The Tears of Kas̆dael

Steam gushed from the earth as Dannûl’s axe cut deep into the frozen sod. The momentum of his strike was enough to bury the head entirely, but the blow had missed its target due to the unknown force.

Instinct told him to reposition his body, and he moved to the left a split second before the razor-sharp claws tore through where he’d been standing. With a valiant heave, he pulled the axe free of the dirt and swung it to his right.

His eyes followed the swing, and the commander finally saw what he was facing. He knew what it was immediately. Of course, Dannûl had never seen one in person before, but he’d seen illustrations of them in tomes at the temple. An Ophan, a servant of the Lady of Mourning, a fell being of the void.

Its torso was vaguely humanoid, but its flesh was melted and smoldering, like living lava. No head sat upon its shoulders, but a single burning eye floated untethered by any visible means to its torso. Around the eye rotated two glowing bands of runes, glowing with a silvery blue light.

The rest of its body was no less disturbing. Its burning arms ended in thin black claws extending from unnaturally long fingers and behind its back jet black wings covered in metallic feathers whirred in perpetual motion. The creature was like something out of a nightmare.

Dannûl realized then that he had completely misread the situation. Gūla’s lackey may not have horns, but no weak mage could summon a creature like this. Something resembling a smile slipped across his lips, a bit of his anger dissipating at the discovery of a worthy foe. Finally, a challenge. He ignored the mage for a moment - his two companions could deal with him - and turned to deal with the primary threat.

As he swung his axe straight for the hideous beast, the Ophan intercepted it once again and a tug of war ensued. For a moment, their struggle seemed equal, and though the flames of his firebird spell rapidly spread across the body of the Ophan, the flames didn’t seem to be noticeably consuming its already mangled flesh. Then with a grunt, the Ophan surged forward, and Dannûl’s knee kissed the ground.

He activated Flames of Rebirth, and his strength doubled. With a roar, he shoved the Ophan back, ripping the axe free of its grasp. But before he could strike again, the beast’s metallic wings suddenly lurched over its shoulders and smacked him dead center. His temporarily boosted strength was enough to keep him standing, but the metallic feathers that swept across his body ripped open any patches of exposed flesh and did a number on the armor too.

As Dannûl swung again, the creature lurched forward, striking toward his belly with a clawed hand that would no doubt have disemboweled him. He altered the course of his blow enough to deflect the strike with the shaft of his weapon, causing his axe to dig into the shoulder of the Ophan rather than its neck. But the creature seemed unfazed by the pain, and he was forced to abandon his axe a second later, as the beast lashed out with both clawed hands before he could pull it free.

Spinning on his heels, Dannûl catapulted himself twenty feet with a single bound, buying himself some space. The Ophan tore after him, relentless in its pursuit, but while its strength may have outmatched his, its speed was noticeably slower. The brief seconds gave him time to retrieve more weapons from his bag, and as the beast closed the gap he met it wielding sword and board.

A metallic screech filled the air as the creature’s claws bounced off the shield, leaving only faint gouges behind, and he lashed out with his sword, targeting the same shoulder he’d already hit. The axe had fallen free as the Ophan pursued him, and the sword cut deep in the wound. He quickly twisted his weapon, trying to pry the gap open as wide as possible - maybe to even tear the arm from its socket - but he had been too greedy.

With his weapon stuck in the Ophan’s arm and the shield covering the left side of his body, his right shoulder was left wide open. The metal feathers cascaded down his right side again, shredding was left of his armor and digging into the flesh below.

“Das̆ip!” He staggered backward with an angry curse and lost his grip on the sword. Blood was streaming down his mangled arm, but he had no time to tend to it as the Ophan pressed its advantage. Dannûl barely got the shield in front of him, bracing with both arms, before the beast slammed into him.

The metal held, but the bones in his arms did not. The shield slammed into his chest as his bones gave way, and he was sent sprawling into the dirt, with the Ophan on top of him. For most warriors, that would have been the end; with two broken arms and no remaining weapons save for a shield digging into his chest, Dannûl was almost of options - but the commander had always prided himself on being more than ordinary. He’d had to be in order to compete with the nobles.

“Is̆kaduḫ.” A veritable river of fire poured from his mouth and completely enshrouded the creature that was pinning him down. Coupled with a tiny infusion of his spirit, the spell was above anything he’d managed before, a never-ending torrent of flame hot enough to shame the sun and more than enough to overwhelm the Ophan’s fire resistance.

With a howl of pain, the creature lurched off of him, clawing at the flames that fiercely clung to its body. Dannûl had no time to relish his success, though, for he needed to heal himself. With his broken arms, it was a struggle to wiggle his fingers enough to cast his healing spell, but he managed it on the second try. Cleansing Flames. Fresh agony wracked his body, but in its wake followed sweet relief. Rolling to his feet, he snatched the shield from the ground and ran toward the still-flailing Ophan.

Juicing the blow with the Fires of Rebirth, Dannûl slammed the edge of his shield into the creature’s chest, caving it in. He followed up with a frenzied flurry of blows, feeling the essence pour out of him as he maintained the boosting spell. He was running on dregs by now, nearly out of essence, but he was so close to finishing the creature off that he dared not pull back.

In his frenzy, he barely registered the stinging pain that sliced across his shoulder. The wailing scream that shattered his eardrum was not so easy to ignore. He spun around, whipping his bloodied shield through the space behind him but he hit nothing.

Yet he was not alone. The black, soulless eyes of a specter stared back at him, and not just one. Six of the undead surrounded him, beings of shattered spirit and not of flesh. Their lower bodies had long since dissipated into the ether, but what remained of their form was enough to quell the heart of even the bravest warrior. Fueled by an unquenchable hunger for human flesh, the specters’ jagged claws and thin, needle-like fangs were perfectly designed to tear a man to shreds, and resistant to the blows of simple blades.

The shield fell loosely from his hands as the commander stared at his death, his eyes focused on the man who loomed behind the specters. The hornless noble leaned heavily against a bloodied glaive, his breath rising in quick puffs of steam in the cold night. From the state of his armor, it was clear that Dannûl’s friends had given him a good fight, but their efforts, just like his, had fallen short. A headless corpse lay at the noble’s feet and the body behind him had suffered an even worse fate, almost mummified by whatever dread spell the mage had cast.

I misjudged him. Dannûl had a brief moment to curse the blind folly of his pride before the specters descended upon him. With the last dregs of his essence, he banished the first back to the void from which it came, but the rest were close at its heels and latched onto him like leeches.

With nothing to lose, he ignited his soul, turning himself into a walking inferno. He crushed three more of them before the specters skittered back, dancing just out of his reach, and a moment of hope kindled in his heart.

Then the mage lifted his hand and a long, ghastly whip unfurled from nothing. It crossed the space between them fast as lightning and flayed his cheek open. And as the blood dripped down from the wound, more of the specters gathered. He went berserk, chasing after the creatures, but they ducked and weaved between his blows, tearing chunks of his flesh with every hit they made.

Dannûl could already feel the strain on his soul as he collapsed to the ground, the muscles on his legs torn to shreds by the beasts, and he knew there was nothing more he could do. If he let the flames fall, the specters would finish the job, but burning his soul would just as surely kill him. He struggled to rise, flailing feebly in the snow, as the crunch of footsteps slowly approached him.

Turning his eyes to the sky, he found the noble standing above him, his glaive raised for the killing blow. It sliced down and Dannûl knew no more.

“Holy hell that hurts.” Jasper’s ribs protested as he struggled to pull his glaive free of the commander’s body, but the blade had gotten caught in the man’s vertebrae and did not come easily. With a final heave, he managed to loosen it and, planting the shaft against the ground, sagged against its welcome support with a sigh of relief. “That was close.”

He hadn’t expected the commander to be nearly able to handle the Ophan on all his own, nor had he realized that both of the soldiers accompanying Dannûl had been firebirds in their own right.

The battle had been touch and go from the start. All three of them had fire immunity, and though all of them also had a spell that overrode fire immunity - Flame Charge for Jasper and the firebirds’ signature flame for his opponents - it turned out they were mutually immune to those too.

Firebirds were as much warriors as they were mages, so the loss of their fire magic hadn’t hampered them too badly; Jasper, on the other hand, had only a few spells that could damage them and nowhere near as much physical strength. While Scourge of Despair and Purge could be fatal with a bit of luck, both spells had constraints that prevented them from being fully reliable. Purge required the target to be judged ‘evil,’ whatever the hell that meant, and Scourge of Despair needed to draw blood - and unfortunately, the firebirds were heavily armored.

He'd won the battle, but the struggle had eaten up nearly all his essence, and he'd been horrified to discover that Dannûl had somehow managed to survive his clash with the Ophan. Fortunately, the void creature had obliterated the man’s armor and torn his left arm to shreds, allowing Jasper's scourge to pierce the usually toughened skin, and the specters had done the rest. It had been a close thing, though, and Jasper knew he was lucky it wasn't his head on the ground.

A shudder ran down his spine at the thought, and he reflexively massaged the faint scar around his throat, remembering the last time he’d suffered that fate. That was too close. Still, he felt a touch of pride as he surveyed the wreckage; he’d fought three mages, one of them well above his level, and been the one to walk away.

Something crunched in the snow behind him, and Jasper shuffled around slowly, wincing as his ribs protested against the effort. “Hello?” He called out.