Rist watched as the rune-marked men and women floated in the air, their arms spread wide, the runes carved into their skin shimmering with a vivid red light. The gemstones in the pit at the centre of the plaza glowed furiously. The black tear in the veil above the pit had spread so its centre was now at least ten feet wide with cracks snaking outwards
The light in Rist's gemstone had faded minutes before, and the Essence had fled his body, leaving an emptiness where the strength had been. But he still drew on the Spark, still pulled thin threads of Spirit and weaved them into the emperor. He could feel the drain pulling at him, sapping the strength from his legs, but he pushed it away, ignoring the pain. Pain is simply an obstacle to be overcome. He squeezed Neera's hand, giving her a weak smile.
She looked back at him, the power of the Spark radiating from her, threads of Spirit weaving around her.
"Don't overextend," Magnus called. He turned to Garramon. "How much longer?"
"As long as it takes."
A few moments passed, and then horns bellowed, two sharp bursts, a pause, then one more burst followed by a pause and two short bursts again. Rist ran the pattern through his mind, flicking across the pages of the book he had read on alarms. Enemy behind the lines; imminent attack.
"Battle ready!" Magnus roared, pulling his sword from its scabbard.
A ripple of panic spread through the mages around Rist. He could see the weariness in their faces. Funnelling the threads of Spirit into Fane had left most of them tired and weak; they were vulnerable. Magnus turned to Garramon. "How are they behind the lines already? Where are the damn warnings? We need to disengage the threads."
"Do it. Fane can complete the ritual alone." Garramon turned and looked to Rist and Neera, studying their faces. "The first Urak you kill, harness its Essence. Essence is more potent under the light of the Blood Moon, it will replace what the Spark has taken from you. Understood?"
Rist nodded, as did Neera.
"I need you to say it." Garramon clamped his hand down on Rist's shoulder. "I know the hesitation in your heart, but I need you to understand, Rist. Essence will be the difference between life and death here. This isn't a game."
"I understand." Rist pulled his hand away from Neera's and touched his fingers against the cold surface of the gemstone that sat around his neck.
"Good." Garramon slid his sword from his scabbard.
"Bloodmarked!" A voice bellowed into the night.
Rist watched as an enormous Urak charged across one of the rooftops that overlooked the central plaza. The creature was far larger than either of the two Rist, Calen, and Dann had found in Ölm Forest, and its body was covered in glowing red runes that spewed dark smoke. The creature leapt from the building's roof, a pulse of Essence rippling outwards as it landed and slammed its fists into the ground. A shockwave of black fire streaked from the creature's fists, splitting a priest in two and setting both halves aflame. The shockwave carried on igniting two Scholars in a black inferno. Battlemages charged from the street on the right, but the giant Urak turned on its heels and swung a clawed hand, tearing through flesh and bone. Spears pierced its hide as it sent another shockwave slicing through a clutch of mages. More rune-marked Uraks – Bloodmarked – leapt from the rooves around the central plaza. Rist had read of the creatures but had never seen them. They were as terrifying as the accounts claimed, more so.
"Forward!" Magnus roared, charging into the plaza. "Don't let them stop the ritual!"
The mages around Rist charged, their weariness overcome by the battle rush. But Rist's feet remained planted, his gaze fixed on the rooftop the first Bloodmarked had leapt from. Another Urak had walked to the edge of the roof but hadn't jumped. It was smaller than the Bloodmarked but was still layered in muscle. It held a long wooden staff in its right hand with a glowing gemstone set into the top. Horns protruded from the creature's head, winding around into a shape that almost looked like a crown. It just stared down into the plaza, its face expressionless.
"Rist!"
Rist snapped out of his haze to see Garramon roaring at him. The man turned, swinging his blade up to carve through the arm of a Bloodmarked, but the creature lifted its foot and kicked Garramon in the chest, sending him careening across the plaza.
"Garramon!" Rist bolted forwards, ripping his sword from its scabbard. He charged at the Bloodmarked that had kicked Garramon, but it was only as the creature saw him and surged forwards that he realised he had no idea how to kill it, and the Spark had already pulled the energy from his bones. Think. Page one hundred and twelve from A Study of Control. He pulled on a single thread of Earth and weaved it into the ground before the Bloodmarked, pulling the stone into a small lump.
The Bloodmarked kicked the lump, staggering. Rist swung his sword with as much force as he could, cleaving the beast's arm just above the elbow.
The Bloodmarked howled, the runes carved into its flesh igniting with a furious light. The beast turned towards him, blood spurting from the stump of its arm. How in the gods do I kill this thing? Rist studied the creature as it charged. It was bigger than him, stronger than him, and faster than him.
'What separates a good Battlemage from a great one are their choices.' Garramon's words echoed in Rist's mind.
Once more, Rist funnelled a single thread into the ground and formed a lump of stone. The creature shifted, stepping past the lump and hurtling towards Rist, but as it did, he pulled a second lump from the ground and forged it into a spike. The spike burst through the Bloodmarked's foot, ripping through flesh as the creature's momentum carried it forwards.
As the Bloodmarked howled and looked down to see its bloody mess of a clawed foot, Rist sliced through its shin, a vibration jarring his arm as bone gave way to steel. The creature roared, stumbling and falling. As it collapsed, Rist weaved a last thread of Earth into the ground and forged a thin spike where the Urak's head was about to land. The spike pierced the creature's skull, erupting from its eye in a spray of blood. Smoke billowed from the runes in the Bloodmarked's skin as they burned with a bright light.
As the life fled the creature's body, Rist felt a pull from the pendant around his neck. He was weak, his body drained. 'Essence will be the difference between life and death, Rist.' He opened himself and allowed the gemstone to draw in the Essence. Barely a second passed before he saw the red glow of the gemstone radiate from beneath his breastplate.
"Rist!" Garramon appeared by Rist's side, Neera next to him. The man was limping slightly but was otherwise unharmed. He looked down at the body of the Bloodmarked and gave a gruff nod.
Around them, Bloodmarked and smaller Uraks were still pouring into plaza, leaping from the rooves. The Battlemages were weakened from pushing so much of their power into Fane, but with each Urak killed, their vessels glowed with strength and they pushed back.
A howl erupted to Rist's left, and a Bloodmarked ripped through four Battlemages in quick succession, its claws snapping bones and rending steel.
Rist looked back towards the roof to see the crown-horned Urak staring at Fane. A number of Uraks now stood beside the one who bore the crown. Runes were carved into their chests and arms, though the creatures weren't as big as the Bloodmarked. As Rist stared, he noticed the pattern of the runes; they were identical to the ones carved into the Chosen hosts who floated in the air.
Rist pointed to the crowned Urak, yelling to Garramon, but as he did, a bright green orb emerged from thin air just above the roof to the left. The orb pulsed, then swept outwards, spreading into a circle twenty feet in diameter. The centre of the circle faded to a deep black, rippling like water, while the edges glimmered green.
A moment passed in which the circle simply hung in the air, then the surface of the circle rippled and a warrior garbed in smooth green plate burst through, followed by another and another.
The warriors dropped to the ground, stone cracking beneath their feet, blades of shimmering green light bursting to life in their hands.
Rist watched in horror as the warriors carved through everything in their path, slaughtering humans and Uraks alike, shimmering blades cleaving bone and slicing through armour as though it were paper. As they spread out, more came through the portal, blades of light igniting in their hands.
Kallinvar dropped his shoulder and charged into an Urak's chest, feeling bones snap beneath the weight of the strike. He stepped back and swung his Soulblade, slicing through the beast's chest. As the creature howled, Kallinvar drove his Soulblade forward and plunged it into the Urak's gut, heaving it free as the creature collapsed.
A pulse of the taint erupted behind him, and he turned to see two Lorian mages with glowing gemstones hanging around their necks. The oily sensation of the Taint radiated from the mages, flowing outwards in ripples. They charged him. Ruon surged past, taking the first mage's head from his shoulders before swinging her Soulblade back around in the same motion and cleaving the second mage in half.
The Taint clung so heavily to the air it left a tangible pain in Kallinvar's mind, disorienting him. He looked around, watching as the knights of The Ninth, The Seventh, The Second, and The First carved through the Lorians and Bloodspawn, Soulblades shimmering as they moved.
A sharp vibration erupted in his Sigil, stealing his breath. He turned his head to see Brother Lumikes of the Seventh impaled on a Bloodmarked's clawed hand. The creature held him suspended in the air, before flinging its arm outwards and sending Lumikes's lifeless body colliding with Sister Rindil.
Kallinvar looked towards the centre of the plaza where the tear in the veil was a tangible thing; a wound of pure black carved in the fabric world. The Taint swirled around it like a whirlpool. Below the tear, a red, spherical stone hung in the air above a pit of glowing gemstones.
His gaze fell on the men and women who floated in the air around the pit, their arms spread wide, runes carved into their flesh. There had to be a hundred of them.
"They are his Chosen, my child," Achyron's voice boomed. "Warriors far more powerful than the Urithnilim. Efialtír tries to bring their souls into the world. They are the next step to his forging in the mortal plane. You must strike down as many as you can and close the tear."
Achyron's voice bellowed in Kallinvar's mind just as Kallinvar spotted a man standing before the pit and ignoring all the chaos around him. The Taint flowed from the man in waves, and Kallinvar had not a doubt in his mind as to who it was. Fane Mortem.
"Illarin!" Kallinvar roared to Brother-Captain Illarin, who was weaving his way through a clutch of Uraks. "The rune-marked! We must end them."
Illarin drove his blade through an Urak's chest, spun, then took the head of a Battlemage with a single swipe. He looked to Kallinvar and nodded. "Knights of The Seventh, with me!"
Kallinvar roared the same command to Sister-Captains Arlena and Airdaine.
"Kallinvar." Ruon pulled at Kallinvar's shoulder and pointed towards a Shaman that stood on one of the rooftops, overlooking the plaza. A number of Uraks stood around the beast, their hides were marked with runes, and yet they were not Bloodmarked.
As Ruon pointed, a pulse signalled in Kallinvar's Sigil. He drew in a breath and summoned the Rift, fire and ice sweeping through him. The Rift burst into life above the roof, Brother-Captain Armites and The Sixth surging through from Mar Dorul.
Kallinvar turned to Ruon, Ildris, Tarron, and Sylven. "We need to close the tear in the veil."
Power surged through every muscle in Rist's body. With the Essence flowing through him, he felt as though he could tear through steel with his bare hands and soar over mountains with a single leap. He swung his blade, slicing open an Urak's chest before drawing more Essence from his vessel and pulling the beast's chin down onto his steel. The sword tore upwards, bursting from the Urak's skull. Rist drew in a sharp breath, more Essence flooding his vessel.
Beside him Neera crushed an Urak's chest with Essence, then followed through with her sword. Magnus, Garramon, and Anila, and several other mages fought beside them. They all stood around Fane and the Chosen, holding back the Uraks and the new warriors in green plate. The warriors were strong and savage, chanting Achyron's name as they tore through men and Uraks alike, blood spraying wherever their green blades swept. Rist had never seen such merciless carnage.
"Hold them back," Fane roared, turning to look at Garramon. The man's eyes glowed with a vibrant red light. "They are almost here."
"Nothing passes us!" Magnus roared, taking the head from a Bloodmarked's shoulders.
As Magnus spoke, another portal opened on the western edge of the plaza and more of the warriors streamed forth, the dark green armour shimmering in the light of the Blood Moon.
"Those fuckers just keep coming." Magnus pulled his blade from an Urak's chest, glaring at the armoured warriors who stormed from the rippling black portal. He glanced towards Rist. "Anila!"
Rist turned to see Sister Anila looking at Magnus in confusion, a sword gripped in her hand, a second strapped to her hip. Anila's confusion turned to shock as a glowing green blade swung down from above and hacked into her, carving through her shoulder, chest, and hip, ripping her into two pieces. Intestines spilled out into the dirt, blood spraying as Anila's body slopped to the ground, a warrior in green plate standing in her place.
A moment of strange silence passed as the warrior stood there, broken only by Magnus's grief-stricken roar. Essence radiated from Magnus as the man stormed towards the warrior. Their blades collided in bursts of green light before Magnus sent a pulse of Essence into the knight's chest.
As the knight careened backwards, Rist, Garramon, Neera, and two other Battemages surged to Magnus's side. A swing of the shimmering green blade and one of the other mages was cleaved in half.
The knight turned to Rist, towering over him in a monstrous suit of green plate, a white sigil of a downward facing sword emblazoned across the chest. Rist blocked the first strike of the green blade with an upward swing. The power of the Essence surging through him was the only reason his bones didn't snap from the force of the blow. The knight lifted his blade once more but pivoted and swung towards Magnus.
Rist watched as the green blade sliced through Magnus's arm just below the shoulder, severing it in a spray of blood. Magnus howled, surging forwards, somehow ignoring the loss of a limb. He ducked, leaning to the right as the knight's blade swept over his head. Magnus roared again, dropping his sword. Strands of red light burst from his hand, wrapping around themselves until they formed a solid blade. Magnus lunged forwards and drove the red blade up through the knight's chest.
As Magnus heaved the blade free, a tremor of Essence shook through the world, rippling outwards as though a star had crashed to the ground.
The ground shook beneath Kallinvar's feet as the Taint erupted outwards from the tear in the veil, sweeping through the air like a shockwave. As it did, black tendrils burst forth, anchoring to the chests of the rune-marked men and women who floated around the pit of gemstones. The runes carved into their flesh ignited with a blazing red light.
More tendrils burst from the tear and streaked towards the rooftops, connecting to the chests of the rune-marked Uraks who stood by the Shaman.
"The Chosen." Achyron's voice boomed in Kallinvar's mind. "This is why you are here, my child. You must kill as many of the hosts as you can. The survival of this world depends on it. Sever the connections and close the tear."
"Tear them down!" Kallinvar roared, sending a pulse through his Sigil to the other knights.
Kallinvar charged towards the tear, carving a path through the Lorian mages, Ildris, Tarron, Ruon, and Sylven moving by his side.
Around the plaza, the Bloodspawn ceased their assault on the Lorians and focused on the knights. Pulses swept through Kallinvar's Sigil as his brothers and sisters fell to Efialtír's servants. With each step his mind flickered back to the night of The Fall, to this very city. In the distance, he could see what remained of the Tower of Faith, shattered and broken, the remnants of the bridge jutting forwards. That had been the tower in which Alvira Serris died, the tower in which the world changed.
He pushed the memories to the back of his mind and surged forwards like the harbinger of death. With each swing of his Soulblade, blood sprayed and bones split. He took solace in knowing that every soul he severed was tarnished by the Taint. Above, another pulse rippled from the tear, energy surging through the black tendrils that were anchored into the rune-marked men and women.
"We need to close the tear and kill the hosts!" he roared. "Ildris, Tarron, Sylven. Take the right! Ruon, with me."
Ildris, Tarron, and Sylven swept forwards, leaping through the air in great bounds. Kallinvar watched as Idris's Soulblade sliced one of the hosts in half at the waist. As the body dropped, a violent ripple shook the air, the black tendril snapping back into the tear.
Kallinvar bent his knees and launched himself towards the rune-marked hosts that hung in the air. He swung his Soulblade, slicing through two of the hosts in a single arc, black tendrils snapping backwards. Around him, more of the knights poured forth, carving through the Lorians and Uraks, leaping through the air to rip the hosts from the world. With each host that fell, the tendril to which they were anchored snapped back into the tear like a severed chord.
Kallinvar drew closer, Ruon at his side. A man stood before him, one arm severed below the shoulder, a red Soulblade gripped in his right fist. The man charged at Kallinvar, moving with the speed and strength only Blood Magic could provide. Their blades collided in bursts of green and red light, each matching the other stroke for stroke. But as Kallinvar made to swing low, Ruon charged from the left, raised her leg and planted her foot in the man's chest, sending him soaring through the air.
Kallinvar didn't hesitate, he surged forwards, his eyes fixed on the tear. He bent his knees and launched himself through the air, his green Soulblade shimmering at his side. The tear floated above the pit, black as night. Kallinvar lifted his Soulblade above his head. As he made to drive his Soulblade through the tear in the veil, a pulse of the Taint rippled and something wrapped around his ankle.
For a moment he hung there, motionless in the air, and then he was spinning. He slammed into the ground, a searing pain burning through his back. Stars flitted across his eyes, and his head spun, but he hauled himself upright, stumbling sideways.
A man stood before him in black robes, Taint seeping from him, eyes burning with a crimson light: Fane Mortem. "Here we are again, knight. I have come to believe your god simply enjoys watching you die."
Fane stared down at Kallinvar, his cloak billowing in the wind, knights, Uraks, and mages battling around them. A flash of green light erupted to Kallinvar's right and Brother-Captain Illarin surged forwards, leaping through the air, Soulblade shimmering.
The Taint pulsed from Fane, and Illarin stopped in the air, suspended within arm's reach of the emperor.
Kallinvar staggered forwards, summoning his Soulblade.
Black fire burst from Fane's hand, forging itself into a dark Soulblade. The man glanced at Kallinvar, then drove the blade through Illarin's chest, pulling it free in the same motion. As Illarin's body fell, oily strands of the Taint slammed on Kallinvar's shoulder and dropped him to his knees.
Fane looked at Kallinvar, eyes glowing with a red light. "You are too late once again, knight."
Behind Fane, the tear in the veil shimmered and rippled. The ground shook beneath Kallinvar, and all those in the plaza stopped in their tracks. A pulse surged through the tendrils of black connected to the rune-marked hosts and Uraks. The runes ignited once more, a fierce red light bursting forth, black smoke pluming. Molten steel poured from the runes, flowing over the hosts' skin, spreading across their backs, over their shoulders, and along their arms and legs. As the steel moved, it took shape, folding over muscles and bones, forming into flowing silver armour. It was like a twisted Sentinel armour.
As the armour solidified, the hosts lowered to the ground. The light of the runes on their backs, chests, and arms, shone through the newly-formed steel, glowing bright red.
"Efialtír's Chosen have crossed," Achyron's voice whispered. "You must close the tear."
Kallinvar's heart thundered, each beat sending tremors through his bones. For a moment, nothing and nobody moved. Not a sound echoed through the plaza but the whipping of the wind. Then the Chosen swept outwards, moving with a fury, Soulblades of shimmering red bursting from their hands.
The knights held their ground, but the combined weight of the Chosen, the imperial mages, and the Bloodspawn was too much. Kallinvar's Sigil pulsed and ached as the souls of his brothers and sisters were torn from the world.
Fane stepped forwards, his red Soulblade flickering. "Your god branded him The Traitor," Fane said, staring down at Kallinvar. "But now you will see the truth."
Kallinvar made to charge Fane, but Tarron ripped through one of the Chosen and leapt towards the tear in the veil, his Soulblade coruscating.
Fane turned, crying out, the Taint pulsing from him. But Tarron reached forwards and drove his blade into the heart of the tear.
The world shook. A tremor swept through the ground beneath Kallinvar's feet, and the air trembled. Then, in a single motion, the tear collapsed in on itself, and Tarron was gone.
Kallinvar's Sigil didn't pulse or burn; it didn't react at all. Tarron was just gone. "Tarron…"
Fane turned to Kallinvar, red mist wafting from his eyes, a fury etched into his face.
But as the man approached Kallinvar, the Sigil in Kallinvar's chest surged with energy, and he watched as multiple Rifts opened in the world, bursting into life across the plaza beside the surviving knights.
"Take my children home, Kallinvar. You have done what you could. The tear is closed."
Kallinvar hesitated, the fire within him urging him to charge. But as he looked around at his knights, he saw how few still stood and how broken they were. And it was then, with his heart aching, he called out, "Fall back!"
"Pain is the path to strength, my child."
He took a step backwards towards the Rift he knew was open behind him, waiting as the others fell back through the multiple Rifts that were now open. He felt Ruon's hands tugging at him, pulling him, and then the icy embrace of the Rift washed over him.