“I’ve the combined knowledge of the Grand Order of Dread and the Benevolent Advising Descendants. I alone have combined the luxerna flowing in the veins of dominion offspring with a noxscura-filled vessel to bring E’nloc into our plane. I serve no one but myself.”
Shocking, thought Damien.
Good for him, It replied.
“Now, let us see what this can do, shall we?” With a twist of Gilead’s wrist, Damien felt the world fall out from under him. Arcana was no gentle thing unless willed to be, but when it was thrust through one so completely, it showed no mercy.
Damien screamed his throat raw as the veil was pulled taught over his body and then began to tear. Or he was tearing it, or he was being torn, he didn’t know, but there were fissures, huge swaths of rent plane, and all manner of beasts flowed through on hooves and wings and claws. Damien could see them each, individually, and his will was placed into them, talisman unneeded. Each pledged allegiance to the one who had allowed them this, to him—well, to the him that was also E’nloc, but still—and they climbed into Eirengaard as the screams of the city’s inhabitants filled the air. The creatures waited for Damien’s command, but he had none to give, not without Gilead to tell him to give it.
The mage let out a triumphant sound as the arena came back into Damien’s focus. He could see the silvery fissures that had broken in even there. Abyssal hounds bared fangs, hoards of imps readied themselves for battle, a serpent larger than a tavern coiled in wait, and a tiny, black cat rubbed itself against Damien’s shin.
“What are you doing?” cried Archibald. “This isn’t what we planned. Nothere. Did you summon them in the estate district too? The keep? Are you mad?”
“Are you?” Gilead rounded on him. “You must be to believe that I would assist in your asinine plot to frame some blood mage for resurrecting the greatest evil to exist in ten-thousand years so that you can play savior to your realm and live up to the deeds of kings that came before you. You’re the mad fool, and I’ve got no use for you.”
No, not Archibald. Damien needed him, and worse, he did not want to be left with Gilead.
Give yourself over completely, and We can spare him.
Damien grit his teeth, trapped there on the ground, but wouldn’t relent to It.No.
There was a flash of arcana, blood rained down onto the mud, a choking gasp seized the air, and Damien’s limbs were free of their petrification.
Gilead lay in the mud, only identifiable because he’d been standing in the same spot moments earlier. His head was no more, a small cloud of arcana so similar to the Grand Order’s miasma dispersing where it had been, Archibald still standing but utterly splattered in gore. Damien sucked in a breath, ragged, exhaustion running through him. “Huh,” he coughed out quietly to himself, having really expected Gilead to be a bigger problem. “Suppose I’ll take that one for free.”
“Whathaveyou gotten yourself into, Bloodthorne?”
Apparently, it wouldn’t be free.
Xander Shadowhart strode across the field, hands clasped behind his back, the priestess scurrying along behind him. Damien’s hackles raised despite that he wanted to collapse into the bloodied, muddy ground and sleep for about a century.
This one is offensive, It said.We should kill him.
Now,thatsounded splendid, but Damien hesitated—if E’nloc wanted to kill Xander, Damien probably shouldn’t. Or he should at least think about it for a few more minutes while he caught his breath.
Now! We should kill him now!
“Fuck,”—he huffed—“off.”
“Well, hello to you too.” Xander rolled his eyes, but he was grinning. “Abyss, you are looking rough.”
Damien glanced down at himself. He was still clad in black, but the skin of his hands was even sallower than normal. Grey, really. He pushed back up to his feet and shook out his arms. They tingled with newfound noxscura and something else,something lighter that burned from the inside.
“You, blood mage, demon, abomination—whatever you are, destroy this newcomer.” Archibald spoke to Damien as if giving a command, gesturing to the approaching Xander.
Damien ignored him, rubbing at his forehead but feeling no injury there. “I could have used that assistance a moment earlier, Shadowhart.”
Xander shrugged. “Well, I wanted to see what would happen, and, I must say, this is magnificent!” He spread his arms out, spinning. The infernal creatures filling up the arena seemed to breathe with one breath, like a single, living thing, waiting. Damien could make requests of them now that Gilead was dead, he could feel the freedom of the new powers inside as well as the willingness of the infernal beasts to follow their master, but he could feel something else too, something in his gut…chewing.
Archibald called up a spell, a weak one, but he didn’t cast. He’d never planned to be alone, clearly, and was completely at a loss. “I said, destroy him.” Somehow, the king’s voice was still biting even when it was quiet.
Both blood mages glared at him, then looked back to one another.
“What did you do to Gilead?”
“Little something I picked up from the Grand Order.” Xander wiped his hands off on his white coat, still pristine since last they’d seen one another. “One-time use, but they granted me a pretty powerful spell to assassinate their traitor. I was supposed to do it days ago though, and they’re definitely going to be upset that I stalled. They’ll be after you now too, so we should maybe consider some cover.” He squinted skyward into the dark, Pippa cowering behind him.
Damien didn’t need cover. If the Grand Order came, they would be destroyed.
