Chapter 1222: One Who Remains

My side blazed with agony, radiating through every nerve in my body. Hot blood splashed across the hands that groped me, searching for wounds. I could only writhe and whimper, my protest growing weaker as my consciousness slowly darkened.

"There, I’ve retrieved it."

I didn’t recognize the voice, but suddenly, the weights chaining my body and soul shattered. Mana flooded back into my soul, and I gasped, unconsciously releasing a pulse of life magic. Immediately, the flow of blood slowed, and my vision sharpened. The pain returned as well, my mind no longer dulled, but it quickly faded to simmer as wounds closed across my body.

"Damn inquisitors. Anti-magic blades," muttered Kahlen. He stood over me, several small knives floating over his open palm. Blood soaked his hand, running down his forearm and dripping off his elbow.

"Are you alright, my Lady?" Luxxa asked, cradling me in her arms.

I tried to speak and coughed wetly, struggling to clear my throat. My lungs burned.

She procured a rag from somewhere and wiped the blood from my lips. Jenna handed her a water flask, and she dumped a trickle down my throat. I coughed several more times before finally gasping in a breath.

"M-My spell!" I whimpered.

"Shhh, it’s alright. You managed to tie it off," she soothed.

Over her shoulder, I caught a glimpse of the Aetherial prism humming violently. Several thin, hairline cracks ran through the crystal core, leaking pure, concentrated fate mana.

"Help me up," I said, weakly grasping her arms.

"What? You’re in no condition to–"

"Please...?" I looked at her with pleading eyes still wet with tears

She hesitated, looking at the others.

Kahlen shrugged. "There’s little time."

Gritting her teeth, Luxxa lifted me up. "My Lady, you can’t push yourself."

"I’m breaking through."

"But–"

I brushed past her, my boots leaving blood footprints behind as I tracked through the puddle of blood. My dress was torn and soaked, hanging heavily from my trembling body. It wasn’t just my blood, either. Several white-robed inquisitors lay crumpled across the ground, cut down by sword and arrow. A dozen more were locked in combat with the other Star Guard a few paces away, slowly being forced back. One fired an arrow at me, but Luxxa intercepted it with her shield, sending it spinning aside.

"What happened?" I asked, touching my side. The wound had almost fully healed, but it was still tender to the touch."

"Ambush. They used some artifact to sneak past our detection and attacked with anti-magic from a range." Jenna said, curling her lip in disgust. "If Lady Verity hadn’t deflected most of them, you would have–"

"Verity?" I gasped, turning. She wasn’t here, but I could sense her fighting. There, in the city. Verity and Fable were fighting Fate. He had finally unleashed his aura, imbuing each attack with ninth-level ferocity. Fyren had vanished, leaving the two desperately working to hold him off. It was obvious to my untrained eye they wouldn’t last long.

"Where is he?" I asked, turning about. He wasn’t responding to my Soul Speak. Was he fighting the inquisitors? Or did he go to help Luke?

There was no answer. Luxxa and Kahlen avoided my gaze. Jenna pursed her lips. A cold claw tightened its grip on my heart.

"Fyren...?" I whispered.

Luxxa shook her head. "He’s...gone. When the inquisitor struck, Fate lashed out with his full power. It was aimed right at us, and he..."

"No..." I squeezed my eyes shut, but tears escaped anyway, trickling down my cheek. He was still there. He had to be! So...why couldn’t I feel him? Where Fyren should have been, only darkness remained in the mark. But no! That was impossible. He was tied to Haven. He should have been reborn there!

But the darkness was utter. Colder than the void. And...rage. Was it mine? I couldn’t tell. But it was all-consuming, warping the very flow of mana around me into a tempestuous cyclone.

Fable’s roar reached me, though it sounded far away. The ground shook as he struck somewhere nearby, bleeding from a terrible cut that stretched from his shoulder to his flank. Fatesworn mages rushed toward him, already conjuring Life Magic. I stood there, numb save for the frozen fury in my chest. It was suffocating, begging for release.

I summoned my staff, clenching it so hard my knuckles whitened. I didn’t say anything, I couldn’t, but I didn’t have to. The power and violence surging within me took form, coalescing within my aura.

Fate’s sword passed through Verity, and she exploded into starlight. "I’m sorry," she whispered, retreating into my shadow.

The god turned slowly, deliberately. When he saw me standing unsteadily, covered in blood and with tears running down my face, his lips twisted in a mocking smile. He glided toward us, unhurried.

"You’ve lost, Oracle. Your army is scattered, your friends have fallen. Your protectors are as chaff before my wind. Could there be any question that Fate has chosen her champion?" he asked.

I gritted my teeth. "You’ve won nothing."

Fate’s eyes narrowed, but as he made to retort, he paused, frowning slightly. His gaze focused on the shimmering golden figure that now stood between us.

"Another of your tricks?" Fate asked, tossing Verity’s long, silver hair. "I cut down your demon and your wolf. What could you possibly throw at me I’ve never faced before?"

Arantius glanced about himself, ignoring the god. His brow furrowed slightly as he took in the carnage and fierce battle between my Star Guard and the inquisitors.

"Where is the demon?" he asked in a soft voice that somehow carried across the battlefield.

My nails bit into my palms as I clenched my fists, tears stinging my eyes. "He...he’s..."

"Gone," Fate said, relishing the word. "Struck from the weave. Such is the fate of all those arrogant enough to challenge a god."

"Hmm, is that right?" Arantius relaxed, a small smile playing on his face. "Then I see my role is to simply play with you for a bit. Child, please rest and continue your spell when you’re able. You must reach ninth level." His gaze finally rested on the god. "You were right about one thing, Betrayer. Fate has chosen a champion. How ironic you forced its hand yourself."

"What could you know of Fate?" Fate growled.

Arantius rose into the air, summoning his slender sword in one hand and holding it carelessly at his side. "I tire of your drivel. Come, show me what a god born during the twilight hours of the Cycle is capable of."

Arantius beckoned at the god, goading him into attacking. Fate was all too happy to oblige, attempting to twist fate again. I shuddered as his power tore at the fabric, and when he reappeared, his sword was crossed with Arantius’s.

"Is piercing fate so easy these days?" Fate growled, bringing his sword down in an overhead sweep.

"Did you think it was some kind of accomplishment?" Aranitus asked, easily deflecting it. He tilted his head in confusion. "Even the child mastered it before she reached sixth-level. How long did it take you?"

I stared at the two fighting, my lips parted in disbelief. Forgotten tears trickled down my cheeks as I watched. Fyren was gone. So why did Arantius seem so unbothered? Even if he didn’t like the oblivion demon, didn’t he know how important he was to Fate’s plan?

What was even more confusing was that Fate unleashed his full power, his movements reduced to afterimages and silver blurs. I couldn’t follow him at all, and yet Arantius hardly moved. His reactions were beyond reason, of course, but he held himself with unhurried ease. It seemed like Fate’s sword was drawn to him like a magnet, hitting him no matter where he moved.

But no matter how scripted the battle looked, the shockwaves and residual mana released by every clash proved otherwise. The Shining Aegis rippled constantly, drawing heavily from the Aetherial Prism to maintain itself. Occasionally, when a magical art went wild, it would cause cracks in the surface and spatial fissures throughout fate.

"Pathetic," Arantius murmured, gliding back a few hundred feet, scrutinizing the god. "Even the Apostle is more skilled than you. When was the last time you held a blade against a true immortal? And don’t tell me it was that demon. He’s never been known for his swordsmanship."

"What are you? You are no god...how can a being like you exist?" Fate spat, glaring at him. He was panting lightly. A single drop of blood ran down his cheek from a cut on his cheekbone. It was small and healed immediately, but it was also the first wound he had taken since attacking. Arantius hadn’t drawn a single drop of my mana more than what his existence required, meaning he hadn’t been hit at all.

"One who remains," Arantius answered. He raised his sword. "I’m afraid the same will never be said of you."

They met again. The crack of their blades grinding together was enough to shock me out of my awe. The darkness in my soul had grown deeper and colder, if such a thing was possible, gnawing at the very warmth of the Primordial Mark in my chest. The legions of Fatesworn demons had gone quiet, as if they too could feel its depths. I was beginning to wonder, to fear, that the boundless, ravenous rage welling up in my chest wasn’t mine at all.