Year of the Silver Dragons, 94 Crode
Breathe, breathe. The cold blue eyes peered through the tiny opening of the cave. No unusual movement. It wasn't going to stay that way. Cough! All eyes turned towards a young girl. She quickly closed her mouth and slowly, she felt the frightful stares steer away. Drops of crystal-clear water pouring through the stalactites provided the only uninterrupted sounds. The floor was sufficiently muddy at the entrance. There was no way the enemy was getting in without their knowledge. Breathe, breathe.
"This is the last cave. They have to be here somewhere. Search them out!"
Short blades were unsheathed, revealing a blue glow that lit the dark. There was no reason to hide anymore. It was a war headed their way. Their luck was in drawing first blood. Holy Knights were not known to take anyone alive but there lay exceptions. Bone fairies. The lookouts remained fixed on the cave walls, hoping to catch the first group off guard. It wasn't long before a great white light burst into the scene, swallowing whatever was left of the darkness. Smash! Chunks of the cave walls crumbled as the small opening became a great one. The ones hidden at the entrance were sent flying into the air before crashing to the floor, unconscious. Tall men and women with gold plated armour marched inside and halted right before the scared fairies. A timid looking knight stepped forward and summoned a bright scroll to his hands.
"By order of the Twelfth King of Cathogary-et-Hutum, Xionus Khionmar, the royal bone fairies of Koldis-et-Thagatha are to accept an unconditional surrender. Failure to this, the Holy Knights are to accept war, death and prisoners as the way forward."
"The moment you stepped into our hiding place, war was the only option. We were once fairies of snow and we would rather die than lick our boots at inferior beings like you."
These were the words of Aruthidoryzpalok Wulgor, current leader of the bone fairies. The Holy Knights nodded and clapped their hands in unison.
"Light: Void of Penance!"
A small ball of light appeared and like a balloon filled up until it encapsulated the entire cave. This was a basic spell to ensure the enemy lost their environmental advantage, nullifying all magic that could catch them by surprise. It was not uncommon for bone fairies to use caves to trap their victims in a bone prison. A lot of mana cost was used but it was worth it. Claymore swords built entirely of light were constructed simultaneously and the knights charged to fight the bone fairies. Aruthidoryzpalok stood up to face them. He was taller, bigger and by far the most intimidating of the bunch.
"Until I die, none of you shall stand to fight," he said with a weak voice. But his authority was not subject to questioning. One of his canines began to grow instantly and once it was the size of his arm, he broke it and held it. The sharp blade sliced through his palm, the blood oozing and draining towards the bottom, forming a hilt.
"It is time you knights understand why we were once called the 'Blight of Creation."
His skin became white and pale and the skin of his back tore off chunks of flesh, revealing two pairs of bright blue wings. The wings fluttered slightly against the wind, lightly sprinkling blue sparks. He let the tip of his tooth sword drag across the ground as though he was hoping to pick up some static electricity. One of the eldest Holy Knights seemed to understand what was happening.
"He's not a Bone Fairy, he's a-"
In a flash, the monstrous fairy zoomed past a group of knights. Their armour was split in two and their dead bodies cackled with residue sparks. The old Holy Knight drove his light sword towards the beast and their swords clashed. The next moments were a series of perfect parry combat, each side desperately trying to outdo the other.
"Lightning: Radiant Spark."
The monster roared a lightning strike towards the knights and melted a couple to ashes.
"Light: Chains of Truth."
The old Holy Knight sent a series of chains straight for the monster's heart, the drills at the tip barely grazing the monster's skin. The fairy laughed at the weak attempts, yanked the light chains and sent a hook towards the knight that sent him to the ground.
"Help him!"
The old guard held out a hand as he writhed in pain.
"You can't handle this. Wait for my signal. The Knights will be victorious."
The knights cheered. Their leader had given them hope. That was all they could afford to hold on to. The knight stood up and saw the great fairy.
"You are made of lightning and snow. You are a bastard child of the dragons. An abomination that doesn't need to exist-"
The monster grabbed the knight by the throat.
"Light: Immolation."
The monster seemed surprised as the knight lit on fire. And yet, it wasn't fire that burned. It was a bright yellow light so intense, both the knights and fairies had to shield their eyes for a moment. The monster's hand melted like flesh that came in contact with strong acid would and revealed bone that still held tightly to the knight.
"Immolation is a Fire spell."
"Monsters like you don't know the hard work we've done to defeat the dragons. I want you to see your power fail you, abomination. Light: Holy Spear."
A spear formed on the knight's arm and he stabbed the monster right where he felt the heart was. This time it pierced through the skin. The fairy roared and staggered back, releasing the knight. The light spells had messed with the monster's equilibrium, often regulated in the heart in fairies as opposed to the ear. In its stupor, it charged against its own, thinking them to be its enemy. Two bone fairies swung their blades and sliced the giant's head clean off its neck. It fell with a great thud that shook the earth. The old knight was victorious for now.
But it was a great mana cost. Blood began to pour out of every orifice as his legs gave way and he found himself on his knees. The mana cost for light users was their vision, slowly losing the power to use them with each powerful move. There was only one thing stopping the old knight from completely losing vision thus far. And at this point, that thing could no longer be his safety net. The old man felt a telepathic call from the newly drafted Medical Knights.
"If we keep covering your mana costs, we run out of medics who can be useful to the rest of the Holy Knights," a cold voice stated plainly from the other side. There was an unnatural silence as a reply. The old knight was tired. He had done too much and even with the medics covering for him, this was wearing him out. Far from the action, a good distance away from the cave lay a small platoon of scared medics waiting for their next instruction. Their leader, Jethro, stood next to an emissary who held a totem from Iridius, the Lord of Light, that allowed them to communicate with the knights effectively. Jethro scratched his unusually grey hair on the other side and remained patient. Despite his warnings, the Holy Knights had the right to ignore him and keep using the medics offensively. The old man however…
"One more mana cost. Heal some of my wounds. You can save the rest for my brothers."
"You're not actually planning to die, are you, Mothrigal?"
Mothrigal the Anointed gave a hearty laugh.
"I have fought more wars than I could dare count, young medic. If my death allows my brothers to be saved, it will be more glorious for me than any of those campaigns combined."
"Mothrigal-"
"You're a tough one to argue with, young Jethro. But remember that sometimes, your superiors are called that for a reason. Follow my orders carefully."
"Mothrigal, that is not the protocol."
"I will fight, with or without the medics. Yours is the choice and it shall expire soon."
Jethro sighed.
"Fine. You can have my mana cost. An hour's worth of emergency healing can only patch you up. Will that be enough?"
"Yes," Mothrigal lied. Jethro gave a weak smile and nodded. He closed his eyes, took a deep breath and focused on summoning mana. An hour of emergency healing was asking for more than what he had. He could barely access half an hour without wincing. But this was Mothrigal's final stand. He could not afford to let the knights look weak in front of the fairies.
"Lord of the broken, master of health, I seek power now. Healing: Broken Dam."
The other medics turned in disbelief to see Jethro using Broken Dam. It was one of the most complex spells for a reason. Bricks stacked on top of each other slowly building a wall that curved around Jethro's back. Then a small crack began to show which slowly spread until...Crack! A great stream of mana broke through and Jethro cried in horror, the pain of the technique clearly shone in his bulging eyes. Broken Dam broke the medical's body shedding some of the mana necessary for their normal body functioning and instead used it as mana cost. And for an hour's worth of emergency healing, Jethro had to persevere for about one minute. Journals that touched on the technique had expert medics talking about the various side effects one would have while Broken Dam was active. Jethro grit his teeth and felt a heavy wave of exhaustion wash over him as he struggled to last the time limit.
Flashes of a life he'd rather forget threatened to break his mind. He could not afford to look around lest he fall prey to hallucinations. He had to keep himself locked in to what was true. He took deep breaths. His skin was cold, so cold he almost looked like he suffered from hypothermia. His hands were shivering. His lungs felt heavy with every breath. His nails felt foreign, like weights that he could afford to lose. His weight felt doubled, his teeth threatened to fall off, and each bead of sweat felt like a razor blade dragged along his body. His body was in convulsions. He could barely remember his own name. And when it was finally over, he fell to the ground like a sack of potatoes. The mana fueled a circular seal that glowed green once it was full and it disappeared. The seal would reappear near the old knight, filling him with a burst of energy as surgical blades ran through his insides.
"This was dangerous, even for you, young Jethro. But it is more than enough."
Mothrigal jumped to his feet and saw the area around him. His knights were caught up in a fight against the bone fairies. Neither side was giving in to the other. He had promised to be their aid but instead ended up being a baggage. No more.
"Iridius, Lord of all things Light, shine your vision on me one last time. Let me ride the chariot into the great glory one last time. Light: Chariot of the Heavenly Psalm."
A great horse of light appeared before Mothrigal and his knight gown was transformed into a gold and black chainmail with a golden dragon on its chest. His claymore was replaced with a great curved broadsword. He was now completely blind, relying only on the horse to lead. He gave a battle cry that halted the battle and his horse galloped towards the enemy. With one giant swing, several heads rolled. With another, he sent halved bodies flying into the air.
"Come at me, you vile beasts! I am no longer a knight, but the arm of my Lord Iridius! Come thirsty for a fight and you shall be filled."
"Bone: Bone Coffin."
Two sets of giant sharp bones from above and below tore through and encapsulated Mothrigal. One swing of his sword and the entire structure collapsed.
"The actions of a coward will not help you."
"What of surrender then?" a female fairy spoke up.
"You had your chance. You chose war. And war, you shall have."
"Retreat! He can't stay in that form forever! Re-"
Blood was spilled that day. Mothrigal was thorough and merciless. For every knight that died, it could never be said that Mothrigal did not satisfy in retaliation. What was once a cave was now a river that flowed with regret and sorrow. The medics waited for new instructions. The emissary asked if they would be allowed to go and see for themselves what was happening. The medics shook their heads, almost in unison. Jethro's instructions were clear. Suddenly, the knights slowly walked out of the cave, holding on to a weary Mothrigal. He was dying, that much was clear. He asked his knights for two things. The first was to be taken to Jethro. Jethro was still knocked out cold.
"Young Jethro, you have done me well. Even if we never meet again, this victory was yours."
The second was to be given a sword, a real one. He asked for it to be planted firmly on the ground and he was led towards it. He used his left arm to hold on to the sword and lifted his right in jubilation.
"Holy Knights, we shall live forever in the Light of Iridius! Three cheers for our Kingdom and our victory!"
Mothrigal the Anointed died as he lived, on the battlefield, where he had the most fun.