“I hope I have saved your-”
The tail end of her reply was drowned out by the fury of another explosion. This one dwarfed the previous detonations as it shattered the far side of the curtain wall. A second hemisphere of light glowed, flickered and then died under the assault. The last of the manor’s magical defenses.
“The Imperator ordered this.” Sierra gestured at the devastation; her voice raised because of the ringing in her ears. “He sent Ruin to do his dirty work. There is no stopping it.”
Alarion’s face went white as he looked to the manor. He’d known little about the Vitrians before he’d come into their care, but even Alarion had known about Ruin. His magic had turned the land around Ashad-Mundi into a desert and turned the city itself into the ruins they called ‘The Old City’. Ruin was a symbol of Vitrian military power, the tool they brought out when they wanted to destroy, not to subjugate.
“They are already gone.” Sierra said, as though reading his thoughts. She wore a pained expression. Pleading. “And you will be too if you leave.”
“You lied to them.”
Her chin tilted up as a flash of anger ran across her features. “I did not lie. They did not ask me. I had no idea that this would happen until mere hours ago. Father wanted to take you from the continent after your induction. To give me deniability. But circumstances changed. He can protect me, and through him I can protect you.”
“What about them!?” Alarion shouted. Though the worst of the explosions had stopped, the sounds of combat filled the night air. The screams of dying men, the crack of thunder. The roar of flame and the clash of steel. “Elena! ZEKE!”
Sierra looked away, drew a breath, then met his eyes once again. When she spoke, the words sounded forced. They were the words of another spoken through her lips. “We are all that matters.”
Alarion turned to leave, and Sierra’s instrument shrieked. Violet flame gouged a deep furrow in the rock in front of Alarion. He took a few steps, and the string cried out again. The flames were closer this time, close enough to drive him back a step with their heat.
“What happens if I go with you?” Alarion asked. He hadn’t turned to look at her. He couldn’t. “Induction?”
“No. We will keep you hidden. Safe. You will want for nothing. My father can make you strong. Even better, like you said.”
Slavery, then.
They couched it in better terms, but he understood. He’d be trading the House of Hunger for the House of Sorrow. They’d pretend he died. They’d make a weapon out of him. He wouldn’t even have the pretense of a way out, there would be no end to his service.
She knew it too. He could hear it in her voice. She might care for him, but Sierra had no more say with her father than Elena did with her husband. The massacre ahead of him was proof of that.
He could dip his head and obey. He could accept the offer and find himself under another thumb, serving another master. But in that moment, Alarion felt he could see the future as clear as day. Someday they’d send him. Someday he’d be the one doing the massacre.
He’d rather die fighting.
Alarion drew back his arm, then looked back over his shoulder at Sierra. “I can’t. Sorry.”
“Do not make me do this.”
Alarion threw his weapon toward the keep, then flickered toward it.
A boom of sound and energy assaulted him the moment his teleportation was complete. It struck him unawares and sent him hurtling back toward the outcrop. He hit the ground with a thud and rolled to recover. Then he felt pressure on his shoulders as invisible hands wrenched his arms back and shoved him face first into the stone.
“You need to stop. Before I accidentally hurt you,” Sierra said.
Alarion’s response came not with words, but a visceral scream of outrage and exertion. Her spectral soldiers were strong, and they had leverage. But he was stronger. Strong enough to slip a knee up to his hips, to brace against the moss and stone. He forced himself into a crouch before Sierra played a short string of notes and four more bodies piled on top of him.
“Stay. Down.” The girl squatted down in front of him, and he could see the fear. The uncertainty. “Just a few more minutes. Then it will be over. There is no reason for this. No reason to fight.”
“W-why?” Alarion asked. It was difficult to breathe with so many spectral bodies pushing down on him. “What did they do?”
“I do not even know.” It was hard to tell if Sierra was laughing or sobbing as she made that admission. “They might have signed their warrant when they failed to report the city we found. Or they might have done it the moment they took you in. It could be as simple as house politics. The House of Hunger might want to be rid of them, or the Imperator might have a grudge. The lockdown makes a good excuse to wipe out a troublesome branch family. And if no one survives, there is no one to point the finger and no need to lie.”
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The hypocrisy was too much. The Vitrians would murder the household, from the Governor down to the lowest porter. They’d do it in secret, a vile betrayal of their own people. But lying was where they drew the line?
“The Imperator wants you dead among the rest, but father is the one who holds Ruin’s leash. That is why you are safe, so long as you are with me. Now stay down.”
Alarion looked up at her and drew in a ragged breath.
“I won’t take your orders.”
Bssht
One moment he was pinned beneath a pile of specters, the next he lay a few feet away, staring up at the night sky. His hand, wrapped around his greatsword's hilt, remained pinned beneath the pile, but he freed it with a sharp tug. Just in time to parry Sierra’s descending fist.
“Stop!” She shouted, her anxiety giving way to anger. She scrambled to get atop him, to pin him down until her minions could assist, but he was stronger.
He was stronger.
Sierra seemed as surprised as he was. The two hadn’t sparred against one another since before he’d entered the challenge dungeon, and she hadn’t been privy to his status in at least as long. The advantage was slight, but he was stronger.
He rolled to the side, forced a knee between their two bodies, and pushed. Her grip held for a second, long enough for one of her specters to join the fray, but he broke it all the same. With a grunt of effort, he shoved her back, pushed away her specter and finally got his feet beneath him.
The specters didn’t stand a chance against an armed and aware Alarion. Though they were invisible, the strands of their mana were clear as day in Alarion’s [Introverted Mana Sense]. He carved through two of them like they were butter, each fragile form dissipating under a single swing from his greatsword.
The fight was his. He had the advantage.
Then he felt it. A sudden surge of power. And of understanding. He could feel the flow of combat like never before. He dipped back away from an attack, then darted in to punish his attacker. He swayed around outside the grasp of another, then cut it neatly in twain. His body knew when to attack and when to defend and it moved effortlessly from one to the other.
Then a pulse of force sent him sprawling. He’d lost track of Sierra, and she’d punished him for it.
“I am warning you.” Sierra said with false bravado. She stood safe behind her orchestra now, a small army of shades between the two of them, her magic at her fingertips. Her face was stern but there were cracks in that harsh facade as she said, “I am begging you.”
Despite her pleading, it was Sierra’s magic that broke their stalemate, a sonic boom that Alarion narrowly avoided.
Even she knew that there was no peaceful solution.
Magic blew away whole chunks of the outcrop as Alarion attacked her spectral orchestra. With his mace left behind in his room, Alarion was barred from his magic and forced to rely on more direct methods. He cut and stabbed, punched, kicked and even bit the mob as it assaulted him. They did their share of damage, but they were fast losing the exchange as Alarion dipped back into his flow state once more.
Only Sierra’s magic kept him honest. Pillars of violet flame, detonations of ear rending noise and directional waves of force kept her minions in the fight and Alarion at bay. Every time he gained an advantage she knocked him off balance, and every spell she cast seemed to summon a new body to ward him off.
It just wasn’t enough. He could kill faster than she could cast, and slowly but surely, he waded through the horde of specters until none remained.
It was only then that she unsheathed a dagger.
She struck him with a leaping knee from a full run with enough force to stagger him back even through a hastily thrown block. Her knife arced down from above, intercepted by the hilt of Alarion’s sword. They struggled against one another for a split second before she dropped the knife, punched him twice in the midsection, and drew another.
He was stronger, but she was still much faster. She peppered him with shallow blows, always aiming for his limbs, for his joints and shoulders. She passed up one serious, perhaps lethal opportunity, but made it clear that she’d done so as she left a shallow gouge in his chest.
The battle seemed to be in her favor. Until he struck her.
It was a minor slip on her part. She’d over-committed to an attack that Alarion had prepared for. He slid back in the face of her onslaught, and when the moment was right, he countered with one.
Directly into her kidney.
“Agh!” Sierra cried as she collapsed to one knee, her hands clinging to her side. It had been a solid punch, but nothing special. He hadn’t used [Lucky Strike] or hit her with his blade, but it revealed the truth all the same. He was stronger, she was faster, but he dwarfed her in endurance.
For the first time, Sierra realized she could lose this fight. When she came up, there was no more handicap. No more holding back.
She hummed as she fought, assaulting him with weaker versions of her previous spells as she pressured him with her knife. Her fighting style was orthodox and frustrating, focused on the application of consistent pressure. She didn’t let him breathe or retaliate. There was no push and pull. Just push and push and push.
The damage was adding up. His defenses couldn’t be everywhere at once. Not like her knife.
He had to play to his strengths.
Sierra went low, and he went high. Her knife caught him in the abdomen as his elbow caught her in the temple. She staggered to the side and came up swinging, another knife cutting a deep line through the cartilage of his nose, just below his eyes. He hit her again, and she fell. He was on top of her, the flat of his greatsword pinned against her throat.
“K-kotone!” She gasped.
“Yes Miss! Yes Mi-”
Alarion struck the familiar out of the air with the back of his hand, then screamed as Sierra twisted the knife in his gut. He lashed out with his fist and cracked the stone beside her head as she struggled beneath him.
Ice-blue eyes stared up at him. Terrified. Angry. Desperate.
Grieving.
She pulled the dagger free, then stabbed him again. He retaliated. This time, he didn’t miss.
There was silence. No more spells. No more steel. Even the battle for the manor seemed to have subsided. Waves lapped at the shore and the moon had dipped, the perfect sphere almost level with the water.
It was serene. The peace at odds with the horrible things that had occurred that night.
Alarion stared blankly at the notification at the center of his field of view. He understood the words, but they made no sense.
You have slain [Human – UCL 62] – Bonus Experience earned for slaying an opponent above your UCL.