The Forsaken Hero

As I struggled with my thoughts, Luke, Borealis, and Fable returned, collapsing with heavy thumps on the deck. At least, Fable did, having taken, by far, the most abuse from the dragon. I pushed my worries to the back of my mind, running to his side and burying my face in his bloodied fur. His natural regeneration, aided by Celestial Grace, had already closed his wounds. Still, I couldn’t help whisper a sixth-level spell, washing the blood and grim away, ensuring even the smallest scratches were healed.

”I did well, too, you know,” Luke said tiredly, leaning on his sword. He gave me a small grin, but winced as he touched his side.

Rising from my wolf, I embraced him. He limply returned the hug, his chest swelling with heavy pats. Gently, I moved his hand away, feeling his side for myself. My hands came away hot with blood, and he flinched.

”It’s not closing,” he said through clenched teeth.

I nodded, having already felt the oily filth of black mist the moment I hugged him. ”Purify,” I whispered, cleansing the taint from his body.

Luke’s breathing eased as I followed it with another healing spell. The wound responded, knitting together until not even a scar remained.

”You were so brave,” I whispered, giving him one last squeeze before pulling away.

He chuckled grimly, shaking his head. ”I barely did anything.”

”Because of the black mist? I noticed it seemed to fight your curses.”

”No, it wasn’t that. It was the curses themselves. Every time I tried to absorb them from the dragon’s body, they fought me. Like they were alive. The only curse magic I shouldn’t be able to control is cast by someone stronger than me.”

”Stronger than you?” I gasped. ”But you’re the apostle of curses. How could anyone be better than you?”

”I don’t know. I just know it can’t be a mortal. I’m confident of that much.”

”Then there really must be another demon involved, and a strong one at that,” Fuyren muttered. ”Pity that filthblood we captured knew so little.”

”I just don’t understand what a demon could get out of working with the risen,” Luke said. ”Everything its mana touches it corrupts. Even if it got souls and power out of it, the power is impure and inefficient. I’ve absorbed three fallen shards now and still haven’t crossed the threshold into ninth.”

”Good thing, too. Today’s battle showed you’re not ready for that yet. You had too many openings, too many weaknesses. If you can’t handle the power of eighth, you’ll never survive wielding ninth, much less fighting an equal opponent,” Fyren said.

Luke started to scowl, but took a conscious breath, lowering his head. ”I...I want to think I’ve come a long way. But if it’s not far enough, then...” He let out a long sigh.

Fyren grinned, showing his fangs. ”If you had said anything but that, I’d officially declare you unteachable. A warrior who knows he has limits is one who can eventually surpass them. That you acknowledge that shows you’ve learned much from the last time you were shown your place.”

Luke’s tail twitched at the implied insult, but he remained silent. Fyren’s words had been harsh, but true. He was right to be cautious. A ninth-level who couldn’t control his power was as likely to be a danger to himself as an enemy. The simple backlash I’d seen from casting Celestial Grace at the eighth level had proven as much. There was no room for errors with that much power.

”You’ll teach him, won’t you?” I asked, looking at Fyren pleadingly.

He nodded. ”As I said, I’m impressed with his humility. So, until I’m satisfied or bored, I’ll allow him to learn from me. Now, have you made your decision?”

I nodded. ”Yes. Captain!” I called, turning to the azure wing’s bridge. ”Bring us to the castle. We’re going after Connor.”

As the ship wheeled around, I opened a gate to Haven, letting Fable and Borealis into my realm to rest. I tried to convince Luke to go, but he was adamant, drawing himself up to his full height and taking a deep breath.

”After everything I’ve been through today, a little fatigue isn’t going to stop me. This is what we came here for,” he said, gripping his sword. ”If I were to retreat while you remained to fight, I could never forgive myself.”

”Alright,” I relented. But only because I knew if it were me in his position, I would have said the same. I already had.

The skies were ashen gray and choked with smoke, the clouds burning orange with scattering cinders. Explosions rocked the ship as our strike forces broke through the Risen defenses, and the black mist began to swell, gaining power. But the time we reached the castle at the center of Ebber’eve, the mist’s power rivaled that of my aura.

”I’m worried something’s happened,” I admitted as the Azure Wing came to stop above the highest towers. ”If they haven’t won by now, will they be able to at all?”

”That’s why we’re here, isn’t it?” Luke asked with a wry smile. ”Come on, let’s go.”

I let him pick me up, gripping him tightly as we glided over the edge, followed by Fyren and the Star Guard. Risen massed around the castle, led by several powerful mages who were once human. Court mages of Ornth, perhaps. Shockwaves rent the air, the castle shaking to its foundations as spells and arts detonated inside. How it stood at all was beyond me.

”Burn,” Fyren said, waving his hand.

Magic circles scrawled across the courtyards beneath the thickest clumps of Risen, erupting in a conflagration that consumed even the ash. We landed unmolested, hurrying through the front gates. More Risen grouped behind us, and I ordered the Star Guard to hold the entrance.

Together, the three of us pushed on, following the shockwaves to the throne room. It was dark and dusty, with pale light filtering through the thin windows on the ceiling. The room was clear of furnishings, all having rotted away under the corroding power of the Black Mist. Even the stonework was crumbling, like the ruins of some ancient crypt. The stench of death was overwhelming. A large, stone throne of tarnished gold sat upon a semicircular dias on the far end of the room.

In the center of the room, before the throne, I saw our friends caught in the midst of battle. Korra and Gayron engaged Connor in melee combat, while R’lissea hovered several dozen feet overhead, casting spells.

Connor wielded his sycthe with vicious ease, drawing lines in the air my eye couldn’t follow. The handle was stark-white and textured like dried bone, while the curved blade was black as midnight, seeming to draw the light into it. Wherever the blade passed, Black Mist gathered, a thick, heavy ribbon that sucked the life out of anything it touched.

Korra danced around him, narrowly avoiding his strikes, while using her arts to try to pin him down. But again, the Black Mist came to his aid, acting as a sort of ward, dampening her strikes. Gayron fared no better, his sword failing ot peentrate the dark gray armor Connor wore beneath his tattered cloak.

”There’s no purpose in you fighting me,” Connor said, forcing the two back with a wide sweep of his sycthe. ”My end is inevitable, and it’s not by your hand. Not your water or your fire, not your sword or fist.”

”Just shut up and die,” Gayron spat.

”Seriously. All your cryptic promises about oblivion or whatnot are getting annoying,” Korra agreed.

They still hadn’t noticed us, so I raised my staff, preparing to envelop my friends in my wards, but Fyren held his hand in front of me. I looked at him, but he shook his head, staring at R’lissea. Her eyes were half-lidded, her staff held in both hands. Her aura swelled, drawing in the currents of my aura, her soul resonating with the starlight. Eight magic circles rotated around her, filling with runes at extraordinary speed.

”Give them room to grow,” Fyren said softly.

”But---”

He silenced me with a look, and I lowered my staff, biting my lip. Luke stood beside me, resting his hand on my shoulder, pulling me against him. He held his blade in his other hand, ready to raise it between Connor and me at a moment’s notice.

”But you,” Connor said, looking up at the life hero. ”R’lissea. I didn’t think you’d have the courage to come here. I know how you fear the dark.”

R’lissea’s eyes fluttered open, and she looked down on him, her jaw clenched. ”I never wanted to be here. I never wanted to fight you. But you’ve left us no choice. You’ve hurt too many people, ruined too many lives. I’m going to stop all that. You’ll never hurt anyone again.”

He smirked, spreading his arms wide. ”You think you can defeat me? You? You’re a healer, R’lissea. Even now, you’ve hidden behind Korra and the filthblood, using all your power to stop my magic from overwhelming them.”

As if goaded by his words, the black mist smothering the room writhed. It rushed from every direction, bursting in from doors, windows, and corridors, flowing around the ward surrounding me, Luke, and Fyren like stones in a river. It poured directly into Connor’s soul, pushing his aura higher than any eighth-level should climb. The air trembled as he took a step forward, Korra and Gayron backing up with alarmed looks.

”The last of my liches has fallen,” Connor said, wearing a grim smile. ”All that remains of my horde is me. But the strength of my horde is undiminished. I am the horde, the will of millions manifest in one.”

”That...doesn’t make any sense,” Korra muttered.

R’lissea sank to the floor, standing between the two and Connor. ”You’ve done enough, Korra. I wouldn’t have gotten this far without you two, but this is my fight. Connor and I, to the end.”