The seal was complete.
The armor breathed.
Resh endured the pull—of mana, breath, pain, clarity.
He didn’t flinch. Over centuries, it had become a part of him. Now, the knives clawing at his ribs, chest, and spine were familiar torments. He welcomed them.
If I am not the Resh’Agar…
Then I am no one.
He raised his hand and motioned for some Reskala to move forward into the darkness. The monsters descended, answering the call. First, they moved as mist—thick, black, writhing along the ground like smoke with a pulse. Then they caught the light and erupted.
Not into hounds, but into broken things. Things that hadonceseen a man and gotten the idea all wrong. Some had human legs where arms should be. Others ran on their hands with their spines bent backwards. Heads hung on broken necks. Mouths stretched open as they screamed.
“No! Please! Don’t!”one shrieked, breaking from the mist and leaping upwards. It was larger than Resh and Zarrek combined. In mid-air, itsbones broke, snapped, and crackled as it shifted shape, its slimy skin erupting in waves of spikes and teeth.
Zarrek didn’t hesitate. His eyes burst into gold flames as he crouched then lunged into the air. With a great cleave, he ripped the beast in twain, sending both halves flying far into the murky night.
A cluster of smaller beasts tore from the body of the mist in turn. They shrieked, flailing cracked limbs and protruding bones into the air as they raced toward Resh. He raised one hand and took a step.
Pulled from deep within the aethersteel.
His armor dug its claws into his ribs, as it ripped mana from the rune just below his lung.
“Shera’eth thor,”Resh murmured, and the ground beneath him howled.
The mud, the grass, the rain all turned to dust as magefire spread outwards, enveloping the field. The varkhounds caught in the flames still ran, heedless of their bodies burning.
Still screaming. Eyes ravenous. Maws open. Hungry for his blood. The hounds converged, the mist closing in to surround the camp in one big circle. Something heavy landed at his back.
Resh smiled. “Getting bored?” he asked without turning around.
A pack of hounds had followed his Second, and as Resh lit them on fire, a huge axe shaved their heads clean off their shoulders.
“Your back’s wide open,” Zarrek scowled, spitting on the corpses.
“You just focus on your front,” Resh grinned, snapping his fingers. One by one, wards bloomed around them both, humming golden mana spinning around them and hardening into a shield. “Last thingyouneed is another scar.”
From there, all mirth faded from the Resh’Agar. Raising both blades, he crouched then jumped. The earth cracked outwards from the force.
He flew into the mist like a flame soaring from the heavens, igniting all he passed in an inferno of blue light. He was a whirlwind of death and magic—spinning, twisting, ducking, arching. His blade eviscerated all in their path, leaving naught but screams and sprays of blood in their chaotic wake.
The voices pressed in from all sides, the smell of rot and putrid flesh like a wall pushing up against his limbs. He cut that, too, setting the gasses in the air aflame, basking in the sea of death and carnage.
On his right, Zarrek charged into the fire, igniting the runes on his arms to condense the mana into pulsing orbs. He spun in an arc, hitting them all with his massive axe, and as they flew outward, they exploded.
Bodies flew. Left and right and up and down. Soon, Resh was wading in their blood. It steamed as it evaporated on his armor, smelling of gore and taint.
They pushed the horde back from the front and doubled back, supporting the Reskala on the western side of the field.
“Wards!” Resh shouted, raising his fist into the air. Select Riftwardens mirrored him, bolstering his spell with theirs to rejuvenate the aegis hovering above the camp.
Just in time.
The air imploded then rippled outward, knocking some of the Reskala back.
Resh and Zarrek stood their ground, his Second activating two more runes on his collarbone.
