Two months after we left Hell, and about a year after I was branded as the Shadow King, reading correspondence from all over, I found myself inside a tent similar to the one used by my superiors so many years ago, when I was still part of the holy army.
— Hmphm. Apparently, when you're not sticking your nose in where it doesn't belong, there are a surprisingly large number of elves willing to overthrow the current regimes and change a few things — I signed a letter authorizing the distribution of shadow-infused weapons to Princess Criscina's, of all people, rebel army.
The girl proved easier to influence through the contacts Rael had made with the help of Vincente's old friends than I had expected, and with only a few promises of favors. As soon as the armed forces secretly obeying me reached the vicinity of Canon, she was to escape the royal castle and flee to Cruz's house, where she would be safe. At the same time, another escort was to be on its way to my home village to gather my family to safety as well.
— I guess you never realized this before because you were always too poor to have a mirror in your house, but this world is full of idiots — the entity replied, poking my cheek. — Your kind has already self-destructed once before, and now they're going to do it again. Nothing surprising here.
— You talk like you care about our well-being — I slapped that slack entity's hand away. — If you're so convinced that I'm doing something wrong like that, why don't you just go back in time and make it so that I was never born?
— Well, you know why. I couldn't care less about your well-being, you fools, I'm not some boring protective deity.
— No. You're much worse, you-
— Lord Shadow King! — An elf soldier entered my tent and knelt in front of my desk. — Urgent report from the front lines!
҉
— What's going on? — I asked.
— We're not sure. The historians used some kind of large-scale explosive spell, and then conjured electrical volleys that decimated the goblins on the front lines in moments. When the ogres began to fall as well, I gave the order to retreat, and here we are — Cruz replied, as he observed the battlefield from the top of an earthen pillar of obviously magical origin.
I climbed the steps to the top of the pillar and tried to make sense of the situation.
Then the bulk of my army gathered in a valley of black gravel, a corridor that tapered until it culminated in an indestructible metal fortress that our enemies seemed to have managed to partially revive, a divine ruin. We were in Beforeshadow, the place that had hosted my first battle, and which was destined to host my last.
— Where is Celestino?
— He is ahead, trying to analyze the Spells that those old men may have used to exterminate a thousand monsters so quickly and easily. He wants to discover the element that is being used in the attacks to conjure a protection over the soldiers.
I was about to agree with that approach, when Kangar ascended to the top of the pillar:
— Well, I recommend you call him back, in that case, Lord Shadow King. No magic within the System will be able to stop those projectiles.
— Human magic, is it? — I frowned. — It is imperative that we capture that tower. If we retreat now, the Historians might attack our rear and retreat back into their fortress; and even if they didn't, at this point we wouldn't be able to redeploy all of our numbers to another suitable base — there were at least a dozen other smaller armies on their way to meet my main force, and redirecting them all would be a logistical nightmare. — The internal conflicts within the Holy League won't slow the Hero down much longer.
— Well... — Kangar glanced sideways at the entity, who sighed.
— If I wanted to stop you at any cost, I would have done it already. Tell the truth, a lie, whatever you want, this little rebel rejects my curation, either way.
— I doubt these "historians" number more than a thousand individuals, considering the activity on the walls, and although their weapons are far superior to anything made by elves, they must still have the Levels of old scholars.
— Hehe, I've heard similar speeches before — Cruz smiled, punching his left palm. — Let me guess: a small group of especially skilled warriors would be ideal to deal with this threat?
— Exactly.
— Cruz, go get Vincente. He must be drinking all our wine in one of the supply wagons in the center of the camp. Kangar, you come with me to help me put on my armor.
— Yes sir.
— What? You're coming with us? — the Fallen Hero was surprised.
— Cruz, it's already embarrassing enough that our army has charged against what most people think are old codgers, and lost. I can't afford to risk disappointing our newest allies now, even if I don't do much, I must be on the front lines — I explained, turning my back on my friend and right-hand man, and heading back to the tent I came from. — And don't forget to wear your mask at all times now. We have some guests we don't want to recognize you.
— Urgh — my friend grunted. — Those nobles could very well shove it up their...
҉
Forty minutes later, I faced the fortress ahead, armored, and accompanied by the fallen Heroic group and Kangar.
Shortly behind us, not only my army of monsters, but also a number of allied envoys were watching us curiously.
Still, their attention was no match for my own as I surveyed the battlefield ahead: two thousand monsters had been killed there, and yet I saw no corpses, or blood, or even equipment left behind. Cruz's explanation that they had merely "turned to dust" hadn't been very helpful in this situation either; had they been charred and reduced to ash, metal and all?
— Speed Times Three, Piercing Resistance Times Three, Shock Resistance Times Three, Elemental Resistance Times Three, Camouflage! — Celestino strengthened us and made our silhouette harder to distinguish from the scenery.
— Let's go — I ordered, and we all set off toward the fortress ahead; Cruz taking the lead, Kangar and I following him from the middle of the formation, and Celestino bringing up the rear while Vincente went his own separate way.
Once we reached ten minutes' march away from the fortress wall, a light flickered behind the building's protection, steam rose up, and a pillar of smoke floated to the sky, like a bonfire that lasted only a second.
Seconds later, something approached too quickly, cutting through the sky with a sharp whistle.
— Here it comes! — Celestino pointed his wand in the direction of the projectile, but it fell faster than the old Wizard could react.
"BOOM!", it exploded about thirty paces away in a purple colored sphere that flashed for only a second, and when it disappeared, it left behind only piles of different colored powders.
— They have been reduced to their main chemical components: calcium, quartz, granite... — explained the entity. — Lost knowledge, which you would not understand. There is no clue here, so stop wasting my time thinking so deeply about these things.
— We can't block these attacks — I hadn't understood exactly what the entity explained, but that, at least, was obvious. — We have to keep moving, that's our only option!
— Then we better hurry, as that was just a shot to calculate our position — Kangar pointed out, and in the next instant, several more flashes flashed behind the wall ahead.
— Let's go! — I repeated, and we ran with even greater haste than before.
— Summer Breeze — Celestino conjured as we ran at full speed, diverting the trajectory of the projectiles by using air currents.
Purple explosions threw up a thick curtain of dust that blotted out the sun itself. Soon, not only had we lost sight of the falling projectiles, but of each other as well; I ran forward without even knowing whether I was near or far from my companions, or heading in the right direction.
"Fiuuuu...!", I heard a whistle right above my head, and without thinking twice, I threw a throwing knife in the direction of the sound: "BOOM!", the purple sphere exploded a little above me, swallowing part of the dust that was blinding me, and reducing it to...
— Atoms — the entity said some random word, as if it made any sense, but I didn't pay attention to it and continued running forward.
— Here! — I finally found Cruz again, crossing the edge of the curtain of dust carried by the wind, and I came across the man crouched at the bottom of a crater of gravel.
It didn't take me long to understand why they were so urgent: from the top of the walls, the enemies pointed their arms at me, which opened and merged with objects that looked like crossbows, but were powered by moving tubes and cylinders also embedded in their bodies, instead of arrows and taut ropes. And a series of explosions later, miniature versions of the purple spheres from before came out of their pipes, and would have hit me if I had hesitated to do as the Fallen Hero said.
A hail of magical missiles fell around us in such numbers that, had I not seen them with my own eyes, I would have assumed the number of enemies atop the walls to be in the multiple thousands.
The gravel that sheltered us was gradually reduced to sand, and this, in turn, to wind, our shelter from the attacks disappearing little by little and with each shot. A sharp and very loud noise, of iron scraping against iron, however, silenced the shots: the gate of the fortress opened, and its defenders despaired.
— It seems he wasn't too drunk to do his job after all — I smiled, and in the next instant, the wind direction changed, and all that dust raised by the historians' magic hid us from the defenders.
— Now is our chance — Celestino commented, confident, his wand still glowing from the last conjuration.
Side by side with my companions and friends, I said:
— You saw them: they are no longer elves.
— Yes — agreed Cruz, gripping the hilt of his sheathed sword tightly.
We didn't waste a second, and all of us dashed towards the open, heavy gates of divine metal. Inside the courtyard, however, the artificial sandstorm wasn't as effective due to the protection of the walls, and we became easy targets for the defenders once again, the dozens of old men on the walls all pointing their magical crossbow-arms in our direction.
However, just as Kangar had predicted, the defenders were not of a Level much higher than most, and before they could even pull the triggers, their heads had already been disconnected from their bodies by a pair of pugilist daggers, by cutting winds, and by a blade of black energy fired from a sheathed sword.
The corpses, ignorant of the fact that they were already dead, fired anyway, but their knees gave way, their muscles lost strength and their bodies collapsed; while leaking blood, sparks and mysterious liquids, they shot in all directions and into the sky, but none of the shots even came close to us.
— Celestino, you take the left wing, Vincente, you take the right. Cruz, Kangar, you two come with me — I headed to the tower of a dull metal right in the heart of the fortress next to the Fallen Hero while the necromancer made the bodies of the historians rise and follow us too.
I expected greater resistance in what should be the center of operations of those agents of the Great Will, but the three of us climbed the stairs without encountering any resistance. Passing through the initial floors, we left behind the only parts that I had visited in that structure as a soldier, and with each new floor we climbed, I saw more tubes, more pipes, more valves, and more ancient tools with mysterious functions.
Finally, we climbed one last staircase and stepped onto the top floor of the tower, where the entire internal structure of the building seemed to culminate: the conduits connected to a structure in the shape of a spine, which extended from one end of the room to the other, went up the wall opposite the entrance and reached a skull with a dozen empty eyeballs embedded in the ceiling.
Right under the empty gaze of the metallic skull, a single hunchbacked old man, leaning on a wooden cane, waited with a mournful expression. With rounded ears, I noticed, he was a human.
— He definitely has an ace up his sleeve: kill him right now — I ordered, and Kangar immediately had his small decapitated squad fire their strange weapons at the old man.
Countless purple projectiles crashed into a wall that none of us had noticed until then, some kind of glass, and were completely ineffective.
Next, it was Cruz's turn, but his sheathed sword shrouded in shadows was as efficient as the previous shots in breaking that barrier.
— Ai, ai, so impatient, the young people of today... So much so that their impatience forces us, the older ones, to become impatient too, to leave aside ancient and important traditions — he sighed. — I hope one day to have time to write the book that all those who reach my position should write. I hope one day to see again the glory of our Order, of which I am now the last survivor.
— Ah, so you're the new master historian? You should have stayed in Canon, your end, and that of all your companions, would be delayed until after the war, after all.
— Due to your young recklessness, the capital of the Kingdom no longer shows itself to be... sympathetic to our ideals — the old man ahead sighed, even more tired, revealing the reason for the strong presence of his order in that isolated place. — And due to this same recklessness of yours, the end of all of us is dangerously approaching.
— I'd rather take my chances on the chance that you're wrong — looking for some other entrance to the compartment where the old man was waiting, I crossed my arms and answered him.
— Based on what, young man? Banned books, mostly fiction, and smuggled by unscrupulous figures?
— There aren't many more of these around, old man. You guys make sure that's the case, after all.
— Whatever brought you to this point is setting you up for disaster. It's setting us all up.
— Oh, really? And why?
The old man frowned, trying to read what was sarcasm and what was ignorance. He couldn't tell:
— Even if you succeed in your Mission, what do you think will happen afterwards? All our protections would fall to the ground, we would be exposed to the rest of the Sphere once again. Do you really think those barbarians would just accept us with open arms into their community?
— You know that people can die? You think we can go through a tough time? Let me ask you a question, then: for how many new cycles of Heroes And Shadow Kings, do you think we'll get through? Ten? Twenty? A hundred? A thousand? How many people do you think will die in these future sacred wars with no end in sight?
— It's not about the total number of deaths, young man, but about a real risk of complete extinction.
— Easy to say for someone who had never had to pick up a weapon before yesterday — frustratingly, I couldn't find any way to the other side of the glass. Whatever, if necessary I would station guards there until the old man starved to death. — If you want so badly to spend the next centuries and millennia entertaining a cosmic idiot, feel free to do it yourself. But I'm going to make sure that once I'm done with this job, no other little kid with nowhere to go will see gambling his life for the sake of selfish old men as a valid way to live.
— ...You don't care about the elven species, do you? — The old man's eyes slowly widened. — You don't care about your own species — he continued, hearing what he wanted and turning me into a monster in his own mind. — Don't tell me you made direct contact with the Great Will...?! — Recoiling in horror, the old man held his cane close to his chest. — That's how you learned what you learned, isn't it?!
— Look, once you notice some patterns, as long as you have enough resources, it's not that hard to realize that something is wrong.
— You fool... You have no idea what a mistake you've made! The entity you're working for is no benefactor! That thing is little more than an overpowered child, a cosmic idiot who sees everyone and everything as mere playthings!
— I agree — Kangar and I replied in unison.
— Rude — the entity snorted through its nose.
— Whatever it showed you, it was nothing more than fragmented information in order to manipulate you for its pleasure! — His expression of horror being replaced by regretful resignation, the old man concluded: — You think you are a savior, but you are nothing more than a fool who will condemn us all. And it is my duty to stop you before you make an irreversible mistake — finally, he opened the top of his cane with his thumb, revealing what Kangar-Dahn explained to me was a button as we escaped from Hell.
The old man pressed the button, and the multiple eyes of the skull above him began to glow with the same purple light as the weapons his subordinates had used against us, but they produced a much greater flicker than the momentary explosions before, lasting for much longer moments before finally softening and disappearing.
— You may be supported by that stupid omnipotent monstrosity — the old man assumed, taking off his cloak and showing himself completely naked, with flabby and pale skin, with evident abdominal fat and metal implants of all kinds in the chest, abdomen and back. — But there are other ways to obtain power, young man! — As soon as he concluded, from the eyes that had just glowed purple, a liquid of such a dark blue that it seemed almost black rained down, just a few drops. At the same moment that this viscous liquid touched the old man's skin, however: — GYAAAARGHHHH!! — he roared in pain, staggering away from the shower.
The master historian, screaming, leaned against the nearest wall and, apparently regretting whatever decision he had made, tried to wash away the dark blue liquid, but when he passed his hand over the affected area, the skin on his palm melted and fused with his back. Soon, however, whatever had rained down on him seemed to seep into his body, and his veins and eyes darkened accordingly.
His hoarse, feeble voice had deepened, his bellows had become more and more animalistic, and his body had mutated in the same way, his flesh pulsing from head to toe, swelling, his skin bursting, unable to support his growing body mass. Bones had deformed, muscles had multiplied in size several times, and slowly and painfully the outline of the new master historian had completely transformed.
At the end of the mutation, stepping on the remains of what had once been his own skin, a creature impossible to recognize as once elven: its body was that of a brute, a mountain of muscle, supported by long thick arms and short legs, but iis head and neck had split grotesquely to reveal the upper skeleton of a common elf, but blackened and burning with sparks. A series of thin, many-jointed arms also emerged from what had once been the master historian's neck, and held the black skeleton, moving it like a puppeteer controls a puppet and gives it life.
— Hphm, it's been a while since this Sphere has seen one of these — the entity sounded almost nostalgic. — By the way, this thing is far beyond the death restrictions I placed on you, but it's always been that way, and I promised not to interfere, so good luck — the wretch casually explained to me at the last possible moment that that enemy could kill me.
The thin arms coming from the neck that was still bleeding due to the brutal transformation pointed the charcoal-turned-skull in our direction, and its eyeballs were quickly filled with a bright glow.
— Watch out — I shouted, jumping away.
In the next instant, a pair of orange rays pierced the glass that separated us from the mutant creature, shattering it with heat as if it were nothing more than a dry autumn leaf. Even more surprising, when the pair of beams of light touched the metallic wall of the tower, composed of a material that the order of historians has spent the last four thousand years trying to destroy in every imaginable way, without success, the divine structure heated up enough to sweat a couple of drops of its molten alloy.
If that heat caught us even just a little, even the Fallen Hero's defense wouldn't save his life.
The next instant, the creature ran towards Cruz, slamming its knuckles into the ground at full speed.
— Finish him off — Kangar pointed at the mutant, and his troop of decapitated men fired a hundred times at the bloated body of the enemy, now twice as tall as the tallest of us.
While the magic projectiles destroyed the monster's flesh, however, it quickly regenerated in the next instant.
— Bisect Asymmetry — Cruz risked an attack as well, and while his sheathed sword enveloped in dark energy cut through the mutant's flesh as well as any other enemy he had faced so far, separating his opponent's upper and lower half, the latter seemed to have an answer even for that type of damage, usually fatal:
The skeleton emerging from the remains of the creature's neck was manipulated by the thin arms that surrounded it on all sides, and with a single gesture of hands, the damage done to its body was reversed; the halves of the mutant's body joined together in an instant, as if they had never been separated in the first place, while Cruz found himself thrown away, the wave of energy with which he had cut his enemy returning to the sword from which it had emerged.
— The skeleton! Focus on the skeleton! — I instructed, and the necromancer's animated corpses fired at the skeleton, but the purple magic didn't seem to have any effect on the charred and still sparkling bones, other than capturing their attention.
In a few seconds and with a single attack, firing another pair of intense heat beams from his empty eyeballs, the mutant reduced the headless bodies to ashes.
— Kangar, get out of here — the man was practically powerless without bodies to manipulate, and he still had too important a role to play to risk losing him. — Cruz, get this thing's attention — as the Fallen Hero gritted his teeth and threw punches at the mutant, avoiding having major damage repelled against him once again, I ran to the Master Historian's fallen cane. — Aah, that's great! — I noticed that there wasn't just a single button crowning the instrument, but three of them, a small red lever, and a series of other interactive little things, none of which I knew how to use.
— Haicard! — Cruz rushed, alarmed.
Understanding that no matter how much I watched the buttons, I wouldn't be able to know what each one did, I pressed any of them at random, and as a result, one of the walls moved with the same chilling noise of metal scraping against metal as when Vincente opened the fortress gates, and a discorectangle-shaped section retracted into the ground, and the floor of that top floor extended like a bridge out of the tower.
— Very pretty, very elaborate, but useless — I continued to press the buttons on the cane.
— Garh! — Cruz slid across the floor, covered in bruises from his own reflected blows, and stopped right next to me. — You need- urgh! More time, don't you? — my friend tried to get up even though he was suffering from injuries that were mortal to anyone else. Finally, however, one of the buttons I pressed produced the desired result.
— No, you did a good job — I replied, watching the mutant approach us while the skull above emitted the dark purple light from before. — We won — just as the mutant extended the hands of the charred skeleton towards us, no doubt about to cast some kind of bizarre and highly destructive Spell, the same black liquid from before rained down on our opponent, although in a smaller quantity than last time.
The mutant immediately staggered, hugging and scratching itself with his many arms as his skin absorbed whatever had been produced by that tower, and his veins turned black.
— A-Are you sure about this?
— If a larger amount of this thing meant a greater chance of defeating us, he would have used as much as possible at once; he already sacrificed everything to see me dead, after all.
What had once been the Master Historian stumbled toward the newly revealed balcony, displaying even more advanced signs of mutation: its spine and ribs were rapidly extending, and several more arms sprouted from its enlarged abdominal cavity, quickly taking it from looking like a skinned gorilla to a centipede straight out of my nightmares. Unlike before, however, the mutant didn't seem to have enough strength to support the body it displayed; it bled more than it could regenerate, and with each new limb it produced, the results were more and more deformed, which led me to assume that the internal organs of the newer generation couldn't be of much better quality. Still...
— Hey, isn't this thing taking too long to die?
— Then give him the coup de grace at once.
— And risk having my heart pierced when that thing reflects my attack again? No thanks.
The mutant swelled, twisted, and deformed more and more, a pulsing mass of flesh wounded by its own growth. Little by little, however, the wounds it had been desperately fighting stopped bleeding, the organs spilling out onto the floor retracted into its body, and the dozens of arms sprouting from its sides spasmed with renewed force.
— Humph. Congratulations, little rebel, you just got the result that humans sought in thousands of experiments, on your first attempt. Luck really is a cruel lady — the entity looked at the mutant's figure with interest, and that was the worst bad omen one could have.
I pressed the button on the cane several times, but the only thing the machinery expelled was steam, exhaled through the nasal cavity of the skull to the ceiling: whatever fueled that structure had run out at the worst possible moment.
— Cruz! Push that thing off the balcony! — The childish idea was the best thing I could think of.
— Sail-Filling — my friend conjured, and a black mist hit the mutant's body, which still showed no signs of stopping growing and was already over fifteen steps long, and pushed it, making it slide down the balcony on his own blood.
I ran towards the small walkway that extended out of the tower in order to see the end of the mutant, but as soon as I peered over the edge:
— Shi- — an absurdly long arm, over thirty paces long, grabbed my head, and I found myself pulled down the tower as well.
I managed to kick the deformed and still very thin hand that grabbed me away, but I still found myself in free fall from the top of the tower, almost half an hour's walk high. Below, and also in free fall, the mutant assumed progressively more grotesque forms, its flesh as unstable as a thin layer of cream on hot milk and in constant bubbling, ever-changing.
— Haicard! — I heard Cruz jumping from the balcony behind me, enveloped in dark energy that accelerated his falling speed.
At the worst possible moment, however, the mutant manipulated the hands of the black skeleton that emerged from its neck and returned the wind that the Fallen Hero had conjured to push it down the tower, pushing Cruz far away in one go.
Seeing the ground approaching dangerously fast, I also realized a chance to save myself, a chance that wore a dark blue cloak and pointy hat covered in stars: I pointed my palm in Celestino's direction and shot a fireball.
The Spell fell right next to the wizard, and when he looked up, he immediately understood the situation:
— Like Feather! — he enveloped me in a greenish aura, and I felt my fall slowing down rapidly. The Wizard didn't mind, however, casting the same spell on the mutant:
"SPLAAASH!", the bloated centipede that the master historian had become transmuted once more, this time into a fountain of blood and guts as soon as it suddenly touched the ground.
— But what...? — Celestino stared at the terrifying scene, confused.
— It's not over yet — I noticed that at least one of the mutant's arms was intact enough to manipulate the black skeleton.
I pointed my palm towards the arm and fired a metallic blade, my most powerful Spell, which practically drained my reserves of magical stamina, but it was too late: before my attack found its target, the skeleton had already used its incomprehensible powers to reverse the damage it had suffered, and as if time ran backwards for its physical entity, it returned the "attack" back to the ground, breaking the gravel beneath it, digging a crater in the ground, and repairing its own body.
— Shit, it's not over yet.
Once restructured, the mutant leaned against the outer wall of the metal tower, raising its body even larger than before, more than thirty steps long, and counterattacked, if it was still conscious of his actions: pale, muscular arms extended from his abdomen in our direction.
— Don't attack! — I stopped Celestino from casting a Spell against the mutant, pulling the old Wizard by the hand and running away from the enemy. The mutant's limbs, however, chased us faster than our legs could run.
— Shadow King — Kangar reappeared, accompanied by even more armed corpses, and his undead minions fired at the hands that tried to grab us, reducing them to dust. As the black skeleton atop the mutant's broken neck reflected the damage done to itself, disintegrating the arms of its attackers, the necromancer simply lifted more corpses.
We took the opportunity to put distance between us and the mutant.
— What is that thing?! — Vincente appeared, balancing on the roof of a smaller building in the courtyard.
— More importantly, how can we defeat it? — Kangar retorted grimly.
— Where are the weapons that triggered those massive magical explosions? — I searched so desperately for a solution that I felt a growing headache. — If the historians had small crossbows that fired those miniature spells, they must have used larger versions to launch those attacks against us in the field all the way here, right?
— Ah, now that you say that, I think I saw some structures that might have exactly this function in the courtyard behind me — Vincente pointed with his thumb.
I ran in the direction indicated without thinking twice, and there I came across a huge mechanism of divine metal, which seemed to have emerged from the ground in an elevator: it consisted of a small chair behind a telescope attached to a thick metal tube at least eleven paces long and connected to something underground by numerous pipes and wires, the end opposite to the chair ending in six distinct openings. Quite intuitive for a soldier who had already seen a scorpion being operated, despite the supposedly advanced magi-technology of humans.
I mounted the chair, grabbed the levers at my sides, and easily repositioned the ancient weapon in the mutant's direction; I didn't even need to look through the telescope to find my target, who was already over twenty minutes of march big, his swollen "legs" spreading like roots throughout the fortress courtyard, and several times thicker than his centipede torso. And most disturbing of all, the master historian's face was slowly forming on the mutant's back, albeit in an almost unrecognizable version, full of cancerous protuberances, and enlarged in size. From within the mouth and nostrils of said face, black clouds of smoke emerged, emitting a faint orange glow similar to that of the energy beams shot from the eye sockets of the spark skull.
— Are you sure you're going to pull the trigger? — The entity asked, as I positioned my sights on the black skeleton of hot embers, which at that distance was just a tiny dark and orange dot. — If you miss and that thing reflects your attack, you won't regenerate in a thousand or ten thousand years, but you will die, and everything you've dedicated your life to this past year will have been in vain.
— If I don't shoot, this thing will reach its final form and launch an attack against us that no one will be able to avoid, and it will all be in vain anyway — gritting my teeth, I pulled the six triggers at once, and we all watched the half dozen purple streaks cutting through the sky in the direction of the mutant.
They hit the mutant's torso, the tower, its arms, and even the mountains in the distance, but if I failed to immobilize that damned charred skeleton...
— How do you reload this?! — I desperately searched for something that would perform that function. — Now that the mutant's neck has been destroyed, he's mortal again! We can't let that part of his body regenerate! — I explained the success of the shots to my friends, pulling, tightening and turning everything that was connected to the weapon I was operating.
— Even if you ask us to do that... — Vincente scratched the back of his head. —Just by the time I get there, that thing would have already regenerated.
— That's it! I think? — As I pulled a pin back and turned a crank, the tubes connected to the magic scorpion filled with some kind of bright green liquid, and the back of the gun began to expel large clouds of vapor. — Shit, it won't fire no matter how many times I pull the trigger, it must be in the process of reloading...
— Well, I know a couple of Spells that can help us in this situation! — Celestino pointed his hands towards the mutant, filled his lungs with air and: — Wagh! — The old man found himself upside down when a pair of pale and distorted arms grabbed his ankles and lifted him into the air. — Magic Arrow! — He shot a simple projectile at the limbs and freed himself from the grip, but the situation as a whole had not changed much: the mutant's legs had already taken root almost throughout the entire fortress, and now they were reaching us with bad intentions.
— This weapon is our only chance of victory! No matter what, don't let those things reach this position! — I instructed, pulling the triggers repeatedly.
— Ah, I can help with THAT! — Vincente smiled, running towards the mass of flesh that was invading that courtyard.
The Rogue moved as fast and deadly as an arrow, slicing through dozens of arms that tried to pursue him, and forcing the mass of flesh to focus on regenerating itself rather than expanding further. Even so, Vincente was only a single man, and only able to cover a limited amount of ground.
— Elemental Punishment! — Celestino joined the fight, causing a huge wave of water to appear from a magic circle many times larger than his own body, which shortly after colliding with the uncontrolled growth, solidified, freezing a portion of arms and roots of flesh.
— In'mir, Na'Amar — Kangar recited something as he positioned a series of bones around me.
Explanations regarding the functions of the bones were unnecessary, when they fired on their own against hands that tried to reach me through Celestino and Vincente's blind spots, apparently infecting the bone structure of the mutant limbs, and causing their skeleton to swell, and destroy themselves from the inside out.
— It's ready — finally, the weapon I was controlling stopped emitting steam, and the incandescence of the tubes that fed it ceased.
"BOOM!", I fired six more magic projectiles at the mutant's torso, this time much more accurately than before, not only destroying the flesh that was trying to reach the black skeleton and the source of its absurd powers, but also splashing purple all over the back of that aberration of purple spheres, which turned its flesh into dust.
— Just one more shot — I started the process of reloading the gun. — Just one more shot — I repeated, promising myself as I stared at the mutant who was hugging the tower of divine metal, struggling to regenerate enough to regain its full power; holes the size of houses pierced its body, and from them dripped so much blood and parts of his anatomy that lakes and waterfalls of carnage formed in different parts of its misshapen body.
I wasn't the only one to notice our proximity to victory, however, as the master historian's face had finally opened its eyes and was frighteningly conscious, staring at me full of hatred.
— There will be enough time, there will be enough time — I hoped, repeatedly pulling the trigger of the old gun.
The enormous face on the mutant's back opened its scorched maw, and there was no time, after all: consciously or not, the master historian did something that I had not considered as a possibility, and fired the orange heat ray in our direction before it was fully energized.
Incomplete or not, the luminescence of the attack alone was enough to blind and make my skin burn even beneath my clothes and armor. All the blood spilled on the ground and drops of sweat exposed to the air evaporated instantly. It was as if the sun itself had paid us a visit.
— Strong Cleave — I heard Cruz, somehow even louder than the attack to come, and in the next instant, the intense light dissolved into a wave of shadows: the Fallen Hero had finally drawn the sword he had used to kill a Shadow King, and the sheer amount of power the weapon exuded was nothing short of explosive.
Strong Cleave, once a holy sword, now unholy, sent forth a storm of shadows and lightning, a pitch black so intense and vast that even that which was too far away to be consumed by its darkness lost its color; I saw the world around me turn monochromatic.
— Raaagh! — Cruz concentrated all that power into a single attack and responded to the mutant's lightning with a discharge of his own, this one of shadows.
It wasn't enough.
As soon as it touched the intense heat of the enemy's vomit, all that concentrated darkness did little more than delay the progress of the enemy attack by half a blink of an eye, being consumed by the orange almost immediately, like everything else.
— Twelve Heroic Wills! — Celestino conjured a full suit of armor directly onto Cruz's body, which seemed to strengthen him, but at great cost to the Wizard; Celestino expelled blood from every orifice and fell to the ground, clutching the dried root pendant, which crumbled, decomposing in an instant.
And yet, Cruz didn't seem any closer to containing the enemy attack, which in those brief seconds had already pushed the Fallen Hero many steps back, and had almost reached the courtyard where we were.
— What the hell, Cruz! — Vincente pulled out the bottle he was wearing as a pendant and threw it at his friend. — Don't make me regret this! — The object hit the back of his target.
Cruz immediately burned upon contact with the liquid in the vial, his body being enveloped by white flames for a second, but which quickly changed color, darkened, and took the form of a pair of black bird wings; the extremely powerful attack of the unholy sword then seemed at least twice as strong as before.
It was seen as insufficient in the same way, however.
Cruz fired a torrent of darkness at the orange heat beam continuously, but then he was only a few feet away from us in the courtyard, the mutant master historian's shot so close that our clothes and hair were already spontaneously combusting.
We were doomed. If I did nothing, it would be the end.
In that situation, then, making a decision was easy:
— I sacrifice to you — I said, or at least I thought I said. And that was enough.
My eyes no longer saw the courtyard of Beforeshadow, nor the attack about to extinguish me and my friends, but a small, flickering fire, and to my sides, there was only rock painted with rustic figures of animals and people. I had been teleported to the inside of a cave.
— ...What... do... you... offer? — Behind me, a hoarse, uneven female voice asked, as if the mere act of breathing caused her pain. Instinctively, I tried to turn around and face the questioner, but her voice made me stop, giving me chills: — Don't look!
— ...A year. I offer a year of my life — I replied, staring at the fire in front of me.
— Why would I... wish a year... of someone who's going to die... in a second? — the hoarse voice asked between many phlegmy coughs.
— Five, then — I multiplied the initial value, noticing that the fire was quickly dying, and the cave was darkening.
— All... your life. A single day... to take revenge... as your scrolls suggest! — the thing's voice behind me grew euphoric as I heard scratches on the walls, ceiling and floor far from the light of the fire, which was shrinking worryingly fast, consuming the fuel that I only then realized was the skin and bones of a person. — Give me the head of a king, and before midnight build thirteen temples in my honor, or your own kingdom will fall! Gwargh! Thirteen liters of blood for each vessel! What is your number, High Priest? — it rattled quickly, confused.
For a moment, I didn't know what to say, or even if I should say anything, but the fire, already reduced to only a third of its original brightness, left me no easy choices, certain death on one side, the unknown on the other.
— There are no more scrolls, temples, or High Priests — I whispered, and all the scratching, gurgling, coughing, and grunting noises around me ceased. But still, I didn't have my mind thrown into a parallel reality of endless torment, so I continued: — That thing robbed you of all that, remember? I can't avenge you in a single day. Give me the power to survive today, and tomorrow will be yours once more — I explained, and the fire went out completely, having consumed all the fat from the human parts it had been feeding on.
In the pitch darkness, the cold was bone-chilling, but I didn't dare move an inch.
Soon, hands touched me all over my body.
— ...One day — said a male voice to my left.
— Today's price... — added a female voice to my right.
— Don't count on our wisdom a third time — concluded an animalistic voice in front of me.
— NO EXCEPTIONS! — something hoarse complained behind me. — THE RITUALS- THE INCENSE- WAR! — it tried to say everything at the same time, and in the next instant, a clash broke out all around me, making me close my eyes tightly.
When I opened them again, I found myself pointing my hand at Cruz, and the Fallen Hero roaring, bestial, as he emitted an even more intense torrent of shadows against the mutant's heat beam. The world burned around us, but we survived.
The orange blast lasted for what seemed like an eternity, but once it finally dissipated, Cruz seemed completely drained of energy as well, collapsing into Vincente's arms.
— It's over — I said, pulling the triggers of the ancient weapon one last time, and firing half a dozen medium-scale Spells at the mutant's still-regenerating body.
The master historian's face roared, but only briefly, as it and the rest of its deformed torso were reduced to dust. The mutant's lower half, its wide feet that branched into roots of flesh, sustaining more damage than it could handle, spurted an ocean of blood, and try as it might to repair his torso, it finally found itself staring at a mountain it could not climb. Then it pulsed for one last time and fell still, dead.
Thanks to the ritual that had been taught to me by Demonia herself, we had secured the fortress in which the final battle would be fought.