The Forsaken Hero-Chapter 941: Unraveling Threads
A pulse of fate magic erupted from the star atop my staff, washing over the deck in a storm of stars. They concentrated on Victor, drawn from their chaotic flow to his smothered soul like moths to a flame. The hero faltered, face paling as it wrapped around him. Fyren’s sword leaped forward, scoring a long, bloody cut across his arm, cleaving his bracer in twain.
But as my magic reached for the heart curse binding his soul, an unfamiliar power sheathed his soul. Liberation washed off it like rain on a window, dissipating as it dripped onto the ship. A sudden backlash struck me, sending me staggering across the deck. Black dots spun across my vision, and hot, coppery blood burned my throat.
A cackle rang across the decks, the eighth-level mage’s lips twisting in a cruel smile. I traced the source of the feedback to his staff. It was covered in enchantments, so much so that I hadn’t bothered deciphering any individual one before. But now, knowing what I was looking for, I found the one responsible for countering my spell. A protection spell, one I’d never seen nor heard of before, even in the Library of Light.
Victor regained his balance, clutching his head with one hand while desperately evading Fyren. He snatched his sword armament from the air, wielding it like a regular sword, as his axe, hammer, and spear assaulted the demon from behind. As Fyren pulled back, he whispered the words of a spell, healing the wound on his arm.
A sudden movement within the perimeter formed by my star guard caught my attention, as a hazy magical silhouette stole across the deck, slipping under one of Jenna’s spells without being noticed. A thin, enchanted dagger shimmered bright to my eyes, bearing sixth-level enchantments.
"Kahlen," I warned through our mark, not letting the thief know he’d been spotted.
The demon flicked his hand, and two silver blades streaked across the deck, stabbing at the thief. His invisibility spell, if that’s what it was, vanished as he narrowly dodged the first and parried the second, only for the third to slip under his guard and plunge through his back, emerging out of his chest in a torrent of blood.
"Good eye, my Lady," Kahlen said. He beckoned to the fallen dagger, clutched in limp fingers. It shivered and rose, flying in the air toward him. He caught it effortlessly, examining the blade. "Sure enough, anti-magic. Don’t worry, though, I’ve attuned to its signature now. Assassins bearing a blade enchanted with it won’t find it easy to approach."
Sending a missive to my guards and Fyren, I took a breath and began to pick my way across the battlefield. The Star Guard moved efficiently, securing a route through the makeshift fortifications and battle lines the enemy soldiers had formed from the cargo and wreckage littering the deck. I stepped gingerly over fallen, the knot in my stomach tightening with every elf I passed. I couldn’t help but see the faces of the children running through the markets, the grace and beauty of the dancers at the banquet, or the bright, hopeful eyes of the youth training at the Whitemarsh Estate.
The ship rocked as I slipped by Fyren and Victor. Their power was equal, and Fyren should have won by now, but he hadn’t. He fought slowly and cautiously, more so than when he’d sparred with Arantius. I couldn’t understand it. Why hadn’t he outfought him yet? That he was so focused made me nervous, causing my tail to thump against the deck.
"Is that fear that moves you?" the high inquisitor asked, glowering at me. He stood on the upper deck on the back of the ship, completely alone. Two staircases, one on either side of the ship, would have taken me to his level, but I stopped before the helm, watching him warily.
"What have you done to Victor?" I asked.
He snorted. "What we should have done long ago. Every mutt needs a collar, no?"
I felt instinctively at my neck, my hand cold and trembling. "Is that all the heroes are to you? Tools?"
"Why do you speak as if you don’t already know the answer?" he sighed, shaking his head in mock disappointment. "Besides, it’s not as if you treat your ’friends’ any different. Those who lack the resolve to fight for the divine must be given it. No sword can be allowed to turn against the hand that wields it."
"I could never force someone to fight beside me. All those that stand against the divine do so because they wish to," I said, an edge to my voice.
"Then you’ve all chosen to die," he growled. "You have no idea the forces you’re up against. This city, no, this world, belongs to the gods. Your petty acts of defiance end here."
He raised his staff, and another of the countless enchantments woven within its gnarled wood activated. I stumbled as the deck vibrated, a surge of power thrumming deep within the belly of the ship. Thick ribbons of unattributed mana oozed through the planks, collecting in a sphere over the inquisitor’s head.
Its appearance brought a suffocating pressure to bear against me, growing until it surpassed my own aura. The muscles stiffened, refusing to listen. The air grew thick and heavy, catching in my throat. I frantically searched the rapidly resolving spell, but studying the mana brought no assurance. Yet again, it wasn’t a spell I recognized, nor could I discover how he’d wielded so much mana that didn’t come from his soul. Was there a magic item of such power hidden in the hold? Or was he drawing from the core of the ship itself?
"Interdiction."
His intonation struck with the weight of a mountain, detonating the mana within the sphere. It ruptured, releasing a thunderous peel like the fall of a gavel. The sound reverberated through the skies, echoing off itself with a swelling refrain. The entire ship quieted a moment as all eyes turned upward, as a massive magic circle scrawled itself across the sky.
"Damn it all." Fyren’s curse bounced through the mark. "Xiviyah, we have to get out of here!"
He kicked off the deck, flying toward me, but Victor lunged between us, bringing every one of his justice armaments in a brutal attack. Fyren waved his sword, deflecting them with a seventh-level art, but his momentum stalled. He couldn’t get past the hero.
Pulse racing, I raised my staff, desperately casting. "Dispel Magic!"
It was a desperate move, merely a fourth-circle spell, but it was the only thing I could soul cast fast enough to interfere with whatever storm was brewing above. The beam shot up, striking the magic circle, and...nothing.
My heart sank as the beam disappeared, failing to do more than cast a few runes awry. The circle quickly stabilized, and with a shiver, ceased rotating. Curtains of translucent light descended from its edges, curving just above the tops of the trees to form an inverted dome. In the space of a heartbeat, the spell had formed a cage almost a mile wide with the ship in its center.
"I’m sorry, Xiviyah, no time for games," Fyren sent, a note of desperation accompanying the soul speak.
His sword whipped forward, blurring faster than my eye could follow. Victor let out a startled cry as it shattered his summoned blade. Wards flared and died as, with a sickening crunch, the demon’s blade cleaved through his pauldron and embedded itself in his shoulder. Blood spurted from the wound, splashing across the deck in a torrent of steaming crimson.
Before the hero could fall back, he yanked his sword free and spun it in a vicious arc, chopping into his hip. Victor’s pained screams ripped from his throat as he staggered back, dropping to one knee. His armaments vanished in flickering light, and he clutched feebly at his swide.
The high inquisitor clicked his tongue, and a sudden overwhelming pressure slammed into the ship. Not the ship itself, but me, Fyren, and my guards. My knees buckled as an invisible weight crushed down upon my shoulders, forcing the air from my lungs. With growing horror, I gasped as my wards shattered one by one, the backlash like a punch in the stomach. Only the Nexus and my spells that had nothing to do with battle persisted. Every enchantment, every magic item I had suffered the same fate, forced inert by the terrible magic. Even the staff of fate quivered in my trembling grasp, my connection with the artifact distant, but not gone.
Across the ship, Fyren and the Star Guards faltered, seeming proportionally affected as I was, though each of them managed to keep their feet. The Fire demon looked to be in the best shape, maintaining his fighting stance, but refraining from moving in to finish Victor. The hero took advantage of the reprieve, summoning a spear to prop him to his feet as he mumbled the words of a healing spell.
"What did you do?" I gasped in a choked whisper.
His smile could have chilled a fire gate. "You would blame the weight and guilt of your transgressions on a humble servant of the Divine? None but the pure of heart and faithful of the divine can walk this place freely now. You’re trapped in a prison built of your own sins."
