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Scourge - 11
🕑 Added 2023-06-18 09:00:03 +0000 UTCThe camps were a shambles of disorganised soldiers trying to find officers, or anyone, in the chaos who knew what was happening. Some shepherded terrified camp followers and civilians, others banded together in a battle for survival with the skeletons that crawled out of every possible crack and crevice within the camp. I didn't want to even think about how many people Detheroc must have subverted to set up this attack.
Nor did I want to think how many people I had left behind to die. It hadn't been my decision, there wasn't anything I could have done save not be born. I had survived the dreadlord, I lived, I escaped... but that was all I did; in doing so I drew him to new victims.
Brave Sergeant Fallan who had served faithfully, Tobias who had been the first lord to welcome me into his home on my own merits and Vivi's father, Thomas, my uncle in every way that–
I bit down on my cheek, pain forcing my mind away from those unproductive thoughts as I focused on what I could do. As Wallon spurred the horse onward, dodging around fights on our way to the ever-looming wall, I formed a dozen, a hundred, little sparks of Astral magic and cast them out.
Each scarcely a whisper of magic, scarcely more than the blinding spell I had made before, but enough to disrupt the fodder skeletons that swarmed everywhere.
It wasn't all of them, it wasn't enough of them, but if it gave sufficient relief to a single soul such that they lived it was worthwhile. A group of smiths, defending their forge with weapons they were repairing and their own hammers, cleavers from cooks, barricaded doors of a pub with burning alcohol outside the door. Every moment we passed a story of bravery and defiance against the dead.
And each moment, a story of horror and sorrow as well. Empty-eyed bodies lying in the snow, their insides torn open and entrails spread in a pile of gore as one of the rare ghouls feasted to restore its energies.
Shambling bodies wearing uniforms tearing open barracks to reach those hiding within.
Corpses dragged away, between buildings, to where the Necromancers would perform their dread work.
Try as I might, I wasn't enough. I had never sought power in this life, I had never thought I needed to be the powerful one. Azeroth had heroes, Azeroth had an abundance of heroes, all of whom were capable of saving the world if they just knew how.
But did Gilneas? We had Genn... but that was after the Worgen Curse claimed him, reinvigorating him. Darius, Lorna, scarcely more than footnotes. Magroth wasn't really ours, nor was Arugal, and strong as they were they didn't match the likes of Jaina. Our people were strong, they were proud, but where were our heroes?
Reaching the training fields, I saw Sir Magroth wading through a horde of skeletons ahead of the front line of defence here, swinging his hammer as he hummed a hymn of protection which demanded he fall before any could strike those he considered his charges. He met little resistance until he clashed with an abomination, halting and weathering its blows with ease.
Vivi followed in his wake, clearing the horde that tried to flank him with a blade that severed bone and trailed water that sundered the magic which kept skeletons animated. When she ran out of targets, she lashed out against the lumbering abomination, cutting away at it piecemeal.
All the while, gunfire rang out, cutting into the pressing horde and taking a toll on the monstrosity's durability, or alternatively striking at the gargoyles engaged in an aerial dual with Lorna and Donovan above.
As we passed a building, the front burst open, and a horde of ghouls leapt out the pair of us. Our mount went into a panic as a crypt fiend emerged covered in sodden earth.
"Blizzard incoming!" Frazzle yelled, her squeaky voice amplified over the din of battle.
Vivi struck one last time at the abomination, severing its third upper arm, before leaping away behind the lines on wind-enhanced steps. Magroth held his hammer high and blocked a blow, his face impassive as he readied to weather the storm.
All around us, shards of ice crashed down, missing me and Wallon by inches even as they struck the ghouls which sought to claim our lives.
Any which got too close I blasted with my own magic, but more of my attention went to keeping our mount from throwing us and keeping it on target. Safety was just there, if only we could make it.
"Fire!"
The abomination tried to move, to dodge, but it had taken strikes from the blizzard and moved sluggishly. Cannon struck its side and crumpled flesh and bone, raining blood and guts upon the surroundings. Magroth shone with golden Light as it sloshed off of him, leaving him pristine.
Hammer raised high, he brought it down upon the crippled monster, ending its existence.
And with that thunderous signal, a hail of lead belched forth. The gunfire redoubled against the slowed targets that hounded us as we grew closer to safety. In moments the entire pack of ghouls was wiped out.
In the aftermath, men rushed out; some armed with hammers who quickly set about smashing the bones of the fallen undead, shattering them into fragments that couldn't be reanimated to fight us once again. Others pushed out further, clearing alleyways and breaking into buildings to pull survivors back behind the line to safety.
They had to go minutes out to find buildings not already reached this way, showing they had done this already. Though some checked each one they passed, as clearly the undead liked to use ambush tactics.
"Witch Arevin!" Magroth called joyously, his armour covered with a faint layer of hoarfrost from the blizzard that seemed to bother him little. "It is good to see you well. What news have you of the rear?"
"Dreadlord, nathrezim." I said bluntly, sliding from my horse. How long until he caught up. It couldn't be long.
Looking at Magroth, Vivi, and Lorna now that the rifles turned skyward to ward off the gargoyles I knew we were it. We were to be the heroes of Gilneas this day, the ones that fought off the leader of the Scourge. A demon that could control minds, bend an entire army to his will, fight Sylvanas bloody Windrunner to a standstill.
I didn't feel ready. None of us were ready; of us all, Magroth was the only one truly ready to be here.
"He... he lured me out. Took control of Thomas, my uncle's mind, and lured me out. Tried to take me too but I escaped." I looked at Vivi and blinked, tears welling up in my eyes. "Vivi, your father, Tobias–" I swallowed.
Vivi wiped off her blade. "You can tell me." She said softly.
"He's dead. I led Detheroc straight to him, I didn't know, he put me on a horse and–" I couldn't say it, my throat closed up.
She stared silently, dawning horror crystallising in her expression. I saw as tears formed in her eyes, and waited for her anger.
But, instead, she hugged me. Put her arms around me and buried her head into my shoulder and cried. "He's gone? Father's gone?" She asked, her voice quaking hauntingly. "Gwen... I..."
A thud announced Lorna dismounting from Donovan, and she quickly put her arms around the both of us.
She hugged me. I got her father killed and she was hugging me. I left for Dalaran without her and she wouldn't talk to me for over a month and I get her father killed and she hugged me? What sense did that make? "I'm sorry." I said, holding her tight. "I'm so sorry. I wasn't strong enough."
"Did– did he die bravely?" She asked, whisper-quiet.
"Defiant to the last moment." His pistol fired fruitlessly into the dreadlord's face, his will adamant. His act to save me, for his daughter, for Gilneas. "For Gilneas, for the Northgate pass."
"For the Northgate pass must forever hold." Vivi said, her grip tightening. "Our duty, our purpose, our task in Northglade. Our mantle after losing the mists." She let go, wiping her eyes and firming her jaw. "It isn't your fault. We're all– we're all... so many people died. Just... never forget him, please."
I bowed my head, pressing my forehead to hers. "I could never."
"As much as I understand, Vivi, Gwen, there is still a war on." Lorna said, still with her arms on us both. "Force disposition, combat strength, how bad is the demon that tried to lure you out?"
Pulling myself back together, I nodded. This– this could wait. "Detheroc is a dreadlord, one of the nathrezim, a type of demon specialising in deception and infiltration rather than brute force. Even so, he is stronger than an abomination and has Fel-infused claws."
"Ripped straight through armour like it wasn't there." Wallon added, empty eyes staring straight ahead.
"What's worse is what his personal speciality is." I said, looking over the soldiers. Brave, brave men, but in a fight against Detheroc... maybe little more than a liability. "Mind control, he tried to do it to me and failed, but I watched him turn Sergeant Fallan in a moment. Just by touching him. Has anyone seen Trix and Tricks? I need to find them."
Lorna shook her head in answer, and no one else had one.
Damnit. Where were you, Trix? Where was my fox?
"If this demon preys upon the weak-willed, we will meet it in direct combat with those of strong will and faith, while those unable will support us from behind." Sir Magroth said confidently. "Bishop Miller, Adept Tindersnap, Sorceress Whitegown, will you join us this day?"
Frazzle fidgeted nervously. "I'm not... I'm not sure I'm what you need for this kind of thing." She murmured. "Strong will? I'm not a fighter, not a sorceress."
"Of course, Sir Paladin." The bishop answered without hesitation.
"I will. And so will my fellow mage." Trysa said, her hand tightening around her staff that was shrouded in a cold mist. Frazzle winced but nodded. "My family are out there. The sooner we deal with their leader, the sooner... the sooner we can save people."
"Well said." Magroth said proudly.
Lord Candren approached, one of the nominally off-rotation royal guards standing as his escort. "Whatever the reason this demon has for chasing you personally would make little difference, Witch Arevin, as there have been attacks upon all of the Order of Amber. Your apprentice, we may hope, found shelter with another force, but there are more pressing matters at this moment." He said grimly. "We are the last defence before the gate itself. I shudder to think what would happen to those that bravely defend the wall should we falter."
Putting aside my fear that I had failed Lord Renard, failed Trix and Tricks, his logic was... sound. For what he knew. But as Vivi, Frazzle, and Lorna all looked to me knowingly, I understood why; the demon had a very good reason for chasing me.
"Was bound to happen eventually." Frazzle murmured, and looking at her I realised she was wearing nothing more than a nightshirt and slippers. She had been caught entirely unawares by this. "Arugal would have been alone if not for you. They can't miss everything forever."
I let out a breath I had been holding and nodded.
"Heads up! More incoming!" A rider called, coming back with a woman and a wounded soldier on his horse. "Just skeletons for a moment but we all know how that goes already!"
As the various away teams trickled back in, with their hard-won rescued soldiers and civilians, I forced myself to accept that this... this had been inevitable. I had been deluding myself that no one would notice the changes, that I wouldn't become a target.
Wilful, stupid, wilful ignorance desiring a feeling of safety. Hiding in the idea that Gilneas had never really been a target.
But I already had been. Cassandra as an abomination, the necromancer setting a trap for me personally, the cult being here at all. I had drawn attention. Even Medivh had warned me, in a roundabout way. He had said he would divert the attention of the Burning Shadow from me, the Burning Legion, as best he could.
Which meant their attention was upon me.
I was no background character, no minor figure, no... no NPC. This was my life, my world, my country, and if we needed to have heroes... then it was time I accepted I was a candidate.
-oOoOo-
It took longer than expected for Detheroc to arrive, but arrive he did. Marching down the main road towards the gate, and the training fields, confidently and without any attempt to disguise his approach. The myriad of Gilnean soldiers, weapons held before him and more importantly alive made it clear what he had been doing in the meantime.
Not that they were his only forces. Banshees drifted in the air above his forces through the driving rain, their horrifying visages fixed upon us with expressions of soul-deep loathing and envy, desirous of our lives. A pair of abominations, battle-worn but still intact, flanked him.
And then there were the skeletons, an endless supply of skeletons that had zombies and ghouls mixed in here and there. Whatever necromancers he had were well hidden, kept behind the lines and out of sight.
We could be glad that the growing thunderstorm, a sign of Celestine's ongoing resistance to the west, was driving the gargoyles from the skies. Lighting continued to ripple through the sky, a crescendo that didn't stop, catching and destroying those gargoyles that dared to cross the wall.
Strangely, the horde came to a stop just outside of the killing field that had been used during our wait, countless shattered bones littering the ground and turning it white with something other than snow.
"You understand, little prophet, that the more you infuriate me, the more ways I will find to punish you for your defiance?" Detheroc said, rubbing a clawed thumb under his fat chin. "Of course you must think that serving the Legion is suffering eternal, damnation, but there are degrees."
The mind-controlled Gilneans marched out in front of the undead horde and cocked their rifles. "In the name of King Greymane, you are under arrest for treason! Put down your weapons and you will be granted mercy!" Someone shouted, a man bearing the emblem of House Walden. "How dare you betray your country and consort with demons when we suffer attacks from Lordaeron, how dare you!"
Detheroc chuckled, his body vibrating in amusement.
"By the Light." Lord Candren muttered, staring in horror at the sight. "I know that you said, but to see it... Lord Walden himself..."
"He took my uncle this way." I muttered. "It's how..."
"Bah!" Lord Walden scoffed. "Bring out the demon! If you would, Lord Ashmore." He said deferentially to Detheroc, nodding his head.
"Of course, of course." The dreadlord said with a vicious grin, plucking someone out from the crowd. A boy, young, couldn't even be a teenager–
Richard.
"No."
It took a moment to realise it was me who had gasped that, who had uttered the words as I watched one of my students, Heather's personal apprentice, be given to Lord Walden. He allowed it placidly, letting the lord drag him before us.
"Light have mercy." Sir Magroth said, hefting his hammer. "I shall charge forth and distract them, granting you a chance to–"
"This death, and so many others, is upon your head little prophet." Detheroc sneered loudly. "The Legion cares little for your pathetic cowering little kingdom. Mere meat the fatten the Scourge, but you, you drew our attention. Surrender yourself..." He paused, contemplating, and then shook his head. "No. I wish to hear you scream. Boy, do it."
Richard nodded, and Sir Magroth charged forward. Gunshots immediately followed, not ours but theirs. Shouts of pain came as our defences, meant for pushing back hordes of undead, provided less-than-perfect cover against gunfire.
I was right behind Magroth, only to be caught by Vivi and held in place. "That's my student!" I yelled desperately. "Richard!"
Vivi didn't let me go, holding on tight and pulling me down as the shooting dual commenced. Gilneans died and died and died on both sides and Richard was preparing magic and I had to stop him. Pulling on the Astral light of the Blue Child, weaving it with Life magic, as much force of will that I could muster, I tried to reach out and break whatever enchantment was placed upon him.
Vines grew out of his wrists, climbing his hands, and wrapped around his neck. Squeezing and squeezing.
An abomination moved to cut Sir Magroth off in his charge, the paladin forced to stop and fight the monster. Lorna took to the air as the banshees began to rise higher and higher, threatening to shadow us from above.
My spell was cast, a tangled web of desperation and hope, and–
It was snuffed out. A jolt of Arcane magic disrupted it as it stretched out to reach Richard, the magic broken to pieces. He struggled and died as he was made to kill himself with his own magic, the magic I had taught him.
Where was Trix? Where was Tricks? Were they going to face the same fate? Killed by her lessons because Detheroc wanted to torment her.
"You monster!" I roared, my anger reaching out and touching –e, wandering, waiting, watching, curiosity, sadness, comfort, calm–
A beam of Moonfire split the sky, tinged blue with the light of the Blue Child, obliterating the necromancer that had tried to raise Richard as an undead. I seized control of the vines which he had held, which he had used to end himself at the dreadlord's order.
I couldn't– I couldn't bring him back. But I could let him rest. "May thy soul be clad in white," I uttered and drew him down through the stones and binding him in roots and Life to protect him from a perversion of his death.
"Infuriating." Detheroc uttered, rubbing at his eyes.
A moment later, a great boom roll of cannon fire joined the lightning in the sky. "Break their lines! Break them! Slay the demon and free our countrymen!" Lord Godfrey, his monocle reflecting a flash of lightning in the rain as he rode in atop a horse at the head of a regiment of horses and wagons carrying cannon aimed at the horde. "For King and Country!"
"For King and Country!" Came a roar as a cavalcade of cavalry charged forward, brandishing pistols in one hand as they held sabres in the other. "None shall pass the Northern Gate!"
One of the abominations was out of action, the main force struck hard by the cannon fire; the mind-controlled soldiers all disrupted. "Now's our chance." I said, the cold calm still flowing through me. Vivi looked at me strangely, but I wasn't letting go of the Astral, of the soft comfort offered by the Blue Child. Not yet. "Ser Magroth needs our help and we aren't going to be able to fight him alone cleanly."
"Gwen's right." Frazzle said, weaving her three-fingered hands together as she refreshed her mage armour. "This is as good a distraction as we can get."
Trysa's reply was to lob a frostbolt at one of the banshees as Lorna dove for it. The wail of the spectre was cut short as the magic struck it, and then it failed to get out of her way; ghostly shreds were torn out of it as Lorna made her pass. "Get going, I'll keep them off you." She hissed.
"Rargh! Why must you mortals insist on interfering?!" Detheroc roared, one of his bent and bleeding from a cannon's direct hit as he snatched one of the noble pistoleers off of his horse and drained the life out of him to heal his wounds. "Your deaths will come in time! You needn't cut in line!"
A moment later, he bit the now-gaunt noble's head off and swallowed it whole before tossing the body into a pack of ghouls.
Vivi's arms on me relented. "Okay, but stay behind me." She ordered, and I nodded. I wasn't a melee combatant and I'd already cut it close once before with the dreadlord's talons; but I realised she had a different meaning as she darted forward, her blade cutting the air in twain and diverting the bullets shot our way by the mind controlled soldiers off to the sides.
She had come so, so far in such a short time. The elation I felt was muted, but it was still present.
Knowing that direct magic against the dreadlord wasn't anywhere near as effective as I would like, I drew up the blinding Astral sparks from an age ago, before I could even condense them into a coherent weapon, and flung them at Detheroc's eyes.
He roared in frustration, flaring his wings and stomping his feet. Felfire blasted out in all directions, burning undead and cavalry alike.
"Keep up the pressure!" Lord Godfrey called, reloading his pistol as he rode behind the Scourge's formation. "Focus on the necromancers! Show these dogs Gilnean steel!"
"Metal meat no fun play." Sir Magroth's abomination growled, smacking him and seeing he didn't budge an inch from the force. Its side was caved in from his return strikes already. "New toys."
It tried to lumber past, going for the horses, but Vivi reached its legs and tore into them. Blade and water cut, leaving a bloody wreck as it exposed its back.
"My thanks for the aid once more, Lady Mistmantle." Sir Magroth said, adjusting his pauldrons. He raised a hand, glowing with Light, but I reacted faster.
Life filled him, his bruised shoulder shifting and clicking back into place and vigour returning to his muscles. He could take much, much more than the average man before the healing lost effectiveness. His body aided it along, knowing how to heal, in a way most patients did not. "Save your Light for the undead, I'll keep you up." I told him.
Nodding, he clenched his fist, and the abomination reeled as a wave of holy Light struck it. "Yes, you will."
Donovan crashing into the abomination from above, Lorna's spear skewering its skull and pinning it to the flagstones, was the end of it. Which left the rest of the undead and Detheroc himself.
A wave of frost trapped skeletons that tried to surround us, then a ball of fire exploded amongst them, scattering those closest to the blast. Frazzle panted as she caught up; she still wore her little slippers and plodded along in the soaking rain. "Too fast!" She whined, then shuddered and created another ball of flame – this one aimed at the abomination's corpse. "Stupid long legs."
"Gwen's tiny!" Came Vivi's joking reply.
But the moment of joviality ended as Detheroc crashed amongst us, green claws digging into Donovan's side as he snarled fiercely. "Only my forces are permitted to fly this day."
Lightning boomed above us. "I think you have forgotten what keeps happening to your gargoyles." Vivi snapped, slashing at his legs and her blade leaving slick with blood.
Donovan didn't surrender to the pain, locking claws with the dreadlord and trying to hold him in place – but as he lunged with his beak to strike back, he came off worse. Detheroc bit into his shoulder and tore out a great lump of flesh.
Then Magroth arrived, hammer striking hard into the dreadlord's side. "I am your foe, demon! Face me!" Magroth demanded, the wound sizzling and burning.
Tearing away from Donovan, Detheroc snarled once more. "Paladin!" Claws locked with hammer, and Magroth was pressed back. "I should have dealt with you earlier!"
I cast out seeds, setting them to grow to entangle the dreadlord while I went about healing Donovan of his wounds. Lorna kept prodding at Detheroc with her spear, but was deeply wary of his claws now, unlike Vivi who acted fearless as she kept up her heart-wrenching dance with death.
Bolts of fire and frost came from behind, and the wail of a banshee was silenced once and for all. For a moment I felt confident.
And then, Magroth was thrown back, claws cutting through his mail and leaving trails of burning fire in the paladin's flesh.
Detheroc raised his foot high, and Vivi jumped away. Donovan barely got into the air again as the demon stomped down and a wave of fire rolled out. My tangling roots were burnt away before they could achieve anything, and I barely raised a barrier to protect myself.
A stream of riders came past, taking potshots but keeping their distance. Soldiers circled and engaged the undead.
Frazzle screamed in pain and I diverted my attention to her, she was burning–
"Witch! Why do you not fight?!"
"I am!" I snapped, scowling at Godfrey. He was helping, infuriating bastard, but he was helping. "Healing is–"
"Let the bishop handle that! Perform your magic!" He threw– Tricks! "Your damn apprentice demanded I get you your fox!"
Tricks yelped as she clawed at my chest, and I barely stopped myself from fumbling her due to wet fur. She looked deeply distraught, guilty, and terrified. But she was here.
Magroth tried to stand, pushing himself up with his good arm on his hammer. Light suffused him from Bishop Miller and a protective bubble of Light formed around him – only to burst in an instant as Detheroc crushed it and pinned Magroth to the ground.
"We will find the ones that gifted the Light to your kind and see that their songs are of sorrow and pain for all eternity." Detheroc said, twisting his hoof and grinding the paladin into the dirt.
"Lord Renard, we need Lord Renard." I told Tricks. "He offered a boon and I am calling it in."
She chirped, wary but confident, her nose digging into my blouse. Why–
Black chains tore through my arm, Detheroc grinning as he turned to me and started to reel me in. "And now for–"
Donovan tackled him from behind with a screech, knocking him to the side and away from me. The chains yanked out of my arm and left me bleeding, bleeding and burning. "Whatever your plan is, hurry!" Lorna yelled.
Tricks' jaw caught the piece of Tal'Doren's amber from my necklace, popping the chain as she yanked it away. Landing on the ground she looked up at me for a moment, rested her two tails behind her, and swallowed.
My necklace.
"Mortal! Pests!"
Vivi was buffeted by a wing, landing in a heap amongst ghouls that descended upon her. She struggled to her feet, her arms shaking as she raised her sword.
No. "Tricks!"
There wasn't time, she was slow, this wasn't fast. How long? The Blackwald was more than a hundred miles away! Raising a hand over my head, I looked to the still partially overlapping moons. The Blue Child refused to leave the sky, and the White Lady lingered in its wake.
"Please." I begged. Donovan was losing his fight, Lorna had been knocked from his back, my seeds were spent and my plants ashes. Vivi was struggling and Magroth only just rejoining the fight.
Energy cascaded upward, pulling the rain, my hair, my clothes along with it as I wilfully cast myself into the heavens to draw more power, more magic. My skin grew cold and the water on my skin boiled away into nothingness as my vision was tinted a silvery blue.
"Should never have put my trust in a–" Godfrey snarled, firing his pistol at Detheroc as he drained the life from Donovan.
And the world erupted in a shining wave of Life. Tricks' form shimmered, twisting and stretching, a swirl of tails and fur forming. She was gone.
In her place rose Lord Renard the Silver Tongue, crown of Amber in Black Oak atop his head, body armoured with plate of Purple Leaves Bound in Amber, a thousand ravens atop his back screaming their voices into the sky.
As one, they took to the air, setting upon the undead with cries of hunger.
Lord Renard stepped forward towards Detheroc, the dreadlord pausing in surprise. "Many, many years ago, my siblings fought for the world alongside mortals. We fought demons, we fought monsters." The Great Fox grew, towering over Detheroc, towering over the buildings that lined the broken street. "Once, when the world was whole, the valour of those considered small was proven. I, Lord Renard, Son of Freya, The Silver Tongue, Brother of Goldrinn the White Wolf, am proud to do so again."
His form splintered, splitting into two, four, eight bodies. Two darted away and set upon the hordes of undead, scattering bones and crushing zombies underfoot. Two more leapt towards the west, feet alighting atop rooftops with featherlight steps.
"Prevail, Gilneans! For the land itself wills it!" The crown of Amber in Black Oak glowed and all across the wall the plants we had grown as reinforcement regrew. "Gilneas wills it!"
A yowl ripped through the air, and those Gilneans under Detheroc's control were sundered from him.
"No!" The dreadlord denied. "All your kind were upon Kalimdor! There are none here!"
Horror and fury rode through the ranks of those made to turn against their fellows, and they quickly turned on those that had controlled them. Our forces bolstered and the Scourge's cut down in an instant.
Let go.
The whisper came from above, the Raven shining in the sky as its wings unfurled. I blinked. I was holding on, watching, where was I...?
Let go. Demon.
Oh, right. I needed to help Lord Renard.
A star fell from the sky, unleashing its fury upon Detheroc and scorching his flesh. Then another fell, crashing in amongst the undead, and another, and another. Down and down they came in a cascade of light and magic that drove me to my knees and the air from my lungs.
Detheroc reeled, he screamed in pain, but even as so many of his minions died to the onslaught he weathered the storm. I watched numbly as he tossed Donovan aside, Lorna crawling weakly towards her mount, her companion.
But while I wanted to help, I was spent.
Seeing his chance, as one, the four remaining Lord Renards set upon the demon. Illusions so real that the world couldn't tell them apart, each one striking physical blows.
From the purple and gold armour seeds fell, took root, and up rose amber-blooded black-barked figures. Treants. Groaning and clamouring wood struck at the demon, binding him down, tieing him in place, for rending claws of Lord Renard to weaken him further and further.
"You think this will stop me?" Detheroc sneered, his wings torn to shred and the bones within snapped "You think this will stop the Legion?! We are eternal!"
Magroth slammed his hammer into the dreadlord's back. "Nothing is eternal." He spat out blood. "Even the Light may fade, to brighten again. We stand in defiance of the dark each day and this day is no different."
"He isn't wrong." Lord Renard corrected, padding around Detheroc with a smug grin on his face. "Demons reform in the Nether when killed. Their souls, you see, they don't die. But, one of mine?"
Lord Renard shrunk down into a tiny little fox, six tails swishing behind him.
"He studied souls. All the way down. How to sever them, how to cut them, how to bind them."
A cage of black thorns rose, entrapping Detheroc, only to be cast in shadow. Great black wings that drink in all light, devouring it and rendering it into motes of dust upon her feathers, hovered over the demon.
“Trap.” A raven croaked, swallowing the eyeball of ghoul it held in its beak. “Trapped.”
“Bound.” Another.
“Fallen.”
“Sealed.”
“Fossilised.”
“Confined.”
Rokkri opened her beak, and what came forth was not sound. "Imprisoned." It was emptiness that swallowed the sound of everything save the concept of Detheroc trapped in amber.
A spike of amber pierced through Detheroc's chest, and he screamed in agony as it erupted out of his back bearing a pulsating black heart. Amber crystalised around it, and his body went still.
It was done. We won.
Comments
Wonderful chapter
Rubeno
I have forgotten to ask but what's the deal about Lord Renard's descendant that supposedly studied souls? Is it some kind of foreshadowing?
