Olimpia

There was no response from the seated figure, and Sathera could see their quill continue to slowly scrape over a parchment. It was apparent to everyone that to the seated figure, the man trying to loom over him didn't exist and wasn't worth a scrap of his attention.

Turning to look at the other two passages of the T-intersection, Sathera saw the open dark hallway to her back and Bellous stalling their pursuers down the tunnel they came. They could turn and run into the darkness, leaving no one in the room the wiser, but that choice just felt wrong to Sathera.

From one sentence, she had already learned of an army approaching. What more could she learn from listening in? Hopefully, they would learn about whose army it was and where it was coming from, but leaving once they learned who these two conspiring groups were and what they were doing down here would also be acceptable. As long as the Triad was looking for an army, they would find it.

So many questions were forming in her mind, and none of them would be answered by blindly fleeing. Not to mention that those with the torch came from somewhere. Gathering more information for the 15th Legion was worth the risk of their lives.

"Rush forward," Sathera messaged her team while the seated figure continued their power play. "Create distance between us and our pursuers. Go full stealth; I want to hear what they have to say."

Sathera felt the Union dim as everyone focused their willpower and psy on muffling the sound of their loping strides as they ran down the passage.

Seconds passed as they rushed forward, and a tense silence filled the chamber at the end of the tunnel. No one appeared willing to say another word after the man's outburst, and even their failed intimidator was slowly shifting back to a slightly hunched stance like he was called before his father for a scolding.

The man was left to wilt for most of a minute, more than enough time for Sathera and the others to sprint all but the last twenty feet to the tunnel exit. The thudding beat of her heart pounded in Sathera's chest, and an overwhelming need built within her to suck in a wheezing breath, but she suppressed it.

Sliding the paper to the side with two fingers while setting the quill down, the figure grabbed another stack of documents from the other side of the desk and placed them in front of his body before layering his hands on top of the pages. Only then did the figure speak in a hissing rasp, "And so are our thralls and my brothers. You are not the only one suffering losses. But do not strain your limited intellect thinking of a solution. Our forces will be here soon to take the fort."

The bearded man, once towering over the table, collapsed into himself with every word, ringing out the arrogance and rage-fueled confidence once burning inside of him, leaving a shriveled husk in its place. It didn't help that the seated man quite literally had the shadows on his side, emphasizing his every word.

Like a wave of spilled ink, the shadows roiled out from under the cloaked figure's chair and desk. The substance was like condensed shadows, if shadows could glisten wetly in the light like tar.

Whatever the inky substance was, it spewed out to cover the area behind the table, making the cloaked figure appear to be nothing more than a torso poking out of pure, impenetrable darkness. Strands of tar broke off from the black mass, stretching toward those gathered before the desk.

The appendages were a mixture of twisted scythes and deformed claws ripping at the light and earth alike as they extended and receded randomly. To Sathera, it looked like the shadows obscured some forsaken abominations struggling to rend their way into reality, uncaring of the damage they caused in the process.

The man sat placidly amungst the writhing shadows, his powers scraping over every surface as it encroached on the light's domain, slowly gouging into casted earth as it pulled itself forward.

Then, like it could no longer stand up to the torch's light, the squirming shadows pulled back underneath and behind the desk, lashing out at the light with miniature appendages compared to a second before.

The large, burly man gave a visible sigh of relief as it looked like the shadows and the malformed things it hid would recede to whence it came. He stepped forward, his mouth open, and diving into a low bow when the shadows surged across the room once more.

Staggering back in panic as the living shadows advanced, the group's supposed leader rushed to join the rest of his fellows huddled around the torch. The absolute darkness pressed in along the ground with sputtering surges as it rapidly clawed forward before slightly retreating like a tide, only to flood forward again.

From the ceiling, spears of shadows plunged into the faltering light, their tips dripping a black liquid that evaporated in the torch's red glow into a black fog, vanishing to nothing before it could hit the ground.

The group surrounded by the shadows was practically climbing over each other to get closer to the torch, and it looked like they would soon be consumed as the claws brushed at their ankles. But, as soon as it looked like it would all end, the oppressive darkness vanished as suddenly as it appeared.

Sathera didn't know what the creeping shadows were or how they were formed, but a spark of fear was ignited within her. Because the walls of the room were covered in gouges and divots.

Those around the torch had pressed into one another so tightly that it would be hard to fit a dagger between them. And the man, once looming over the desk with the implicit threat of violence, had fallen onto his backside and was scrambling to push himself closer against the legs of his comrades.

As the man continued to beat his feet against the ground, his eyes were locked open, showing their whites as hysterical fear overwhelmed his mind. While the rest of his body scrambled to get farther away, his head was locked on the desk, and the one behind it, like it was some kind of venomous snake ready to lash out at him.

Under the drumming of the man's feet, the scrape of a chair sliding back sounded, and everything went silent. Everything but a single set of footsteps grinding stone fragments under their feet as a shadow in the shape of a man walked across the room.

"They're coming around the bend," Bellous sent into the Union from where he trailed at the back of the group, breaking her out of her fixation on the scene playing out.

Sathera turned her head to glance down the dark tunnel, hearing the steps of their pursuers, then turned back to the light in mild irritation. She wanted to hear more of this conversation, but time was quickly running out with all of the posturing. Not that she would give up on gathering information quite yet.

"Move closer," Sathera sent into the Union as she crept forward. "Bellous, seal off the tunnel. Jim, if you get a clean shot at the dark elf, take it. And keep your swords sheathed for now; remember the glow."

No one sent a question into the network, but Sathera could feel disabling skepticism at her command. Sure, everyone had heard rumors and been told dark elves existed, but few, if anyone, had claimed to have seen one.

And while the figure at the end of the tunnel was strange, the hood it wore covered its features. How could she know that it was a dark elf?

Sathera didn't know, but from everything she had just seen and heard, there was no other reasonable explanation. Sahtera's security in her own statement stifled any comment against it, but she could still feel their doubt. And knew that if she was wrong, there would be comments.

Jim moved past Sathera and Joxin as he pulled out, strung, and knocked an arrow to the string of his bow in a handful of seconds. In a half crouch, Jim stalked forward, his feet silently moving over the ground.

To her surprise, Sathera felt Joxin pull away from her and begin moving under his own power while half-leaning against the wall. "I can move this fast on my own. And I'll only slow down your reaction." He sent after her inquisitive probe into the Union.

Sathera felt slightly chagrined at his comment, as she should have thought of it. An arrow in the back will alert anyone they are being attacked. And some degree of violence will be the result. And if a little more force was needed to bring a fight to an end with them still safe, well, having an unsheathed sword at the ready would be welcome.

But this didn't look like it was going to end so simply.

If the darkness moving wasn't Sathera's imagination, and she seriously doubted it was with all the damage, they were dealing with a powerful person. Perhaps one stronger than a knight, though a knight would be bad enough.

She wouldn't even consider someone on the scale of a city lord, for if that was true, they were already fucked as the dark elf was just playing with them, and they would be dead soon enough. No need to worry about it.

No matter how stories romanticized the power of wit and skilled planning to surpass the odds, there was no overcoming that large a gap in raw power.

As the group around the torch separated, trying to look casually in front of the dark elf like they weren't all scared shitless. Sathera blinked in surprise.

The red light of the torch was coming from a sunstone. It was a low-quality one, as the light it gave off was red, but all sunstones were expensive, and it was strange that these people had one. Where did they get it?

A chuckle, sounding like the scraping of sandpaper over jiggling seashells, filled the chamber and echoed down the hallway, sending a shiver down Sathera's spine. “Haha… You have quite the gall to tested my patience in such a way insects. It could almost be admired, if I didn’t know its source. And yet come here and demand action… when it is your lot in life to suffer our forbearance. You are weak. Your people are weak. And you think you have the right to come here and question me?"

"Forgive us, Chevalier," Begged the man, getting to his feet as he bowed his head so low he could probably touch his nose to his knee if he shifted slightly to the side. "We were… merely scared of the death toll… If this continues… we won't be able to serve the Matriarch properly!"

The room filled with the dark elf's laughter again, but this time, there was a cruel amusement filling it. Coming to a hitching stop, the dark elf began to speak, sounding like he was talking to himself, "My people scorn me for what I am. My talent with the mind has always been… lacking. And yet, unlike most who become serfs, I won my place back into my clan. You Olimpians are brutish with your mental powers. Always wielding raw power rather than developing the finesse it takes to control the mind and accumulate true power. Your knights only know how to wield what is before them. They can never imagine the power to be gained by controlling the elements of darkness and light. Which is strange, considering the element's constant battles all around us. Don't you think? Though it does speak to your people's imagination."

The implications of his words sunk into everyone who heard them, and the shadows pressed forward again, eating away at the edges of the light as what looked like countless tentacles were trying to burst free from the shadow's grasp. "My strength might be focused in the martial direction, earning the scorn of my kin, but I have more than enough skill to read the minds of sniveling fools and traitors like you." At the elf's words, every human before him flinched back like he had struck them. The reaction only earned another chuckle before he continued, "It says something when I call you the worst of your people. And I feel the greed and need to keep your puny power intact, radiating off you… But you bring up a good point. Your value to the Matriarch will diminish if your forces are crippled."

The darkness in the chamber bled away from the room's center and back to the walls, and the suntorch was finally free to illuminate those who huddled within its reach without struggling for dominance.

The only unnatural shadow left within the light's reach was the one roughly in the shape of a man. Whenever Sathera tried to study the figure and find his center for an attack, every time she tried to focus her eyes on him, she had to look to one side or another, feeling slightly nauseous after a few seconds. Something about how the shadows churned made her feel like she was falling.

"Pull your forces into the tunnels," Came the rough voice from the shadow, "Let the thralls take the brunt of the legion's blow."

"Thank you," mewled the large bearded traitor, bobbing up and down like a chicken in his deep bow. "Thank you for your benevolence, Chevalier."

"Go," said the dark elf, a fuzzy shadow arm flicking out before connecting back to the central body. "Get out of my sight."

The group shuffled to a dark corner of the room, each of the men and a couple of women bowing and offering their thanks to the living shadow. The shadow said nothing, only standing impassively to all their words as if they meant nothing to him.

Given what she had seen, their words really were worth less than the air it took to speak them to the dark elf. He might even pay them never to contaminate his breathing air with their presence again.

As the group reached the wall, it revealed a tunnel entrance. That they were going to take their light into…

Eyes turning to Jim, she saw him a step ahead of her, his whole body radiating focus, the arrow half drawn on this bow. From the corner of her eye, she saw the torch move, placing the shadow figure between the light and them.

The torch's light didn't burn away the shadows revealing his figure, but it did show the edges of his profile. It was like a slightly darker patch in a shadow.

It wasn't much, but it was enough. In one motion, Jim pulled back on the string until the feather on the shaft nearly brushed his face before releasing it.

The twang of a bow sounded in the passage, sounding like she was standing next to a squad of archers instead of just Jim.

While the arrow was still in flight with the sound echoing down the tunnel, the shadows around the dark elf flared and seemed to almost thicken and coalesce into a substance.

As the arrow struck the shadows, there was a crack like the breaking of wood, then a thunk.

At the sound of what sounded an awful lot like the breaking and splintering of an arrow shaft, Sathera started sprinting down to the chamber. They had covered most of the distance as they crept forward, but she still had to cover twenty feet to make it to the elf.

With an afterthought, she extended a tendril down her leg to create a dome around her foot, muffling her steps as best she could. She could still make out small taps of her feet, as she was not the most practiced, but it should help conceal her approach at least a little.

Before she had completed her fourth step, Sathera felt a gust of wind on her cheek and saw an arrow flash by her head. A spark of hope that the dark elf would be downed with this shot welled up inside of her, allowing them to move on to their next problem, but that hope shattered to join the rest of her hopes for the day, quickly joined by the broken arrow.

As a counterpoint, the elf's shadows were standing firm against her greatest fears, as it was confirmed the shadow cloak was basically a knight's armor and was too resilient for the arrow to penetrate.

"Shift your aim to the gangsters," Sathera told Jim, "I'll handle the dark elf." Whether she could back up her words… Sathera was about to find out.

After another few steps, the shadow blob and traitor gangsters behind him finally overcame whatever shock they were dealing with and started to act. For the gangsters' part, they had drawn knives, batons, and, in one case, a short sword out of their clothing.

There wasn't a rush forward to confront her and her team, but they were moving to stand behind the shadow figure like the outstretched wings of a bird. Instead of looking forward, watching the tunnel where arrows had come out of, they were throwing rapid glances that basically became a stare at the dark elf, like they wanted some acknowledgment that he saw them helping.

It was a mistake that Jim would not pass up. The first scream filled the chamber as a wiry, gray-haired old man found an arrow shaft sticking out of his chest.

Focusing on her target, Sathera's hand fell to her sword hilt and unsheathed it before pulling her arm back for a thrust. Throwing away from any attempt at stealth, Sathera used one tendril to pull herself forward and a second to form around her sword.

In all barriers, there was a weak point. More accurately, there was a more vulnerable point than the rest of the shield. It was a combination of expectations that no one would attack that particular spot, so you don't exert your will there and mental focus. Few people could manage to apply their will equally across a casting for long.

If you got to know someone and practiced against them enough, you could sometimes predict where those spots would be. But without that knowledge, you would have to go with the general way to break a barrier.

Hit it as hard as you can on as small of a point as possible.

If the elf was a good enough caster to apply his will evenly, all the better for her, as it wouldn't matter where Sathera hit, so she might as well start off strong for his chest. If not, then maybe she could make herself a threat and force the elf to turn, opening up his back to Jim.

Lunging forward into the light with a tendril-empowered thrust, her sword shot forward with a hiss of air. The impact sounded with a small thump, and she felt her sword push forward slightly as the shadows rippled.

Looking up from her sword to where the elf's eyes should be, she saw nothing but an emotionless darkness.

Sathera did not freeze up in fear at his power, skill, or her impending death; she was too well-trained for that. Even as she looked into the black depths of the monster before her, her arm and tendril were pulling back to strike again.

Before her blade could land a second strike, a slight ripple ran along the shadow's surface. And the next thing Sathera knew was something striking her in the chest and throwing her back the way she came like a rag doll.