Nyxoria, 28th of Lyra, 518 ER (Continuation)
Leah vanished into the night like a whisper swallowed by the shadows.
Within the open chamber of the gate, Jasmine, having hastily penned the urgent missive, clutched the sealed letter in trembling hands. Her footsteps echoed softly as she made her way toward one of the stone-walled side rooms, where the Xerxes eagles—swift-winged and fiercely loyal—were kept for swift communication with the capital.
Just as she turned the iron-banded door's handle, a towering figure stepped into her path.
Her heart froze.
There, standing like a nightmare conjured from the abyss, was Barksley.
The demon's grotesque form twisted and expanded before her eyes, his human disguise melting away as he shed all pretenses. Horns curled from his temples, leathery wings stretched behind his shoulders, and his skin darkened into the hue of brimstone. He moved with a languid ease, a wicked joy animating his every step as he approached the young guard.
He halted mere paces before her, the sickening reek of sulfur and blood wafting from his body. His eyes, glowing with infernal malice, wandered slowly down her frame. Jasmine, though trained and loyal to the Topple Guard, could feel the tremor ripple through her limbs. She stood barely above his waist, her lithe frame dwarfed by his monstrous presence.
Barksley tilted his head, amusement playing on his twisted face.
As if reading her soul—or perhaps mocking it—he chuckled darkly, his voice a gravelly rasp, thick with scorn. The sound sent a chill up her spine.
"This little creature?" he seemed to muse aloud in his thoughts, the curl of his lips betraying his disdain. "A mere girl guarding the house of a minister? Adorable."
He grinned wickedly, his fanged smile gleaming under the moonlight, as though savoring the absurdity of facing someone so small... so seemingly insignificant.
He rolled his neck with a sharp crack—more out of habit than need—before allowing a wicked grin to stretch across his face. A predator's grin. He was ready to play with his prey.
Then, without warning, a long, sinewy tail erupted from the base of his spine. It unfurled with a hiss, thick and ridged like that of a scaled beast—its resemblance unmistakably akin to the tail of a swamp-dwelling alligator. Moments later, his fingers twisted grotesquely, nails blackening and elongating into vicious talons, each shaped like an eagle's curved claw, glinting with cruel intent under the moonlight.
Just as his transformation settled into place, a soft chime whispered into his ear—a voice carried not through mundane means, but through a mystic conduit woven between minds.
Leah's voice, calm and ever-imperious, spoke in a tone both familiar and expectant.
Leah: "Barksley, where are you? I do hope you're not idling."
He raised his clawed hand to his ear as if to catch her voice more clearly, though the magic made such gestures unnecessary.
Barksley: "Not at all, dear Leah. Merely tending to one of the minister's little pests—a female guard. Seems she's keen on delivering a message to Xerxes. Thought I'd save us the trouble."
Leah: "Very well. I'm heading to the main entrance of the minister's estate. Meet me there. Don't dawdle."
Barksley: "Aye, my Dearie. 'Til we meet again."
The moment her voice faded from his mind, he cackled, low and sinister, the sound echoing off the stone walls like a harbinger of dread.
Barksley: "Now then... where were we? Ah yes—the fun part."
Without hesitation, he leapt forward. Jasmine, who had barely regained her composure from his monstrous arrival, stood frozen, her eyes wide with fear and defiance.
With a guttural snarl, Barksley whipped his heavy tail forward, aiming to strike her down.
Jasmine, now shaken from her momentary stupor, took several steps back, sweat beading along her brow. Her breaths came fast, but her hands steadied. She raised her guard, her body instinctively shifting into a defensive stance.
A sly smirk curled across Barksley's lips.
Yet before he could revel in her fear, Jasmine's eyes flashed. The shock faded in an instant, replaced by a proud glint. Her lips tugged upward in a smirk of her own—a subtle, confident defiance that belied her earlier panic. Composing herself with swift grace, she steadied her footing, ready for his onslaught.
As Barksley's massive tail surged toward her with a thunderous whoosh, Jasmine acted. In a blur, she unsheathed her sword—not to strike, but to drive it into the stone at her side. Using the hilt as leverage, she launched herself into a graceful backflip, the tail crashing into the embedded blade with such force that it splintered into shards upon impact.
She landed with feline precision, and in the same motion, released a flurry of poisoned daggers—launched from hidden compartments within her boots. The silvered blades shimmered as they whirled through the air toward her demonic foe.
Barksley's eyes widened in alarm. With no time to spare, he transformed mid-step—his form collapsing into a fluttering grey pigeon that darted skyward, barely slipping through the deadly arc of steel.
He reformed a moment later, his feet touching the earth once more, but this time his gaze lingered on her—not with amusement, but disbelief. His pallid face betrayed his astonishment.
How...? This fragile thing? She dodged... and countered?
His eyes remained locked on her, thoughts racing like wildfire. But as he stared, transfixed, something unexpected unfurled before him.
Jasmine's expression shifted yet again. With a soft exhale, she offered him a glance—sultry, calculating. Her eyes gleamed with the glint of mischief, and a subtle smile curled her lips like the whisper of a secret.
Then, as if performing a sacred rite, she closed her eyes. Her chest rose slowly with a deep breath, and in a low, velvet-laced voice, she began to chant.
Her words dripped with dark cadence, every syllable imbued with eerie power:
"Inhaling deeply, she recited—"
"Derousticrousti Bardnexixi Rumblestizidi Mancri Mancri Maze!!"
Her voice rang out like a solemn chant, each syllable humming with arcane force. As the final word left her lips, Jasmine reached beneath the strap fastened to her leather breeches, drawing forth a slender dagger. Upon its hilt shimmered a glyph—etched in an ancient tongue—glowing faintly with an ethereal, otherworldly light.
Across from her, Barksley tilted his head and sneered, the corners of his mouth curling into a cruel smirk. What foolishness is this? he mused silently. Some peasant incantation? A child's attempt at sorcery?
But he was blind to the trap unfolding before him.
Jasmine's eyes fluttered open, and a smile—calm, knowing—graced her lips.
The chamber trembled.
A low rumble echoed through the stone walls, as though the very room stirred from centuries of slumber. Then, with a hiss of shifting mechanisms, a section of the wall behind Barksley creaked open, revealing a concealed compartment. From it, a mounted crossbow burst forth—its frame forged of darksteel and bound with leather straps, loaded and locked.
Barksley's mocking grin vanished.
His eyes flitted about the chamber, wide and frantic, the smirk now replaced by disbelief. For a heartbeat, he stood frozen, transfixed by Jasmine's still-smiling face.
Then the crossbow fired.
Two bolts shot forth with deadly precision. One whistled past his chest, grazing near his heart. The second struck true—embedding itself deep into his side, just above the hip.
A roar of pain erupted from his throat. Staggering, his demonic visage twisted into fury. His claws extended—razor-like, obsidian black—and he lunged toward Jasmine, aiming to rip her apart.
But he was too late.
With a soft groan of ancient stone, the floor beneath Jasmine gave way. A hidden platform descended, lowering her into the darkness below. She vanished like a phantom into shadow, her smile the last thing Barksley saw before the dim torchlight reclaimed the chamber.
A hiss echoed through the chamber as thick, black smoke erupted from hidden vents, swirling like vengeful spirits set loose from ancient tombs. The cloud engulfed Barksley, its acrid sting burning his throat and eyes. He staggered, coughing violently, the foul air clawing at his lungs.
Through the haze, Jasmine's composed expression remained unchanged—calm, unwavering. The sight ignited a tempest within him.
Rage overtook reason.
Snarling like a wounded beast, Barksley roared with fury. Pain twisted his features as he lunged again, flailing in desperation. But his strength betrayed him—his limbs heavy, his breath stolen. The smoke thickened, wrapping around him like a suffocating shroud. His attacks faltered. He gasped for breath, his claws slicing only the air.
His knees buckled.
He dropped to the stone floor with a thud, coughing uncontrollably, his body wracked by spasms. His vision blurred, his senses dulled. Desperately, he groped through the gloom, seeking the source of the smoke—but the world was fading fast.
Then, silence.
Darkness claimed him, and he knew no more.
Moments later, the smoke began to disperse. The arcane mechanisms of the chamber creaked into stillness, the air clearing to reveal a space once more lifeless and quiet. An unsettling hush settled, thick and heavy—a stark contrast to the chaos that had so recently raged.
Elsewhere within the minister's estate, Leah materialized in a shimmer of dark light, her form solidifying at the edge of the settlement. She stood still for a breath, taking in her surroundings with narrowed eyes.
The place was deserted. Not a single guard stirred.
Then, a resonant clang echoed through the air—the rune-etched sentry bells sounding their alarm in slow, mournful tolls.
Leah tilted her head, letting out an exasperated sigh. Her lips curved into a sultry smirk as she muttered under her breath:
"Splendid...".
To Be Continued...