The Battle of the Ruined Tower III

The Battle of the Ruined Tower III

Crunch!

Kyembes scream shattered the twilight.

Bone splintered. Arrows jostled in his wounds, cutting wide. He sought his flagging eldritch energies for healing, but they flowed too feebly, nearing their limit.

A realization, unbidden and unwelcome, suddenly struck him.

He was going to die alone on this forgotten tower.

Images spilled into his thoughts. His father, the old mercenary, whose quiet laugh descended into reedy coughs in great mirth. The dark elf mother he never knew, her appearance painted solely by his fathers tales. The Archwizard Kmark, his stern master with his black beard and blacker armour. Companions and allies long dead.

Wurhi the Rat, whose alliance might have lasted.

Did she make it to the pitfall? His ears rang, and he thought he heard her cursing in the distance. He smiled bitterly. A soothing delusion. She would be likely dead by now.

With a strength borne of rage, he shot to his feet.

Hed see their killers pay a mighty toll for their lives.

Setting his jaw, he passed the sputtering eldritch power into his ring and quickly sheared the arrow in his belly. He didnt have time for his forearm. His arm sizzled and scorched, yet his hatred for those who craved his death dulled the pain. His enemies poured onto the top floor. Eppon, frightful beyond his scarring, grinned from within their midst like a boy whod stolen his mothers honey. In the twilight, the red of his moustache looked like blood smeared over his lip.

Pin him down. He sneered. And bring me a sharp knife before he bleeds out. No waita dull knife.

Kyembe trembled. He exaggerated his weakness, seeming as though convulsed with terror. Eppon burst into a low, cruel laugh. The urgency slipped from his warriors by the heartbeat, replaced by the hunger for bloody vengeance.

The power built slowly. He could not further tax his body with a beam, but he could do something less rigorous.

Hold him down, Eppon smirked.

His warriors approached; dark looks painted their faces. Kyembe waved his sword weakly. They raised their own weapons to contemptuously swipe his aside.

The eyes of his ring flared.

His false whimpering erupted into the howl of a cornered beast.

Air thrummed and shimmered, hot white light wicked up his sword, outlining it like a star behind an eclipse.

With a crackle like bone bursting, the blade erupted in a white blaze.

The twilight burned away as though the sun fell to the tower. Kyembes enemies recoiled in alarm, but he already felt the flow of hellfire stuttering. He leapt forth, cursing them, burning steel striking through bellies, bursting superheated entrails and spraying boiling gore to drench the Sengezian. Blood bubbled on his skin, but left no burn; hed adapted to the touch of a far crueler heat.

Kyembe brandished the hellfire-cloaked blade, warriors recoiling as their skin scorched from the residual heat. Through that opening he leapt, screaming, toward the Bear-Breaker. The white blaze reflected off his crimson eyes.

Fwooosh!

The sling burst into flame.

Aaaaargh! The titan roared in panicked agony as the fire raged around his arm, chest and neck. He dropped the Sengezian to the hard stones. Kyembe gasped for breath even as he grasped his sword.

Turning feebly toward the giant, he placed the pommel in the hand of his broken arm.

The Bear-Breaker stumbled away, frantically clawing at the burning material until it ripped free. The stench of his scorched flesh hung in the air.

The Sengezian tightened his grip on the pommel. His good hand clutched the hilt.

Death burned in Eppons eyes. Ill stick you like a pig! he howled, snatching up one of his fallen warriors spears and rushing Kyembe.

The giant raised the spear.

Kyembe thrust with his good arm, extending his grip on the magical sword.

The hilt lengthened.

The blade shot forth, angled low.

Shhhnk!

Eppons shriek was a mammoths trumpet.

His spear dropped. His hands fell, crimson fountained between fingers that clutched for what was no longer there. The Bear-Breaker wailed, doubling over and curling up on his knees like a whimpering babe.

Kyembe drew back his sword then drove the point through the mans neck.

Shnk!

The last son of Avernix choked on steel with incredulous eyes. A horrid gurgle trickled from his gaping maw. Blood poured from his lips and nostrils. Teetering like an upturned siege tower, the giant fell into a pool of his own red.

With one final terrible shudder, he breathed his last.

Silence.

The wind blew cold, carrying Kyembes weak, delirious laughter as his beautiful sword clattered to the stones.

His eyes drifted to the heavens.

The stars danced in the sky above.