The Forsaken Hero-Chapter 996: Curses Call

One week. That was how long we spent cruising the skies over Ornth, cleansing city after city. The strategy, for the most part, was as effective as hoped. We would approach a city, the elvish fleet would spread out, and then rain fire and death upon the Risen gathered within.

"I just don’t get it," Korra said, overlooking the devastation of a small port town just a day’s travel from the capital. "Why is he letting this happen? Why not gather all the Risen together and fight? And where are the liches?"

Thick plumes of smoke choked the air, billowing around the wards I held around the skyships. The Devoted were sweeping through the crater-torn remains below, with most of the Last Light Company maintaining a perimeter outside, cutting down any of the Risen who tried to flee. The elvish army had caught us just yesterday, and were arrayed on the fringes of the Effulgent Dawn. They’d taken the last few cities and now rested while my forces did the work. My friends and I, save for Luke, were gathered on the Azure Wing.

"The undead hero could have sent his dragon against us while we moved," Gayron added. "Even if we were ready, it’s just too oppressive. It would be able to criple at least half the fleet before Selena managed to take it out."

"Connor’s not stupid," R’lissea said, scowling at nothing in particular. "He must be waiting for something. Using these poor, tortured souls as fodder while he schemes how to ruin even more lives."

"I just hate it," Korra said, clenching her hands at her sides. "How could he turn so many, and then just corral them all to be butchered? We must have killed a million Risen by now. And what did they accomplish? What did they even suffer for? Nothing."

I turned away. "I’m just glad Elise isn’t here to see it. All of her people, her cities...blackened by mist. Everything she ever knew burned away."

"He’s definitely planning something. It’s been too easy," R’lisesa muttered.

All eyes turned to me, weighing on me. I turned, running my hand over the railing. Below the small cathedral housing the shard had been entirely obliterated, leaving the black, fetid crystal exposed to the air. I could just make out the small, ant-like figure of Luke standing before it, one hand outstretched. The stream of mana entering his soul was near blinding to my eyes.

He’d taken every shard since the first went to Borealis, adding to considerable power. Now, he stood on the threshold of the ninth, but couldn’t seem to cross that final threshold. Consuming mana from a shard was inefficient for demons, let alone a mortal, and it had only gotten worse the stronger he got. His soul was stronger than the incoming flow, pushing it out even as he tried to devour it. I had a feeling that he’d reached the limits of using this method, though he wouldn’t hear it from me.

In my mind, it was just too easy. Power wasn’t supposed to come without effort. Or sacrifice.

"What are you looking at?" R’lissea said, coming up beside me. She rested both arms on the railing, resting her chin on her forearms.

"The mana," I said, nodding below. "And the Black Mist. I’ve been watching it every time we take a shard, trying to figure out how it works."

"It’s Connor’s ability, isn’t it? It makes the undead stronger and siphons the strength of the living. Should they succumb to it, or anything else, while in its influence, they are turned into Risen. Not sure what more there is to figure out. "

"And the curse?"

She shrugged, shifting her whole body with the motion. "If you and Luke can’t figure that out, I’m not sure why I’d be able to."

"There’s more to it, I think. Abilities shouldn’t be able to be modified by a spell like that. I mean, I can weave Adaptive Resistance into my mana, but not my mana into Adaptive Resistance."

"You’re saying the curse isn’t a part of the black mist?"

"I don’t know. Even Emlica didn’t have any answers. Fate might, but she didn’t say anything if she did. But what I can tell is that the curse is supporting the mist. Like a...a..."

"A trellis for a vine?"

"Exactly." I gave her a small smile. "Thanks."

The shard imploded, evaporating into nothingness. I flinched as the resulting shockwave swept across the ship, making my soul tingle.

"There," I said, pointing down. "See it?"

She peered down, squinting into the clouds of smoke and dust. "The black mist is fading. Just like it always does when the shard is destroyed."

"Yes, but...it’s not fading. It’s retreating. Before the curse came, it just dissipated into the weave. But now, it flows like it’s being drawn somewhere."

"Or guided." R’lissea looked at me, eyes wide. "The curse isn’t just giving the mist support to reach farther. It’s calling it home." She moved off the railing, running across the deck.

"Wait, R’lissea?" I hurried after her, tail twitching. "What are you doing?"

I caught her as she stopped at the railing, staring eastward. She was pale, her hands trembling slightly as she gripped the railing. Her knuckles whitened.

What is it?" I asked, panting lightly.

"You were right," She whispered. "It’s headed eastward. To Connor."

"You can see it?"

"I see lifeforce, remember? Life, death...two sides of the same coin. I was too subtle, too vast to notice on my own, every Risen giving only so much. But after you’ve pointed it out...it’s like an ocean."

"Then what are you..." I gasped, my tail going stiff. "The Risen?"

She nodded. "All their power, all that’s left of their soul, is flowing towards him. It’s too stiff and orderly; I can only assume it’s following the path the curses laid."

"That’s a lot of power," I whispered.

Few of the Risen we’d faced thus far had been above the fifth level. Few had even reached second. Yet I turned, looking back at Korra. She noticed my gaze and gave a small wave, but cold dread knotted in my stomach. Had she been right? Had we killed a million Risen already? Not even Selena had more mana than a million souls. If that were all to concentrate in one person, or even a handful...

"We’re in trouble," R’lissea whispered.

I stumbled back a step, tail lashing. "I-I think I should speak with Fyren. And Aerion."

She sprouted a pair of wings. "I’ll find the king. This can’t wait."

I called Fable to me, scaling his side and throwing my arms around my neck, burying my face in his fur. He understood in a single stream of soulspeak, standing and bounding toward the edge. Korra cried out as we streaked past her, but I buried my face in Fable’s fur, tail rigid with fear. His paws touched down once more, and then we were airborne. My stomach rose in my throat, and my heart pounded, but the dread of our discovery far outweighed the fear of the fall.

A few minutes later, Fable landed at the base of a half-ruined tower. I barely felt the jolt, cushioned by his mana, casting a ward to keep the wind from my face as he took off, sprinting across the city. Devoted and soldiers scrambled out of the way as they sensed our approaching auras. I sent ahead, pleading for Fyren to meet us at the cathedral.

As Fable sailed over the low stone wall, I spotted Fyren’s silhouette against the ruined cathedral, his arms folded, his expression as stern as ever. Luke stood a short distance away, pacing with sharp strides. He turned as Fable leaped the low wall, his tail sagging in relief as he laid eyes on me. Fable’s paws hit the ground with a soft thud, the impact absorbed by his mana, and I was already swinging my leg over his back before he’d fully stopped. Luke closed the distance between us in a single stride, snagging my waist and pulling from Fable’s back as the wolf came to a stop. I collapsed against him, hugging him fiercely.

"Fyren said you were coming. How did you even get down here? Did you--You’re trembling. What happened?" he demanded, eyes dark with worry.

Fyren folded his arms. "I’d like to know that too. You could have used soulspeak."

"I...I couldn’t focus well enough. But Luke, Fyren, it’s Connor. He’s not just waiting for us, letting us whittle down his forces. He’s harvesting the Risen."

Fyren’s eyes narrowed. "Harvesting? The Risen are husks. There is no soul left to harvest."

"Not a soul, but their life energy. Or death, whatever it may be. The curses in the mist are drawing it back to him, along with the mana of the black mist. With every city we destroy, every shard taken, he’s not losing power. He’s concentrating it!"

Luke’s tail went stiff. "That’s why he’s using a curse within the mist."

I nodded, shivering in his arms. "It’s just like your ability. They’re basically siphoning the life force and mana of the Risen and Black Mist, but instead of bolstering the black mist as you do with your aura, they’re drawing it home."

"Is such a thing possible?" Fyren asked, brow furrowing. "How did you not see this?"