Chapter B2C56 - Homecoming

Chapter B2C56 - Homecoming

Tyron gave himself no time to mourn. He grunted as he forced himself back up, clawing at the rock to pull himself upward. His injured leg still couldn’t take his weight, and he was forced to lean on a skeleton again in order to move.

The last of the slayers was coming to pay a visit, it’d be rude to greet them sitting down.

With a thought, he gathered his skeletons and ghosts, placing them in a defensive formation that he hoped would protect him from being stuck with more arrows. He’d had enough of that for one day. The rift was close now, close enough that he could probably make it through in just a few minutes, even as injured as he was.

Would he survive for long on the other side, though? Not likely.

“It’s not looking good,” he muttered.

He paused a moment later when he realised he was only talking to himself.

He felt a pang in his chest, an entirely different sort of pain, but he couldn’t afford to focus on that now. He could mourn for Dove after he survived, or when he was dead.

With his remaining revenants, skeletons and ghosts, Tyron prepared to face his final opponents. If Brun was prepared to honour his word, then that meant he had Rufus, Laurel and the archer to deal with first. He almost looked forward to it.

They were creeping closer now, he could hear them. They had to have heard him moving around, but probably didn’t expect him to be in any condition to fight back. That would be his opportunity.

Tyron stirred the dregs of his magick and formed two bolts in his palms. If he could land two clean shots, the healing he’d receive might be just enough to stop the bleeding, which he desperately needed.

He crouched, listening intently as the seconds ticked by. As drained of resources as he was, even trying to utilise his ghost sight would have stretched him too thin. He had to rely on his own senses.

The rock he crouched behind was almost two metres tall, enough to cover him easily, but not wide enough to conceal all his skeletons. They knew exactly where he was, but from which angle would they come?

The steps drew closer and he readied himself, spells maintained in either hand. His eyes flicked from side to side. Would they come around the left, or the right?

A trickle of dust ran down the face of the stone in front of him. Tyron noticed it, then threw himself backwards with a pained shout. An arrow slammed into the ground between his feet as skeletons rushed forward to cover him. With a curse, he looked up and fired both bolts at the archer who’d escaped him before. She’d climbed up the rock as Laurel and Rufus had approached, masking any sound to take him by surprise.

As off balance as he was, one of his bolts went wide, but another connected on her right hip, spinning her around with a shout. She dropped out of sight as he felt a pathetic trickle of healing creep into him. The connection hadn’t been clean, he mustn’t have done much damage.

To his right, Rufus charged forward, attacking his skeletons with wide swings of his blade. He was in amongst them so quickly that two had fallen before Tyron could react. Chest burning, his remaining revenants rushed at him, but Rufus was wary of them, trying to keep the weaker minions between himself and the more powerful undead. Arrows flew from the side, trying to pick off more skeletons as the swordsman kept them occupied.

Tyron raised his hands and prepared to cast the Shivering Curse, then hesitated. With a sour grimace, he abandoned that plan and staggered forward instead, summoning another pair of magick bolts in his hands.

He couldn’t afford to stand still for that long, not with the escapee only metres away. If she climbed up the rock again... he’d be dead on the spot. If only he’d injured her enough he could be confident her mobility was gone.

Rufus moved with the smooth grace of a martial class, his balance and speed all greater than the human norm. He must’ve reached level ten at least, perhaps taken a feat to enhance his body control, judging by the way he could move with impossible precision.

Magnin hadn’t taken that feat. He hadn’t needed it.

Tyron swept three of his spirits after Rufus and poked his head around the corner of the stone, trying to get a look at Laurel. The moment he saw her, he jerked his head back just in time to avoid an arrow in the face. She’d been waiting for him.

Off balance, Tyron fell to the ground with a pained cry. The injury to his leg was making it difficult to stay on his feet and he had to pull himself up again, sweat breaking out on his brow.

Rufus laughed.

“You may as well give up,” he gloated as he parried a skeleton's attack and returned a savage cut, slicing the arm off at the shoulder joint. “You were never good enough to beat me.”

As injured as he was, Tyron couldn’t help but laugh.

“Fight me by yourself then,” he rasped incredulously. The young mage shook his head. “You might have got some levels, but nothing to improve Intelligence, I see.”

Rufus flushed hotly and opened his mouth but Laurel cut him off.

“Don’t,” she warned him, and the swordsman’s mouth snapped shut.

Damn it. I didn’t come this far, I didn’t sacrifice so much, only to fail here!

Desperately, he reached deep inside himself, searching for any wisp of power, any hint of arcane energy. Something... anything, he could use to fight back. When he didn’t find anything, he rolled his head and stared at his pack.

There might be another piece of Mage Candy in there, one that he’d missed before. Not even a whole piece would be needed, a shard, a sliver, dust, it would be better than what he had now.

Barely able to move, Tyron began to drag himself across the stony ground, ignoring the flaring pain of his wounds. He could vaguely hear the others moving around, but he ignored them, focused totally on his goal. If he could only reach his pack, he could turn this around. He... just... had... to reach!

“You may as well stop there, Tyron,” Laurel said.

The Necromancer paused, hand outstretched to his pack, and rolled over to look up. The ranger sat above him, rubbing at her wounded leg, a frown on her tanned face.

He turned to look behind him and saw Rufus grinning widely, sword swinging back and forth as he rolled his wrist, not three metres away.

“Shit,” he groaned.

“Yes, yes you are,” Rufus’ grin broadened as stepped a little closer. There was an ugly light in his eyes as he approached, almost feverish in its intensity.

“Just do it cleanly,” Laurel said to him, her eyes hard. “Don’t fuck around.”

Rufus’ smile slipped a little as he glared up at Laurel.

“Why do you always take his side?” he growled, pointing at Tyron with his sword. “After what he said about my mother, I’m going to carve him like a roast. If you don’t want to watch, you can turn the fuck around.”

Laurel rolled her eyes and glanced down at Tyron.

“See you, Ty,” she said. “Shame about how this worked out for you.”

“Yeah,” he rasped, “real shame.”

She turned and slid down the rock, landing heavily on the other side. Tyron looked up at Rufus, who glared at him.

“You never deserved a single thing you got,” the swordsman growled at him. “I hated that about you.”

“You never stop whining. I hated that about you.”

Tyron forced a grin up at the swordsman and Rufus spat at him.

“I’ve been looking forward to this,” he said.

Tyron curled his fingers beneath them, cupping the magick bolt he’d scraped together a second before.

“Me too.”

Bright light flashed, blinding Tyron for a moment. Something hot sprayed on his face and he spat reflexively.

Blood?

His eyes shot open and he looked at himself. No, he was fine....

He looked up at Rufus.

The swordsman had a strange look on his face, his eyes seemed to be looking in different directions. Then a line of blood appeared, running straight down the middle of his forehead. It trickled down to his nose, fell onto his chin, then dropped, splashing against the rocky ground.

Then Rufus fell into two pieces, his left half falling backward, the right slumping forward. Tyron didn’t look. He was staring at the figure who’d been standing behind him.

“He always was a shitty kid,” Magnin observed, looking down on Tyron with a broad grin. He winked. “Great to see you, son.”