darkened glass under sunlight. "Before the headquarters on the mainland realize what has transpired here, we'll be far from this place, so might just go out with a show."
"Sounds like something only you would say," the elf noted, amused.
" Sounds like something only I'd say ," the rogue corrected, poking the elf between the ribs. "Try to loosen that tongue of yours, wouldn't hurt, huh?"
Elane opened and closed her mouth in confusion. She spoke the way she was taught, and she was schooled, among others, by the most esteemed Arxian linguist. The noble was convinced this was the way she was supposed to speak; slow and clear, as had been beaten into her head so many moons ago.
"I am-"
"I'm-" Ifan joined the bullying, two glistening spheres blinking in his shadow.
Elane's brows furrowed in vexation.
"You are-"
"You're-" Vermil interrupted, barely containing his laugh.
This banter would have continued indefinitely had it not been for Gareth's final call to arms.
"Lucian blesses the righteous, and today we stand against blind and misguided zealotry! If the Divine's son chooses cruelty over justice, it is our role to cut his reign short. Lucian's sword has not yet stilled in his judgment! "
Ifan's face fell, clouded with a grim expression during the uplifting speech.
" Fight and survive! For justice !"
When the pompous talk was over, the mercenary turned toward his closest companions, his eyes reflecting little of the gray morning light.
"Listen. Me, Elane, and Vermil, we're going up front. Lohse, Fane, and Red for support, take the left flanks and rain hell on them. Sebille-" She was the only one he turned to while listing their roles in the upcoming battle.
"I'd rather you addressed me by my full title," the noble lizard reprimanded, and the elven assassin was seemingly half a thought away from adding another scaled creature to her victim list.
The mercenary stared the prince down until he shut up, and continued.
"Think you could get a vantage point on the buildings on the left? If the Divine's bastard is here, it's probably the tower," he pointed down onto the port complex.
While most buildings were in ruin, one, which looked like a grain silo, remained intact and was the only serviceable spot to act as a post.
The elf gave the old slab of masonry a quick glance and whistled.
"You have a lot of faith in my climbing skills. I'll try though."
"Take to the right and cover us from above," he addressed the mages, gesturing towards the entrance they scouted while getting rid of the shriekers. "Sebille, stay hidden for as long as you can."
"Always looks good to come a little late to a good party," she purred carelessly, but her muscles tensed.
"Ready?"
All seven of them answered with a nod.
"Party's starting," he growled.
It was almost amusing how far they could walk into the structure without raising any alarm. Lohse and Fane took out a few grunts on the walls above before they could realize something was amiss, and Ifan and his entourage made it past the entrance arch and down the long stairs safely. They would have been able to knock on the wooden door leading into the keep, had it not been for two of the Hammer's horrors lurking in the shadows nearby. Tall and lithe as elves, the masked monsters were swift and coated in invisibility magic. Elane's two-hander intercepted the wicked sharp claws of the first on instinct, while Vermil barely ducked out of the way of the other. They shrieked, causing a stir within the port. Magisters started pouring out of an old, half-ruined warehouse, but their mad march was quickly cooled by the waves of hail conjured by Lohse.
Alexander's head blinked in a window's opening in the higher part of the tower. Ifan cursed under his nose, then his shadow quivered and sprung into life, darkness molding into light - bright white fur of a gigantic wolf. The canine beast jumped at the closest ghaist's throat, causing the horror to let out another, stomach-curdling scream. Vermil slid behind, avoiding the swinging talons, then dropped to his knees and cut low, slashing the monster's tendons.
Elane was still unscathed, successfully holding the shambling beast at a distance. As they circled each other, she noticed the degraded, as if burned, ears protruding from behind the faceless mask that covered the being's visage. This thing was an elf once, she came to a nauseating conclusion.
It pounced into the air, aiming for her face. She grasped the furthest point on the handle of her sword and plunged it through the being's chest like a spear. Wraps and flesh served no protection from thrusts, and metal was only spared for the creature's weapons. Intercepted in its flight, it screamed and growled, yet did not cease to wiggle. Elane had to let the sword down, unable to keep it in the air much longer. The moment the beast's feet touched the ground, it resumed its charge, unfazed by the metal piercing it. The release mechanism sang a deadly song and a bolt lodged itself in the thin visier of the gold-coated mask the terror was wearing. It stumbled momentarily, and the noble used this opportunity to let go of the sword and kick the pommel. The blade sunk deeper, the crossguard touching its chest. Ifan was calmly loading another bolt and aimed his crossbow at the golden-plated mask again. The elf jolted on par with the projectile. She clung low to the ground, closing distance in a heartbeat. The bolt met its mark, while Elane grasped the handle of her blade, twisted it savagely, then pushed, sending the nightmare pinned to the ground. Moving the sword like a gruesome lever, she opened the stab into a gigantic gash in the being's chest as it wailed and twitched its claws around. Keeping the writhing, cursed body stable with her foot, she forced the blade down to the monster's throat, at which all wails ceased. Twisting the weapon free, she plunged it through the ghaist's skull for a good measure, and it was as good as dead. She twirled around, cold sparks shining in her eyes, and quickly assessed the situation that was happening behind her back. Vermil had dealt a great deal of damage to the other stalker, one of its arms torn away by Ifan's wolf. She sprung towards them, her body high on adrenaline and she jumped up, swinging a skull-crushing overhead blow at the ghaist. It fell dead.
A glance towards the other side of the walls told them that their comrades still held their ground, and the Red Prince fenced off a Magister rogue with little trouble.
The mercenary motioned with his head at the closed door and the elf obliged the unspoken command. Three kicks and the door was down, and a barrage of spells followed. Elane more than expected a warm welcome, having coiled a necromantic chain around her arm before she entered. The Magister conjurer got a taste of her own spells the moment she decided to cast them. The Lone Wolf rushed past the dazed elf and aimed at the mage standing on a spiral staircase. The bolt sunk deep into her chest and she collapsed on the spot, falling down the steps, grunting and groaning in pain.
"You good?" Ifan asked the elf, who was leaning against the wall heavily.
She jabbed her sword into the fallen Magister, ending her agony and seeping the fleeting vitality.
"Yeah."
They rushed upwards, Elane first, Ifan right behind, Vermil closing the formation, veiled by shadows. They met with Sebille in a circular chamber, littered with corpses of Magisters.
"Where?"
"Outside," the assassin pointed towards the opened door leading out to the upper level of ruined cloisters hugging the wharves.
The wolf reloaded his crossbow with the wicked black bolt from his holster, his steps going from soft and measured to loud and rapid. Elane and still invisible Vermil accompanied him, whilst Sebille kept in the doorway, eyes fixed on Alexandar's last stand. All that the head of Divine Order had left to protect him were a heavily armored knight and the last of his mages - an older woman wielding a wand and a shield.
"You godless bastards, do you have any idea what sin you are committing by threatening the Divine's son?" the mage snarled at the Sourcerers.
"Step aside, Miranda. I have a word to exchange with him," Ifan growled.
Baffled and distrustful of their own senses, the Bishop's entourage took a shaky step to the side, one at a time.
"That voice…" the woman murmured under her breath, flabbergasted.
"Sword of Lucian…?" The knight whispered.
The Bishop of the Divine Order was a young, too young for the pained look and wrinkles etched onto his face, man. One could be inclined to outright refer to him as a child, and their judgment wouldn't be without truth. The facade of innocence burst the moment he uttered a word, his nasal voice was filled with contempt and self-assurance.
"Ifan Ben-Mezd, why am I not surprised to learn you are the one responsible for toppling months of our efforts to bring this world a semblance of normality? Care to explain how you are still standing here, alive and able after my father had deemed you dead in Deathfog?"
Elane's ear twitched as she began curiously scanning Bishop's features in search of falsehoods.
"Explain to me, Alex," Ifan's words were poisoned bolts in their own right. "How is shackling and sending people to their deaths ANY help?"
"Do you think I enjoy this work? Taking people away from their families, fitting them with these collars? I abhor it, but I bear it."
Elane eyed the collar around the Divine's son's neck - identical to the ones they once wore. She felt like spitting, remembering the lavish quarters of the High Judge. So much for martyrdom.
"And how about tying people to poles and letting them rot in the sun? Ripping souls apart leaving nothing but a mute husk? Tortures?!" Ifan's voice boomed enough to deafen.
Something was ticking under the mercenary's skin, like a bomb armed to explode at any given moment. The great white canine stepped out of Ifan's shadow again, its growl accompanying the accusation.
Alexander's lips pressed into a thin line, his brow acquiring a few more creases.
"I can bear anything for the sake of the realm. It was the most important lesson my father taught me: Be strong not because you are; be strong because you must, for them."
"And you learned nothing!" Both wolves were on a brink of fury, bared teeth and bristled fur. "You exert strength over the marginalized and helpless. Lucian would've renounced you if he saw the hell you've built!"
Only the finger resting above the trigger of his crossbow remained stoic, for now, but the man's resolve to eventually use it was indisputable. A muscle in the holy Bishop's jaw twitched, making him look like a scolded child, rather than a guilt-ridden martyr. He took a step back to cover behind his wards and Ifan was more than ready, the bolt following suit right at the bastard's throat.
Lightning tore the sky, which had suddenly darkened, with deafening thunder in tow. It seemed as if it was dusking, not dawning. Rain poured down from the split heavens like blood from a deep wound. Flesh-numbing chill set in, the wind picked up, and dark, low clouds rolled in. All while the mortified bishop stood with his eyes wide open, a bolt sticking out of his throat just over the Source-muting collar. The Magisters accompanying him were in shock. Next, the earth rumbled and the ruin shook in its fundaments. The cobble was torn asunder by a gigantic insectoid maw that emerged from underground, closing its mandibles over the helpless Alexandar and sending the Magisters falling into the bowels of the destroyed structure. The giant worm had an iridescent, fleshy carapace and towered well over the port's ruins.
"Fucking-" Ifan managed to bark.
The drillworm hissed, opening its mouth apparatus wide open. Before the elf or the human had a chance to glance into the Voidwoken's throat, Vermil pulled them back into the chamber, saving them from the cursed breath that the beast unleashed upon them. Content with fending the Sourcerers off, it turned its head towards the other side of the ruins.
"Tra…ito…r…" the now-familiar but distorted voice resonated from deep within the insectoid corpus.
The overgrown caterpillar's body dipped down, starting to crawl away. Rushing back onto the exposed platform, Elane tried to sour the monster's intent to devour the Eternal as well. She leaped up and plunged her sword into the monstrous hide. Rancid bile erupted from the wound, dripping down her blade and onto the elf hanging on the weapon. She tried to turn the bleeding to her advantage, forcing her decaying touch into the exposed flesh, but the spell seemed to take no effect. Her situation became more and more dire, hanging at least three stories above ground on a slimy sword that began dislodging itself under her weight. Suddenly, Elane felt a pull, like an air vacuum sucking her in. She blinked and the next thing she saw and felt was the solid ground under her feet and the battlements sprawling around.
Lohse had swapped her place with an oil barrel, which Fane's fiery dagger promptly chased. The explosion that followed made the worm shrink and shrill, as it moved onto the courtyard between the buildings and rolled on the ground to douse the flames that clung to its hide. Ifan evacuated himself as well, carried safely to his other companions on a waft of wind. The rogue and assassin joined them, stepping out of the shadows.
"Okay, how do we fight a thing this godsdamn huge?" Vermil shouted over the raging storm.
Unbeknownst to them, one last survivor of the port's garrison was now climbing atop the ruined floor overlooking the regrouped Sourcerers. He loaded his bow, hands shaking from blind fury. The Sourcerers brought the Void, the Sourcerers killed the Bishop. At least one of them should pay the highest price.
The wet string creaked. Elane's ear twitched and she started to turn around, prompted by some primal fear. The world came to a halt as if someone poured resin over it when she noticed the marksman. The Magister breathed in, and the bow released an arrow aimed at Ifan. Another lightning lit the world as if it was suddenly bright daylight, a pale glint reflected on the metal tip of the soaring projectile. The snap of the bow caused Elane's heart to spin and fall, but in spite of herself, she turned her steps between the Wolf and his doom. The pointed blade slipped over the edge of her chestplate and bounced into her exposed skin, right over her jugular notch.
The flow of time resumed its normal course. She was standing in front of Ifan with her arms protectively spread open, drenched in a mixture of rainwater and her own blood trickling from her pierced throat. Meanwhile, the Void-born earthworm managed to kill the flames that claimed the better part of its upper carapace and attempted to rebury itself in the soil, only to become engaged by a flurry of ice and snow while a literal dragon descended upon it from the heavens.
"He's on our side!" Sebille cried to the uninitiated while she cut down the Magister, who had sneaked up on them with a throw of her knife.
The archer in red grunted, then fell back, dead.
Elane's knees gave way to her weight, shaking, as she tried to come back to her senses. The mercenary caught her before she collapsed, anger substituted with worry and dread.
"Lass-"
Slapping the hand that held her upwards, she jerked the arrow free with a nauseating wet plock, then collapsed into the man's arms again. Taking advantage of the miraculous draconic intervention, he hauled her to the only intact wall left on the platform, hearing her wheezing breath. Her hand grasped his forearm and shook it towards the direction of the fighting, while her other palm was firmly pressed to her wound. She stared at the man with urgency, her nudging strong and persistent in saying 'I'll manage here, go help others.' Ifan had hoped he understood it right.
"Afrit stay," he called in a softer manner.
A white mass of fur and warmth was upon the elf soon after, sheltering her from rain and cold. Two emerald orbs gleaming with Source were looking up at her with worry. She nodded at the mercenary to the best of her current ability.
"Up in a moment…" she managed to wheeze.
"She'll be out for a while." Vermil surmised, pulling Ifan back. "How do we take it from here?"
He watched as huge chunks of frostbit, Voidwoken flesh simply crumbled and fell off in the aftermath of the duel with the dragon, who vanished as soon as he appeared.
"Scatter around," The Red Prince ordered. "Attack enough to gain its attention then retreat. Keep it distracted, sap its strength. "
"We can do it quicker, I just have to get close," Vermil added, pulling out a piece of rolled parchment tucked behind his belt. "Fane, can you collapse the tower?"
The Eternal cast a disgusted glare across their position at the pile of rocks haphazardly held together. "Doable."
"Just try to not bury me beneath the rubble. All ready?"
They nodded.
Prince slid down the ladder to the courtyard, throwing his shield at the Voidwoken. Earth churned under his feet, and he barely managed to roll out of the way of the caterpillar's tail emerging from underground. Ifan jumped to action, leaping across a gap onto another building's rooftop. He shot three bolts in quick succession, one of them explosive, courtesy of Magister supplies. The mandibles turned towards him, churning out a stream of noxious bile. Lohse took advantage of the weather, directing incoming lighting down on the drillworm. The electric shock was enough to stun the monster, its segmented body clicking together as if pulled down from the inside.
Vermil, sensing an opportunity to act, grabbed Fane by the waist, to the other's unspeakable outrage.
"Brace yourself," the rogue instructed before leaping into the shadows with the undead in tow.
The two reemerged just underneath the worm, the puddles of rainwater around buzzing with electricity. The human unrolled the scroll in a hurry, unmindful of the rain pouring down on the parchment.
He pushed his arm through the sigil painted in the middle, tearing through the paper. The rogue's hand emerged on the other side of the scroll looking like a bird's claw and it pushed further, making a tiny scratch on the Voidwoken's hide. Magic beamed from the lesion; shrinking the monstrous body, turning chitin into feathers until it looked like nothing but an ordinary chicken.
"Are you kidding-" The scholar asked in incredulity.
"Do your thing while it lasts!" The other shouted.
Fane sighed, pinching the bridge of his illusionary nose, and made a heavy stomp. The ground around them cracked and sunk several feet below. With its foundations compromised, the tower began to topple. Vermil took hold of the Eternal again and evacuated them from the impact zone as far as the remainder of his magic allowed.
They made it up a dozen steps onto the stairs leading into the port. The metamorphosis spell waned, and the Voidwoken returned back to its original size bearing all damage received in its shrunken form, even though its head was barely buried under the rubble. Everything within the complex began to shake and tumble as the spasms of agony forced the concealed part of the worm out of the ground in rapid twitches. The battlefield turned into roiling chaos of falling stones, slippery ground, and little to no visibility.
With the drillworm's demise, the cold receded, and the sun shone again through the dark clouds, unraveling the catastrophic aftermath of the battle. No stone was left upon another, the area was completely leveled. Afrit was trotting up the stairs slowly, one green eye closed and bleeding. Elane held onto the tattered white fur, sliding off the animal's back the moment they moved a safe distance from the epicenter.
"Are you alright?" Fane asked, striding towards her.
His elven face was oddly crooked. She nodded positively, saving the strain of the healing tissues with her voice, and pointed to his jaw.
"Oh."
He fingered his chin, then snapped it back in place with a loud crack. His attention was more preoccupied with her injuries still.
"Do you need me to cauterize the wound…?" Raising his arm to ignite a relevant spell, he noticed his hand had gone missing.
More faces were showing atop the staircase. Ifan was limping, favoring his left leg and leaning on the Prince for support. Sebille hobbled towards them bent in half, with Lohse following right behind, her face scrunched in pain. The white wolf returned to his owner's side, taking the man's weight from the lizard. Vermil sported a purple bruise on his cheek, but otherwise appeared unscathed. The body of the Voidwoken was laying in a giant heap atop or under the ruins, its segmented abdomen coiled into an 8-shape covering just about the entire width and height of the courtyard.
The bard did not run her usual check-ins on everyone, trying to patch herself first, but her magic was unstable and weak, as she was unable to focus because of the pain. Elane took her role, sparing as much of her slow-trickling ruby as she could, stopping bleedings and mending cuts; but that was about all necromantic magic had to offer. Sebille's ribs had been badly bruised by debris that fell on her chest, Prince's tail had been crushed between two falling slabs of cobble wall, and Lohse's contused back was nearly black. They were battle-scarred, and Seekers have been nowhere to be seen. Their attention soon turned to getting themselves into a serviceable state. Fane's hand was retrieved from underneath a boulder that fell on it, while Lohse was busy tending to her injuries, Sebille's ribs, and giving Elane a quickened class on hydrosophy based-healing, all at the same time. They were too preoccupied to see the boat aiming for the port's still-intact whafts, nor the tall silhouette dressed in white and gold that ascended onto the shore and was walking towards the company in a measured saunter. She nonchalantly picked whoever was nearby by the neck, which happened to be Vermil and pierced his earlobe with a fang, drawing out blood. He yelped and struggled in her grasp. The mystery woman, elf to be precise, finally let him go and he plopped down like a sack of potatoes, the rest of the company stared at her, speechless and confused.
"Well, well, well. Quite the mess you've made…." She seemed to savor whatever she had tasted out of the human. "... Godwoken."
The elf, white of hair and demonic of glare, half of whose visage was hidden behind a tight-fitting, intricate mask, looked around and sniffed the air, as one would do in a seaside resort.
"They really are going rusty, seeing how they slept on your merry bunch. Anyway-"
She raised her hands, sensing a waterfall of questions about to be targeted at her.
"I'm Malady. I managed to free myself- along with a number of your Seeker friends- thanks to Gareth's idiotic but still somewhat effective plan. How did it go? The chances may be low but never zero…We've captured the Lady Vengeance and can get out of this wretched isle very, very soon. But before that…" Something evil glistened in her mask-encased eye.
"What did those little gods teach you?"
"How did you know we met with the Gods?" The red lizard was quick to pry, spitting saliva mixed with blood.
"Because-" She pivoted towards the red monarch. "You're the reason why some of us get out of bed each morning."
"Please elaborate," Elane's tone was enough of an indicator of her notion towards the quasi-Seeker, the hardly believed a word she heard from the woman.
"The Meistr will answer each and every of your in-depth questions, I'm just supposed to take you to her-"
"Take us where, pray tell?" Vermil intruded, holding his ear.
She glanced down at him with downturned lips. "...I was about to say that. We're going to Driftwood. So-"
Malady clapped her hands in lukewarm enthusiasm.
"Gather your bearings and we set sail. Your destiny awaits, et cetera."
"Sorry for raining on your parade, but we still have our obligations here," Ifan informed, visibly annoyed at the woman's bossy disposition.
"What other obligations could be more important than the road to Divinity?" she wondered, tilting her head sideways.
"Helping common people, to begin with," the wolf grumbled, standing up despite his sprained ankle.
Afrit's maw remained closed, but he let out a low growl. Seeing similar pertinacity on most of the Godwoken's faces, Malady relented with a sigh.
"Fine, but just for the sake of formalities-"
Vermil slammed his hands together, taking from the well of Source pulsing within ever since his meeting with Rhalic, and directed it at the elf in white.
"Ow! That stings…"
Her plate-glowed hand rubbed the exposed skin of her face that sizzled under the newfound aura. She seemed to visibly relax when the spell finally waned, leaving her flesh healed and immaculate.
"Well, that proves it," she mused with a content expression that mellowed even further. "I'm…happy. How unbecoming. So what is it you have to do here?"
"We need to get the remainder of the prisoners out of the island. We have a different ship, but it is stuck on rocks on the other side of the island," Elane explained, being careful about sharing details.
Malady uttered another sigh, then her head jerked upwards. "What of the saps in the Fort?"
"Joy's under our control," Ifan answered.
The masked woman looked genuinely impressed by the news.
"My…you are resourceful little crickets after all. We can wait then, I assume. How long do you need to wrap things up here?"
"Midnight," was the mercenary's flat response.
Malady hissed and clicked her tongue. "No, we can't do that. Why wait this long?"
"Our sailor said the tide will be at its highest then, we need the sea level to rise in order to free the ship," Elane continued the tirade, as Ifan was forcibly brought down by Lohse, who began mending his leg.
Her head began shaking midway through the explanation. "No, nope. Not doing that. You think they have anyone capable on-site to get on with your plan?"
"Yes but-"
"Great."
The bright yellow eyes, more yellow than Sebille's, hid behind porcelain eyelids. Malady's ashen white hair swayed independently of the sea breeze, then suddenly puffed upwards, alongside every fabric part of her armor. She swung her hand as if pushing something and the sea began to come out of its current bounds. First creeping up to the level of the wharves, then submerging them completely, the Voidwoken's mangled corpse drowning soon after. Malady's rowboat was pushed free of the moor by the influx wave, but she seemed to weave the current so it sailed atop the floodwaves right towards them.
The middle of the makeshift bay bubbled suspiciously, but the phenomenon stopped as suddenly as it began.
"They should manage now, right?" She turned towards the Sourcerers with self-satisfaction oozing from her features, contrary to their flabbergasted grimaces.
She caught the breasthook of her boat, which gently swayed on the waves then beaconed them to board with a wide sweep of her other arm.
"The Lady Vengeance awaits."