Realm of Monsters - Chapter 717: Stand, Lord Morrigan

Chapter 717: Stand, Lord Morrigan

  The bodies of the charred dead left from Corvus’ and Stryg’s clash of storm magic left a clear path between the two of them. The latter gripped Krikolm and sprinted forward.

  Corvus pretended to raise his sword, Feather, to attack. He channeled Black and poured the chromatic mana into his shadow. Just as Stryg drew close, inky tendrils shot out from Corvus’ shadow and caught Stryg’s ankles. He stumbled forward into Feather’s waiting edge.

  Instead of trying to backpedal in a futile attempt to escape, Stryg kicked off the ground with all his might. He shot upward and twisted midair, landing on the ceiling with his feet. He kicked off the stone, swinging Krikolm down in a wide arc.

  For the first time in many years, panic gripped Corvus. He barely managed to raise Feather in time to block the strike. Despite the empowered strength of his brown magic, he barely managed to hold off the Aspirant. Corvus stumbled back from the blow, his hands ringing in pain.

  Blue surged through Corvus. He flung his arm forward in an attempt to create space. Lightning arced out from his fingertips in a burst of power. Stryg reached out to meet it. Blue filled Stryg’s fingers and he brushed through the lightning, an umbrella cutting through the rain of storm magic. Stryg pushed forward as lightning arced all around him and diffused into the walls.

  White mana filled Corvus’ other hand as he waited for Stryg to get closer, step by step, as if pushing against a blizzard. When he was in range of a blade, Corvus swung with Feather, and Stryg went to parry it. But Corvus surprised him when he dropped Feather and thrust his hand in Stryg’s face. Bright magic coalesced in the orc’s crimson hand and exploded in a beam of light, too fast to evade and hot enough to sear the flesh off any bone.

  The Ebon Aspirant stiffened to a halt and a small smile tugged at Corvus’ lips. Yet as the smoke faded, the smile died in disbelief. Stryg stared at him, eyes wide— no, rather, his lilac irises had expanded to cover his whites entirely, like those of a bird of prey. Smoke came off his blue skin but his flesh was practically unharmed.

  The boy had to be blind, Corvus told himself, panic once more rising in his chest. No one could survive such a direct, powerful bright spell without suffering ocular damage. 

  Stryg’s slit pupils narrowed and he swung Krikolm down at Corvus’ neck. He fell backward, narrowly dodging the blade, before he tossed a torrent spell at Stryg, a swirling whirlpool of water that filled his part of the hall. The water threatened to sweep Stryg away, but he dug his toes into the ground, his claws piercing through his boots and sinking into the stone.

  Scrambling to grab Feather, Corvus looked up to find Stryg still standing, only a few paces from where he once was.

  “How!?” Corvus yelled indignantly.

  Stryg answered with another swing of his blade. Corvus parried with Feather, each strike sending spasms of pain up his arms. Tens of inky shadows latched out from the ground and caught Stryg’s limbs, but he ripped through them like rotten vines and lashed out with his scarlet blade in a quickening barrage of steel.

  How?

  HOW!?

  The question screamed in Corvus’ mind as he struggled to parry the ever-rising blows. He was the greater swordsman, that much was certain. The boy’s strikes were predictable to a keen eye and yet, his blade moved so swift Corvus could barely react. Brown mana and life force energy both filled Corvus’ muscles, so why was he being pushed back with each blow?

  He didn’t understand. Bellum’s daughter struck hard, but there were gaps between her strikes. This Aspirant, this boy, had several openings in his technique, but there were no gaps in the timing of his strikes. He didn’t let Corvus commit to a single riposte. 

  With every shift of his feet, Corvus’ knee ached from the wound inflicted by Belle. He needed to make some space to recover, to regroup with his battle mages. He needed time. Yet every time he tried to back away, he was pushed ever closer to the wall.

  A dozen ideas ran through Corvus’ mind. Something, anything, that might stop this assault of red steel. His knee suddenly cracked with a sickening crunch and buckled underneath him. Corvus fell to one knee and Stryg pushed past his defense. Krikolm slammed into Corvus’ neck only to be deflected by a flare of power from his golden aegis.

  Corvus didn’t waste his opening. He slipped an enchanted dagger from his sleeve and stabbed Stryg in his kidney. The dagger sank halfway into what was more akin to ironwood than flesh. A trickle of dark ichor slipped down the blade.

   Krikolm fell to the floor in a clamber.

  “Stryg, no!” Tauri screamed in the distance.

  Corvus smiled in sadistic triumph and looked up to see the pain and fear in his foe’s face. Stryg looked down at him with a burning glare. 

  What? Corvus thought. Before he could process what he was seeing, Stryg grabbed him by the shoulders.

  “Enough tricks,” Stryg growled and flung him into the wall like a rag doll. The golden aegis flared to life once more, protecting Corvus from the stone wall, but not from the force of the impact.

  “You think you’re the first aegis wielder I’ve fought!” Refusing to let go, Stryg turned on his heel and flung Corvus into the opposite wall. Stars danced in Corvus’ vision, the breath knocked out of him. Stryg slammed him into the wall again and again. After the sixth swing, the aegis’ light flickered out in certain parts, and the warlord’s back made contact with stone.

  Stryg dropped him unceremoniously and he slammed into the ground hard. Corvus rolled to his side with a grimace. He whimpered faintly and tried to crawl away. 

  Pulling the dagger out of his side with a hiss, Stryg tossed the blade away. “Stand, Lord of Murkton.” Even as he spoke, the cut began to close up.

  Corvus looked to his soldiers and battlemages for aid, a few were close enough to help, but none ran to his aid. They stared in fear at the monster that stood over him. Stryg reached down and stabbed his claws into Corvus’ stomach, eliciting a pained gasp.

  “I said stand!” Stryg lifted Corvus up by his claws, his fingers digging deeper into the orc with the motion. Warm blood dribbled down his hand as Corvus kicked the air helplessly.

  “You hurt Gale,” Stryg leaned in close and whispered, “Nothing in this world will save you from the hell I will inflict upon you. Death will not be your salvation. It will only seal your fate.” 

  “W-Wait, please,” Corvus whispered, blood dripping down his mouth.

  “No.” Stryg channeled a vast surge of chaos from his hand into the warlord’s organs, sending a cold chill through the latter.

  “Stop, please,” Corvus coughed up a mouthful of blood.

  “Stop? I felt Gale’s pain, her despair as she breathed her last.” Rage burned in Stryg’s eyes as they glowed with inner fire, chaos filling his heart. The air stilled and grew cold as droplets of blood, water, and debris began to vibrate and float. “I will drag your carcass across this castle and use your skull to bash in the heads of every single person you have ever loved before I stop—”

  Stryg paused and tilted his head to the side, his droopy pointed ear twitching. “What…? No. No!” He ripped his claws out and let Corvus sag to the floor in a bloody mess. “Belle!”

  His cousin turned, a smile on her lips, the blood of her enemies on her face. She saw the look of desperation in his eyes and frowned before nodding in understanding. “Whatever it is, I’ve got this. Go!”

  Stryg gave her a quick nod of thanks, then spread his arms wide, and channeled Black. Shadows shot out of his arms, snatched up Krikolm and Nameless, and brought them into his waiting hands. He sheathed them and sprinted down another hall.

  “Where the fuck is he going?!” Freya yelled as she fought back-to-back with Tauri.

  “I wish I knew,” Tauri grumbled.

~~~

  The fires of the Water Market dyed the sky orange even in the dead of night. The Sylvan ships had crashed into the market’s ports and flooded the docks with goblin warriors. Orc soldiers and guards tried to mount a defense, but for every goblin that fell, a dozen orcs went down with them.

  The orcs had seen goblins before, but they had never seen a Sylvan goblin before, let alone fought one. They hid in the frost mist and attacked from the dark. Spears would suddenly stab out of the mist and claim an orc’s throat. A goblin would sneak low and slice another guard’s heel. The guard wouldn’t have a chance to scream before two goblins had stabbed him repeatedly in the chest.

  Like vengeful ghosts, the Sylvan goblins moved through the Water Market. Killing every soldier and guard that met their path. But the Sylvans did not capture chokepoints nor plunder goods from stalls and stores. There were no prisoners to take. The goblins slaughtered every orc they came across, armed or unarmed, man, woman, or child, it did not matter. 

  The goblin warriors killed with brutal efficiency, while the shamans lit every structure they could find. All the while, the sky lit up every few seconds with a clap of thunder, briefly igniting the silhouettes of two figures amidst the clouds.

  Catherine watched from the small window of her house as an orc dressed in the gilded armor of Murkton’s elite, had his personal soldiers round up several battalions before leading them all into a defensive wall at the edge of the residential district. 

  Soldier after soldier rushed down the streets, their boots thumping the ground in an eerie song of war. They shouted every so often for the people to stay in their homes. Catherine did as she was told, for going against the military would only lead to trouble for her family.

  Everything was going to be fine. Murkton would emerge victorious. The Murkton soldiers would fend off the goblin horde of nightmares. They had to. Or so Catherine hoped.

  “Mom?” Anna called out weakly.

  Catherine turned away from the window and found her young daughter and son standing in the dark, still in their small clothes.

  “What are you two doing out of bed?” Catherine asked.

  “We saw the fire outside,” Henry replied.

  “What’s happening?” Anna asked.

  They looked at her with trepidation, searching for the comfort and reassurance Catherine desperately hoped for. And for a moment, Catherine hesitated, and wished her husband were here, but he was not. She was alone and her children needed her now more than ever.

  “Everything is going to be fine,” Catherine ran over and hugged them close.

  “Is it the goblins? They’re here, aren’t they?” Anna whispered with a shaky voice.

  “…Yes. But it’s going to be okay,” Catherine kissed her forehead. “Our soldiers will protect us. You’ll see. We’re safe here.”

  “I miss Dad,” Henry mumbled.

  “I miss him, too, sweetie,” Catherine swallowed the lump in her throat. 

  “Can we stay with you tonight?” Anna asked.

  “Of course. Why don’t you two get some proper clothes on and I’ll make us some tea, hm?” Catherine tried her best to put on a brave smile.

  Her children nodded and went to their room to change. As soon as they were out of sight, Catherine fell to her knees and whispered a silent prayer to her new patron. “Forgive me, I don’t mean to be a burden. I don’t mean to sound so ungrateful after your recent blessings to my children. But… I’m scared. Please, watch over my family, keep my children safe.”

  A few moments later, Anna and Henry came back out and found her starting a fire in the kitchen. Instead of going to play, the two stayed close to her and fidgeted with the golden coins they had been gifted that morning.

  “Everything is going to be fine,” Catherine whispered to herself over and over like a mantra.

  The sudden nearby howl of a wolf broke her from her thoughts. Another wolf howled and then another, followed by the screams of dying soldiers. Catherine dropped the kettle she was about to place on the fire. A chill ran down her spine as the screams drew closer.

  “Mom?” Anna whispered, fear in her eyes.

  Catherine doused the fire, grabbed her children by their hands, and rushed to the door. “Stay with me and do as I say, understood? If I tell you to run without me, you run.”

  Anna looked at her little brother, “Mom, I don’t like this—”

  “Understood?”

  “We understand,” the children mumbled in unison.

  Catherine nodded and opened the door. “Follow me.”