When Sintija woke in his arms, Markos informed her that they needed to go. Without much argument, sensing the urgency, they regretfully disentangled from their nest of furs and gotten dressed. Markos had watched Sintija move in wonderment, she was real, she was still there. Morning had come and they were still together. Iliana had spoken to him and urged him forward. The Order was after him for shaking them earlier. The aphotic was after him because he shone too brightly. There was time for love but he'd need to survive this first.
All his enemies were converging on him and he needed to hurry. Being delayed in the cave had been both a necessity and an indulgence. With Sintija on his side, his odds were better. He didn't want to fight his templar brethren. He sensed Emilio was among his pursuers with Jo taking an active part in tracking him down. The other templars were his peers but he had a sense that Kant had sent people who disliked Markos to take him down if Emilio and Jo refused.
Beyond the bounds of the cavern, Markos felt the call of the aphotic northward. Beneath that primal current was something darker, more malicious that he'd never felt before. Was it the demon dragon then? Iliana had said it was time. He gathered up his equipment and Sintija, placing them both on the horse and tore through the mountain trails deeper into the forest. Elias kept up the frantic pace like it was nothing, a sign of the true breeding of the temple dog.
Sintija warmth against his chest helped him navigate the seemingly identical passes hidden by snow drifts and hide his trail from the templars. They rode for hours without conversation outside of navigation - the wind was bitter and biting, and their pursuers still too close for comfort. Further conversation would carry on the wind and reveal their location. Use of too much of the Word would draw the aphotic's attention and the Order. It was on the edge of sunset when they slowed their pace.
The forest was deathly silent, and the shadows deeper than they should have been in the brightness of the noon sun. A blanket of deep snow stretched before them, unmarred by footprints towards the small shack at the end of the clearing. The door hung, just barely on its hinges and rattled as the wind whistled through. A mournful wail echoed through the wooden rafters, as stillness settled on the clearing again. Bitter cold cut through the thick fur that lined Markos's armor. His nerves stood on a razor's edge, it was a scene like his first encounter. Iliana and Caelyn had stood beside him then but now it was only he and Sintija.
Even Sintija with her immunity to the cold, shivered. A splash of crimson was illuminated by a stray beam of light against the filth inside the shack. The stench assaulted his senses in tiered waves- the copper of blood, the bile of stomach acid, and the putrid stench of rancid meat left out on a hot day to rot. It hung heavily in the air and settled in his mouth, making him recoil at the taste of decay.
He felt the press at the edges of his consciousness, the echoes of wood cracking under strain; desperate cries for help; the warm splash of blood against smooth hardwood; agonizing screams that wailed into unintelligible noises of pain; the slick, plop of a heavy object hitting the ground and the chill of a icy tongue dragging against warm flesh. Fear coiled around the clearing like a foul serpent, not even maraium could keep the visions, sounds, and sensations at bay. Without truly understanding he knew The Word was calling them.
"It's still here," Sintija whispered as she slipped down from the saddle and drew her bow from the quiver on her back.
Markos half-cocked the lever of his rifle, checking the action and his bullets, before he tucked the butt of it beneath his armored shoulder and began to walk.
He caused the boards to creak again, giving up the sounds they had held as ghosts. He was afraid, but beneath that tangible fear was resolve. The shadows played across his leather, and fur-backed cuirass. Fog rolled out of his helmet. Time stretched on as the templar waited for the strike that the magical terror heralded. When it did not come, he turned the helmet enough to catch her out of the edge of his visor.
He reached out with his senses, searching for the aphotic. "Where?" He idly wondered who the aphotic had been before they were lost to the world forever. Was this one of Iliana's sisters sank into despair? Was it another templar lost to his pain and hatred? It was harder to face the demons knowing that once they were smiling, laughing, and loving but there was no way to bring someone back from being an aphotic - not that they'd discovered. There was hope that perhaps it was possible, but no one had ever managed.
Sintija raised her hands, murmuring in her elven tongue. A glowing glyph appeared beneath her as the air crackled like the moments before lightning struck. He felt reality shift around them, engulfing the area in a strange light, and muddling the sounds of the forest. It was a barrier not unlike the one that Iliana had made.
In a fluid movement, an arrow was nocked against the bow string as Sintija scanned the shadows of the clearing. He saw the slight tremble of her hand holding the bowstring taut.
Elias growled, his hackles raised and teeth bared beside his master in the shed. A rumbling growl shook the small shack as the shadows lengthened and flowed into Markos's long shadow.
"Here!" Light gathered at her arrow tip as she was engulfed by tangible darkness. Wails of pain reverberated through thin wood slats accompanied by malicious laughter. Azure and ebony energy clashed as the arrow tore through the shapeshifter and arced beside Markos's feet. The blue feather fletchings were singed. A head pulled away from the mire of shadow and glared at the templar with blazing red eyes full of hate. It vented its rage with a thundering roar.
Markos answered the roar with the rapport of his gun. He aimed for its eyes as they coalesced. A second rapport joined the first as he snapped his rifle's lever action.
The maraium shattered and sparked against the surface of the aphotic as it became more solid. The darkness thickened around him as it lashed out with newly formed talons. He didn't budge, didn't look away; Markos trusted the armor.
The sounds of a feminine scream joined the chorus within the shack. Sintija's form was still obfuscated by the the power exchange. A black tipped arrow sizzled through the field and planted firmly between the glowing demonic eyes. Electricity arched around the arrow, the maraium fragments implanted in the ink black skin of the aphotic. It thrashed its monstrous tail and swiped at the temple dog that joined the offensive. The dog was trained to distract, and soon, Markos took his third shot. He aimed for the bulk of the beast, his bullet meant to cut deeply into the aberrant thing. Again, he worked the lever with liquid fluidity, but the sound of the action was lost to deafness and the sounds that the beast made in response.
He paced forward, approaching it without apparent fear. Sintija could feel his fear like a living thing, but she could feel his anger, a hard thing like the grasp of an iron brand, boiling to the surface as well.
The shell around Sintija cracked. She reached out through the thread of the Word that bound her to Markos and brushed his cheek with a gentle whisper, "Steidzinat." The bounds of reality that weighed down the templar fell away and overwhelmed the barrier of the maraium armor.
Sintija drew back another arrow as she freed herself from the mire of the aphotic. The demon lashed out at them as its form shifted awkwardly. Each round scattered sparks across the surface of the beast, the third round tore a hole into the thing that shattered like glass.
A broken human mask snapped into place, sky blue eyes stared back at Markos as it drew back, shrinking as it began to mimic Sintija's shape. The ground beneath the templar violently cracked open. Markos took the time to look down and attempt to gain his footing, finding that his added speed made the endeavor easier. His eyes widened in horror, never had an aphotic taken on the shape of a travelling companion before. What was going on? Was this the interloper's influence that Mara spoke of?
Like dark silver, the maraium bullets streaked the air. One after another, Markos fired the last of his rifle's rounds into the creature, relentlessly pressing the only advantage that a templar truly had over the things. Magic crackled in the winter air around them, it was only the barrier that kept others from coming after them. All his ammunition spent, Markos drew his sword.
"We're not dying tonight."