The Forsaken Hero

Fate welcomed me as I fled into its stars, emerging in the sky over Darkreign Keep. I floated listlessly, hugging myself as tremors shook me uncontrollably. The agony of my wounds was just a memory here, but it was sharp and searing. It took a few seconds for it to dull enough for me to actually believe I wasn’t hurting, even in my soul form. I felt at my side, letting out a relieved sigh as I felt my dress soft and silken, and the smooth, whole skin beneath it.

Slowly, I uncurled and looked down. Explosions flashed across the city, and fires burned everywhere, sending thick plumes of ash and smoke into the sky. Luke’s curses wound throughout the city, drawn toward the last few mortals whose souls still burned. Those who had succumbed filled the streets, held captive by the curse, hovering on the edge between life and death. Storm clouds rolled massed in the sky above the cathedral, and darts of lightning descended with unnatural irregularity, snapping into the streets and courtyards like serpents. The winds and thunder were a constant roar, overwhelming the faint screams and clang of battle.

Time had no meaning here, but my heart was racing, and my tail fidgeted restlessly, so I shifted toward it, emerging beside the last standing spire. The courtyards were ravaged, pocket-marked with craters and littered with corpses. One of the walls had vanished, and every house and shop within a few blocks tilted perilously. More than a few had collapsed.

The battle had moved on from when we’d left, leaving only two figures fighting across the cathedral. I recognized Korra instantly, flying shielded by a shimmering veil of vaporous water. It was an art I’d never seen before, yet felt no weaker than any of my wards.

The other was Grace, the Storm Hero. She wore tight, impractically revealing leather armor and wielded a spear of crackling lightning, matched by arcing electricity in her irises. Her soul was eight-level, a little stronger than Korra’s, yet smothered by a Heart Crest. She chased after Korra, her face twisted in hatred, flying by virtue of her soul, rather than any technique. An anility, perhaps? I didn’t know the storm hero well enough to know, but from what I’d seen, the church didn’t yet possess a flying art.

”Give up, Korra,” Grace spat, throwing her spear at Korra’s back. ”You can’t defeat me.”

Korra twisted out of the way, easily avoiding it. Lightning arced off the spear, lashing out at Korra, but they sparked off her ward. She clicked her tongue, waggling her finger at the Storm Hero.

”When was the last time I lost? We were what, seventh-level?”

Grace growled, lunging at her. Her spear reappeared in her hand, darting for Korra’s throat.

Korra caught it with one hand, grabbing the haft right beneath the spearhead. Electricity clawed for her, but her hand was sheathed in water, diffusing it. Grace strained, her mana flaring, but the spearhead didn’t budge. Her eyes widened slightly, and her lips parted, but Korra’s foot snapped forward, catching her in the chest.

Grace flew back, smashing into the central tower of the cathedral. She broke through the walls and out the other side, only managing to catch herself against the opposing courtyard wall. The shard glimmered through the hole, but somehow, the building remained standing. I made a mental note to check those wards if I managed to survive. They were on another level.

Grace shook her head, coughing as she fought to regain her breath. Blood leaked from the corner of her lip. She looked up and stiffened, finding Korra nowhere.

”Behind you.” Korra materialized behind her.

The storm hero spun, slashing with the tip of her spear like a sword, but Korra flipped over it, laughing as she punched her in her extended arm. Her shield wavered, shooting off a stream of water that flowed into the shape of a serpentine dragon, latching on to Grace’s arm.

Grace cried out, dropping her spear as the dragon sank its fangs into her forearm. Swirling patterns of frost crawled across her leather bracer. Its enchantments flared, but the material dried and cracked. Korra’s other hand landed on her exposed midriff, just above her hip. I winced as Grace’s face went white, and she doubled over, hacking. Another dragon wound around her, seeping into her muscles, chilling her movements.

”You’re fast and hit hard,” Korra said, floating away, folding her arms. ”But battle is so much more than abilities and strength. You still swing your spear like you expect your opponent to stand there and take it. And never mind your defenses. I’m surprised some random demon hasn’t killed you in a gate yet. You must only go into the gates of a lower level than you.”

”Shut up,” Grace spat, ”I defeated you when you were a mage at the height of your god’s favor. You’re nothing now, just a traitor with a savior complex.”

”Complex?” Korra frowned, and I shivered. It wasn’t often I saw her look genuinely upset, and it was terrifying. Her eyes weren’t that cold even when she fought inquisitors. ”I’m going to save you, Grace. Who’s holding your heart crest? Who do I have to kill?”

Grace just glared at her, and Korra sighed, running a hand through her hair.

”Fine,” she muttered, narrowing her eyes. ”We’ll do it the hard way. I’m sorry about this. I hope you’ll forgive me.”

Korra’s aura surged, and I gasped, instinctively shifting back a few hundred yards. That was the look she had whenever she’d found one of Gayron’s weaknesses when they sparred. I’d learned from painful experience, I didn’t want to be anywhere near them when that happened.

When my visions stabilized, the two were locked in combat again, but this time, Grace was on the defensive. Korra danced around her, attacking from every angle at once. She took advantage of the spear’s awkwardness in close combat, and more often than not, her blows slipped through. They weren’t particularly powerful, contrary to what I’d seen when she fought Gayron, releasing barely a wave of compressed air when they connected.

But each carried a sinewy serpent, and as they landed, Korra’s power lingered, draping across her arms, soul, and weapon. None of her attacks actually hit that hard. They were invisible to the eye, but as they accumulated, her movements began to slow. Her armor cumbled as her bracer had, and her weapon began to lose its speed. Grace’s expression darkened, frustration burning in her eyes even as her face tightened with pain.

At last, she thrust her spear down, calling down a thunderous bolt of lightning. Korra let it strike her, and the world flashed white. Thunder deafened me, even from my distance. When it faded, she was gone. Grace whipped around, thrusting her spear into the air again, summoning lightning to strike randomly around her.

Korra appeared between two bolts, slamming into her back and driving her into the ground. Grace’s spear went flying as the two grappled. Weighed down by dozens of threads of water mana, Grace’s strength was no longer superior to Korra’s, and she cried out as Korra’s fist drove into her again and again. The shockwaves from her blows sent cracks through the flagstones, breaking them into dust.

Finally, she slumped, her body limp, her head falling to the side. Her eyes rolled up in her head, her chest rising and falling in short, erratic breaths.

”Finally. You have way too much stamina,” Korra panted, tossing her hair. She looked down at the unconscious hero for a second, then sighed. ”Damn, wish Xiv or R’lissea were here. Guess I’ll have to sit on you until one of them shows up and breaks your curse.”

A massive shockwave rocked the city, and Korra ducked her head, throwing up a shield as it slammed into the cathedral. The fractured walls crumbled in a roar of billowing dust and debris, half-burying the shard in rubble. My head whipped around with Korra’s in the direction it had come from, and I shifted away. No matter how convincing her victory, Korra wouldn’t be able to fight a ninth-level mage after that. Nor did I have any hope of calling her to my side in time. But I was glad she was safe.

As the city flashed beneath me, another shockwave erupted from ahead. And another, and another. My heart skipped a beat as the mana signatures registered, and I shifted right to the middle of the battle. It raged around the Lord’s keep, where two armies clashed for control of the courtyards. The Fatesworn had gained control of the outer walls and were pushing against the keep’s inner gates. Somehow, they’d commandeered the mana cannons mounted on the encircling towers and were currently trading fire with the few still controlled by the defenders.

In their midst, a ninth-level warrior fought against Fyren, R’lissea, and Gayron, staggering them both with vicious, overbearing attacks from a long-handled great axe. He was tall and powerful, built like an ox with a fiery aura to match. Every swing of his axe released a wave of destructive crimson light, obliterating entire swathes of the city where they fell, slaughtering his own soldiers and civilians without regard.

Fyren held his attention up close, somehow managing to trade blows with him. The ground cracked beneath his clawed feet each time the axe fell, but his claws held against the massive axe. Gayron darted around behind him, launching bolts of fire and lightning-quick sword strikes, but couldn’t seem to break through his wards and defensive arts. R’lissea stood atop the walls, splitting her magic between healing and protecting the demon and apostle, and protecting the Fatesworn from the artillery and large-scale destruction magic of the keep.

The warrior cleared the ground around him with a circular sweep of his axe, staring at Fyren with unbridled malice.

”How does a demon walk about beneath the World Barrier? You should be groveling in the dirt where you belong!”

Fyren bared his fangs, the cracks of molten white between his scales making the air shimmer without flame. ”You’re strong, mortal, but hardly worthy of an explanation I can’t share with even my precious oracle. Does it frustrated you, knowing you’ll die without an answer?”