Chapter B2C51 - Farewell, Friend

Chapter B2C51 - Farewell, Friend

Exhausted in mind, spirit and body, Tyron made sure he didn’t block the direct route from the rift to the village on the way down the mountain. He’d done enough for them, pushing to the rift itself on his own had been an insane risk to take. In no condition to fight, he took his time on the descent, replenishing his reserve of magick and giving his aching muscles a chance to recover.

As a consequence, the descent was far more relaxing than the ascent had been, though it was difficult for him to enjoy it. Every step brought him closer to the cave, which meant closer to the moment he would part with Dove forever.

The Summoner’s time locked inside his skull had never been intended to be permanent, but after all this time, Tyron hoped he would be able to persuade his mentor and friend to stick around. Obviously that had failed.

It didn’t help that Dove was humming gleefully to himself, even mumbling the lyrics to a particularly bawdy song as he dangled from Tyron’s belt. A little miffed, Tyron thought it wouldn’t hurt the prick to act at least a little sad to be parting from him, but then again, from Dove’s perspective, he was being released from servitude beyond death.

Slow and careful, he picked his way down the slope, heavy feelings weighing on his chest. Rift-kin trickled down the mountain to his right, but he let them be.

The descent was slow, even slower than the ascent had been, and Tyron hated every minute of it.

When the more familiar landmarks around his cave came into sight, he sighed in resignation. He didn’t know what he’d been hoping for, but the proximity of the camp meant his time had run out, much to Dove’s delight.

With nothing else to do, he set his minions to guard the cave, setting a perimeter and distributing his ghosts. After a moment’s thought, he sent one of the spirits into the cave to ensure it was empty.

When it was confirmed uninhabited, he sighed and began to descend the final few steps, not really wanting to think about what came next.

“Any idea where a spirit goes after it’s set free?” Dove asked. “I’m sort of keen to find out. Hopefully somewhere with tits.”

“I don’t think spirits are conscious of their existence after death. I think they just hover about in limbo before dissipating.”

“That’s boring as fuck. I was a devout servant of the goddess my entire life. I earned a spot on those melons!”

“Did you actually think you’d be able to grope Selene in the afterlife?”

“A priest assured me that was the case!”

“Was this a reputable priest?”

“I mean... no? Come to think of it, he may not have been a priest. But it still counts!”

“I can’t believe you’re joking about dying.”

The thought of death terrified Tyron, he had so many things left undone, yet he supposed Dove had lived to middle age, not a bad run for a slayer.

“I’ve been dead for months, Tyron,” Dove reminded him wryly. “You just didn’t let me settle into it. Time to rectify that mistake.”

The young Mage was silent for a moment, then nodded. In his heart, he didn’t believe he had been in error. Certainly, from Dove’s point of view, he’d done wrong, but without the companionship and help from the skull-bound spirit, where would he be now? Whatever the case, it was over. Time to let go.

“Alright then. Let’s get this done.”

He reached down to untie the skull from his belt as he stepped down toward the entrance of the cave.

Then he paused.Updated from novelbIn.(c)om

With nonchalant ease, he continued to untie Dove from his waist with one hand, as his other flicked several sigils behind the cover of his body. As his sight became overlaid with the vision of a spirit, he shouldered aside the blanket and stepped into the cave.

As always, it wasn’t easy to see clearly when looking through a ghost, but it was good enough. A figure stood, leaning behind a tree, bow in hand, arrow drawn. Beside them, there was another, naked steel glittering off the bared sword they held loose and ready.

“Fuck,” Tyron cursed under his breath as he ended the spell.

He snapped into action, gathering his pack and throwing it over his shoulder before he buckled it in place and re-tied Dove to his belt.

“Hey, hey! What the fuck? What are you doing?”

A little manoeuvring was necessary before the ghost spotted his attackers again. They’d left the cave behind and were tracking him up the mountain, but it didn’t seem as though they’d realised he’d seen them. He kept the undead spread apart rather than gathering them all together at his side as he wanted to. The moment they all appeared by his side, it would be obvious he expected to be attacked.

There were other dangers, though. He pulled his sight back and glanced nervously up the mountain. There weren’t any kin coming down right now, but another pack couldn’t be far away. They never were at this point.

“Freeze!” a voice rang out.

Tyron glanced up, careful to keep his face hidden under his hood, to see a young man rising from the slope, bow drawn and pointed at his chest.

He slowly raised his hands into the air.

Ranger. Must have been lying in wait on the slope. Some sort of camouflage skill. Might have been here for a while and I dodged them coming down north of here.

Despite the fact they were almost undoubtedly the same age, Tyron couldn’t help but think this slayer looked so young. Behind the confident facade, he could see the fear and uncertainty bubbling away.

“Ever killed anyone?” he asked softly.

The Ranger gripped his bow tighter.

“You have, you murd-”

Arrows of bone sprouted from the archer’s back, four of them. Eyes wide, the young slayer stumbled forward, only to be blasted backwards as two magick bolts struck him in the chest.

Tyron lunged forward and after three strides he was on top of the Ranger, pinning his arms down as he coughed and sputtered, ribs partially caved in.

It’ll take a bit of work to fix that up, but those bones heal easily.

Idle thoughts drifted through Tyron’s mind as he executed his next command. He couldn’t afford to have mercy. Not anymore.

A moment later, his revenant was there, sword drawn. With no hesitation, the undead servant drove it down through the heart. The slayer jerked for a moment, then grew still.

Tyron pushed off the body and kept moving, not allowing himself to think.

Keep going, he told himself. Don’t worry about it, just keep moving.

Desperate to put more distance between himself and the slayers behind him, he pushed himself up the slope, urging greater effort from his worn and weary muscles. After days of little to no sleep, he was on the edge of what he could tolerate, but there was no letup in sight, not unless he was victorious here.

Skeletons began to emerge from the scrub and trees, drawing closer and forming a protective ring around him. Immediately, he felt safer and less exposed. He heard movement behind him, but didn’t turn to look, not even when the trilling sound of an arrow whistling through the air rang out, followed by the dull THUNK of the missile impacting a wooden shield.

They were on him now, emerging from cover to approach and take shots. A dangerous moment, but for once, luck was on his side. Further up the mountain, glistening faintly in the dim light, he could see figures made entirely of ice stalking their way down the slope, a host of frost coated boar trotting at their feet.

Perfect timing.

Breaking from the pack, a single skeleton rushed forward as Tyron and the rest of his undead suddenly cut to his left. The moment the rift-kin laid eyes on his servant they became enraged, rushing forward with death burning in their eyes.

Light and swift, the skeleton turned on its bony heel and sprinted back down the mountain, leading the pack around Tyron and his group. Another missile slammed into a skeleton’s shield and Tyron risked a glance downhill as he continued to hurry into cover.

Further down the slope, a pack of three figures found the deceased slayer where Tyron had left him, one kneeling to check the vitals.

“Tyron, you murderous piece of shit!” A familiar voice roared. “Get out here so I can gut you!”

Hearing that voice, here in this place, was so jarring Tyron almost felt as if he had been knocked outside of his own body. Without being aware of it, his face twisted into a crooked grin.

You’re next, friend.

Rufus had found him.