The Forsaken Hero

Just seconds after the first clash, dead and dying inquisitors littered the courtyard. Fyren and Luke may have been suppressed, but the difference between them and the majority of our enemy was far more than levels could account for. Fyren’s scaly hide repelled the arrows and swords of those beneath the sixth level, and that was before accounting for the wards I’d placed around him. When the occasional seventh-level inquisitors attack snuck through, it was rewarded by a gout of molten blood that splattered across the ground, melting armor, earth, and flesh.

The Star Guard fared even better. Kahlen had dropped to sixth-level, yet his very nature and combat style proved him invaluable to fighting multiple enemies at once. The rest were human and unaffected by the inquisitor’s artifact. Gith proved the most deadly of all, because while the inquisitors had the numbers to support and distract in melee combat, none could react in time to his arrows. Whatever combat art he had learned turned each of them into small slivers of death, penetrating armor and ward with ease. Oftentimes, they punched entirely through their targets, but when they didn’t, they detonated with fury, blowing chunks of flesh everywhere.

It was almost too easy, and that worried me. From the inquisitor’s words, they had been blessed by the Pope himself for this mission. That meant they weren’t with Lord Evlon’s party and had likely teleported through the shard. Had they come all this way just to die at the hands of my guards? It didn’t make any sense. They’d used an artifact that had shocked Fyren, yet hadn’t even managed to personally attack me or Selena.

The number of seventh-level inquisitors was just too low. They’d sent three of them, and yet...where were they?

Dread filled me as I realized it, and started looking around, desperately searching for any sign of them. Fyren was trading blows with one, but the other two, who might have been able to break through my companions, hadn’t even engaged yet. Had we fallen into another trap?

A surge of mana across the courtyard made my heart skip a beat, but when I looked, it was an aura I recognized. A variable that neither I nor the inquisitors had accounted for: Luke.

Curses almost entirely obscured Luke’s figure. They trailed from him like seaweed in the current, drawn toward the nearby souls of his enemies. Several inquisitors lay at his feet, feebly twitching as their souls collapsed, torn apart from the inside by his aura. Not even their weapons had been spared, corroding in real time as the enchantments that strengthened them were consumed and the steel eroded.

Among those fighting the apostle was one of the seventh-level inquisitors. He was a tall, broad-shouldered man, towering over Luke, wielding a long-handled great axe with two half-moon blades that was as long as I was tall.

The other was there too, the lead inquisitor, standing some distance behind them. My worry eased as I saw his mana flowing almost exclusively into the artifact suppressing my blood. No wonder he hadn’t engaged. With the burden it placed on his soul, he wouldn’t be any more effective than a fifth-level fighter–barely fodder in the raging battle.

Letting out a shout, the axe-wielding inquisitor brought his weapon down in a vicious arc. Luke dove out of the way, and the axe buried itself in he ground. The gathered mana exploded outward, rupturing the ground and knocking Luke off balance. The inquisitor, leaving his blade buried, lunged forward, his fist connecting with Luke’s chest. It was a seventh-level technique, releasing a shockwave that slammed against my wards.

Luke flew back into the courtyard wall, shattering the stone and gasping, his eyes going wide. He dropped to the ground, landing on one knee, a line of blood leaking from his lips.

”Who the hell are you?” the inquisitor growled.

He stalked up to him, axe back in hand, and raised it over Luke’s head. Luke struggled weakly, clutching his chest with one hand and coughing another mouthful of blood. Mana spiraled into the axe, gathering for a fourth-level technique.

”Luke...!” I cried, helplessly clutching my staff. What could I do? Even if I burned my soul, or sent Borealis, there wasn’t enough time to–

Wait, fourth level? The inquisitor looked like he was putting everything into the attack, pouring his entire soul into the blade, and yet...only fourth? But why? Didn’t he know that wouldn’t–

The axe descended, carving a blazing tail through the sky. Luke raised his arm over his head, and...caught it.

The inquisitor grunted as his blade stopped short, eyes widening in surprise. Luke rose slowly, muscles bulging against the inquisitors as he forced the axe up. The blade dug into his hand, drawing a line of blood that ran down his forearm.

”It’s polite,” he hissed, pushing the blade aside, ”to wait for an answer after asking a question.”

The axe thudded to the ground, sinking to the haft. The inquisitor stumbled back a step, staring at Luke, a bead of sweat running down the side of his face. And then he stumbled, seeming to trip over nothing, and dropped to a knee. His chest heaved with effort, and he squeezed his eyes shut in pain.

”You should have taken your own question more seriously,” Luke said, summoning his sword to hand, standing over him imperiously.

The inquisitor’s hand scrabbled at his chest. ”Curses?” he gasped, opening his eyes and staring at Luke in horror. ”But how? She doesn’t...you’re not supposed to–”

”You’re right,” Luke said softly, ”Xiviyah would never use a curse. She’s too...innocent.”

The black ribbons oozing from his soul had latched onto the inquisitor. But when had that happened? For how long? I’d completely missed it, and judging by his reaction, so had the inquisitor.

”You spent all this effort, all your schemes, your sacrifices, just to hurt her. But she wants nothing but to bring your world peace and goodness. A precious, naive soul that this world doesn’t deserve.” Luke looked around, shaking his head in dismay. But his eyes burned with fury. ”And that’s why you’re going to die. You’ve been fighting the wrong opponent. The one you should have prepared for is me.

The inquisitor’s eyes widened, but it was too late. Luke stabbed forward, plunging his sword into the man’s chest. It shattered his wards, pierced his breastplate, running through and emerging out the other side. His scream turned to a gurgle as blood filled his lungs and spurted between his lips. Luke kicked him off his blade, sending him crashing to the ground, where he twitched before falling still.

I stared at them, too stunned to move. Luke’s words, the inquisitor’s death, it had all happened too quickly.

But Borealis didn’t miss the chance. As the other inquisitors stared, too stunned by the sudden loss to react, he darted off my shoulder, streaking at the other seventh-level inquisitor. The man cried out, throwing himself aside, but Borealis’s claw clipped his arm. The crystalline talon cut cleanly through the steel, half-severing it and forcing him to drop the artifact.

The instant it left his grip, the sun winked out, plunging the battlefield into oppressive silence. A silence broken by a scream.

All eyes turned to the other inquisitor, fighting Fyren. The demon’s claws had found his chest, punching through his defenses and emerging out the other side. Fyren raised his hand, lifting the struggling inquisitor into the air, his life’s blood pouring down the demon’s arm.

With a cruel shake, Fyren tossed the man to the side. He few off his claws with a sickening squelch, almost entirely cut in half from the sheer size of Fyren’s claws.

”No!” the last surviving seventh-level cried. ”I won’t fail!”

He scrambled forward on his knees, grabbing the artifact with his good hand. Raising it up, he let out a cry, and his mana poured into the ring. It was a torrent, unsustainable, scarcely had the sun appeared again than his soul was dry. But he didn’t stop, screaming as his soul consumed itself, burning his very life to fill it with power.

The sun grew brighter and brighter, overpowering the true sun at the zenith of its glory. I shielded my eyes against the glare, a small whimper escaping my lips as it started to burn, raising blisters across my exposed skin. When the inquisitor finally dropped, his soul lifeless and dead, there was too much mana.

The artifact fell from his limp hand, rolling across the ground before coming to a stop, but the sun remained. The other inquisitors attacked with suicidal fervor, but without the support of their leaders, they were hewn down with little effort. Gith killed the last one, a mage who was casting a fifth-level spell atop the wall. But still, the sun burned, drawing on the power of the artifact itself now, compressing all that power into a single concentrated point.

”Xiviyah, it’s going to explode. We have to get out of here,” Fyren urged.

”It’s too late. There’s nowhere to run,” I said, looking back at Selena.

Selena had continued to cast throughout the entire battle, and now, her face was pale, and her soul quivered from exhaustion. Nine magic circles dominated the sky above the false sun, so wide I couldn’t see their fringes. They must have covered over half the city by now.

It was quiet now, save for the drone of the sun. Selena wasn’t even chanting anymore. With a start, I realized her spell was on the verge of completion. She just needed a few minutes to consolidate the power and activate it.

But those few, short minutes were a commodity we no longer had. The sun grew still, the drone fading away, plunging the courtyard into silence. I looked at Luke, meeting his violet eyes. He opened his mouth, taking a step toward me, his eyes filled with worry.

But it was too late. Before his foot landed, the sun exploded.