Book 6: Chapter 32: From Fire to Sea

Book 6: Chapter 32: From Fire to Sea

As Victor and Guapo tore through the smoke-filled forest surrounding the keep, he truly began to appreciate how much his body had changed since he’d left Earth. It was one thing to say he was stronger or bigger or that he was sturdier and healed faster, but some of the more subtle changes weren’t so glaring. They weren’t things he noticed every day. Sure, he’d accepted the fact that the more he evolved, the more his body became dependent on Energy and the less sustenance it required from other sources, but he hadn’t realized just how little he needed to breathe. That night, charging through dense, rolling waves of hot smoke, he came to realize that he could take a deep breath and not think about breathing again for a very long time, indeed.

He leaned forward, hugging close to Guapo’s neck, and let the Mustang do what he did best—run. With Guapo doing most of the work, even navigating through the forest, Victor’s mind began to wander toward the changes that had occurred in his body as he’d advanced his race. Could he even call himself human anymore? He shook his head; he’d been down that road before. He was Victor, and that was the important thing. If his abuela saw him today, she’d know him. Thinking of the changes he’d gone through, he began to wonder what was in store. His race was at the seventh stage of “advanced.” What would happen when he broke into epic? Was there something beyond epic? Did the System categorize “race” in the same way it did Classes?

The undead were everywhere in the forest, but they wandered in the smoke, listless, only lashing out at Guapo if he came close. Even then, they seemed disoriented, and Guapo was huge and fast and, more often than not, knocked the undead down before they could make contact with claws or rusty weapons. Victor was no expert on fires or the undead, but he had a feeling most of these slow, dumb zombies, shamblers, and even the ghouls would burn that night.

Guapo leaped over a fallen tree, crashing through smoldering underbrush, and Victor noticed that the smoke had a different quality now. It was hot and bitter, thick to the point that it burned even his advanced eyes. The air itself was stifling, and though it wasn’t much of a concern for him, he began to wonder how resilient Guapo was. The Mustang was a creature of spirit, of his spirit, and he’d seen him trample hundreds of undead, suffering many gashes and stabs, certainly more than a normal horse could handle. Would he be able to keep charging through these smoldering woods? What about when they came to the fire itself?

The thought of Guapo running into the flames, bravely pushing forward while he slowly burned, turned Victor’s stomach, and he decided that when they got to the worst part of the fire, he’d send Guapo home to the Spirit Plane and make his own way through. That time came sooner than he’d expected. The orange glow in the sky had steadily grown brighter, the smoke had steadily grown thicker and hotter, and now Victor could hear it, a great roar that brought forth images of ancient locomotives or landslides or something equally massive and destructive. He’d never been in the proximity of a fire like this, and he found himself awestruck by its size and power.

He climbed off Guapo as they crested a slight rise in the forest. Down the slope, he saw the advancing line of fire, like a living, hungry monster, surging through the woods. A ravenous orange wave that consumed the trees, the undead, and anything else that hadn’t fled; it was insatiable, relentless. Victor couldn’t see what was beyond the wall of flames or tell how deep the furnace extended. All he saw was smoke and ash and embers. “See you soon, Guapito.” He hopped off the Mustang’s back and sent him home in a cloud of sparkling Energy motes. Then, perhaps to bolster his confidence, he summoned his Banner of the Champion and charged toward those flames.

Victor’s massive legs ate the slope in just a few bounds, and then he was careening into the face of the towering inferno. Fire didn’t evoke fear in him the way it might most people, not since his ordeal with Boaegh, not since he’d nearly died from his magical fireballs and been burned from the inside out by the cleansing, scalding, final breath of the fire drake. More than that, Victor had a magma Core in his chest and an affinity for fire-based Energies. Combined with his titanic constitution and berserk healing ability, those things made him quite confident that he could pass through this fire largely unharmed.

As he ran into the whipping, furious flames, smashing past staggering, smoldering undead, Victor bunched his great thighs and, using his Titanic Leap ability, launched himself upward and forward. He exploded through the smoky, roaring fire, smashed tree branches that had yet to ignite, and then he was over the bulk of the smoke, and he could see and breathe clearly for a few seconds until he began to descend. He fell back down into the whirling, cinder-filled clouds, squinting his eyes against the sting, and landed with a crash that shook the ground. He slid through hot ash, blackened tree branches, and the still-smoldering corpses of the undead by the hundreds.

Victor smashed his way forward, bunched his legs, and did it again. It took him five leaps to make it through the worst of the forest fire, and then he was running through a smoky, blackened wasteland. Trees still stood in the forest, though they were bare of leaves and soot-covered. The undergrowth was gone, and nothing remained of the undead who’d been in the area save smoldering corpses. Victor summoned Guapo again and swung himself onto his back. The two of them continued their mad dash to the south.

While they raced through the burned forest, Victor took stock of himself. His skin was soot-stained, and his eyes stung from the smoke, but he was otherwise unmarred by the flames he’d passed through. Even his leather pants had survived, and he supposed the material, being resilient in itself and enchanted for self-repair, had been the right choice for this endeavor. Lifedrinker was, of course, fine. She’d drained an ancient magma wyrm of his Energy and had a strong molten heart; he could probably toss her in a volcano, and she’d come out all right.

With Guapo’s speed and the forest clear of many obstacles thanks to the fire, it didn’t take too long to break free of the trees, and soon Victor found himself charging over moonlit, grassy plains, the fire just an orange glow on the northern horizon, almost like a false sunrise. He’d been streaking over the grassland, Guapo’s hooves leaving a bright trail of sparkling Energy, for a few minutes when he felt a presence nearby and slowed. He looked up to see Kethelket’s orange and black wings blurring with effort as he streaked toward him. Keeping pace with the Naghelli prince was Victoria, a faintly luminous, spectral figure that effortlessly flowed on the breeze.

When they landed next to Guapo, two tiny figures compared to the enormous titan-sized Mustang, Victor could see that Kethelket was exhausted. He held down a hand and said, “Come on. Ride with me on Guapo for now. Recover your strength.”

“Aye.” Kethelket took his hand and pulled himself up, surprising Victor with his lightness; even Valla was heavier than the tall, thin Naghelli. “It’s for the best.”

“Victoria,” Victor turned to the spectral woman, “you lead the way.” And so they ran, racing over the plains and hills, Victoria setting a pace that strained even Guapo’s significant reserves of speed. If they passed within sight of enemy patrols or other creatures that might have been a threat, Victor never knew it. Enlarged as he was, riding a gigantic Mustang faster than any creature native to Fanwath could run, they didn’t linger in any area long enough to warrant caution. Besides, in Victor’s mind, they didn’t have time for caution; Kethelket’s people could be dying or suffering with each second they delayed.

Even considering all that, Victoria had other ideas, and she led Victor ever downslope, into ravines and gullies, alongside rivers and streams that no doubt wended their way toward the Silver Sea she’d spoken of. Using those hillsides and narrow canyons as cover and as a means of descent, there was little chance anyone could see them from a distance, even with Guapo’s showy, sparkling progress in the night.The original appearance of this chapter can be found at Ñøv€lß1n.

Guapo had no trouble racing through shallow waters, running on the uneven stones of the streambeds that would have tripped or broken the legs of a natural horse. His uncanny ability to balance and run over the ground without disturbing the soil seemed to know few limits, and so they made incredible time as the Death Caster flew ahead with Victor and Kethelket close behind on the spirit steed’s steady back. The moons were still out, and the sun had yet to brighten the eastern horizon when they charged out of a tree-choked gulley onto gravel-strewn sand that stretched for half a mile to the shores of a beautiful, placid body of water.

“How many of your kin were taken?” Victoria glanced over her shoulder, almost flinching, as she looked toward Victor, perhaps afraid she’d overstepped.

“More than a hundred.”

“With so many, they’re likely being held together. I don’t know Dunstan’s policies when it comes to dealing with prisoners, but he’ll likely want to choose several for his own . . . needs. These creatures are nocturnal, and though they are strong flyers, I can’t imagine they got here much ahead of us, considering they had to carry prisoners. With dawn nearing, I’m hopeful your people will be held until night falls again.”

“I thank you for the added hope.” Kethelket’s words were calm, but Victor could see his right hand gripping the hilt of one of his swords. His knuckles were strained, and Victor could hear the leather of the hilt squeaking under the pressure. He was angry or stressed or both. Of course he was, Victor silently chided himself.

“If you get your people free and I’m fighting, just get the fuck out of there, Kethelket. I can get away if I have to, but there’s no sense getting more of your people killed. They have us ten to one.”

“Dunstan is a powerful man, Victor. He has several underlings who rivaled Eric Gore Lust.” Victoria glanced at him again, perhaps gauging her odds of escaping the keep alive.

Victor kept walking, staring at the fast-approaching curtain wall, and thought about her words, about Kethelket and his people, and then about the greater campaign. What was he hoping to achieve in there? A rescue? No, he decided, it was more than that. “I’m not planning to leave that place until this Dunstan guy is dead.”

Kethelket jerked his head to stare at him, locking his dark eyes on Victor’s for a moment, but he didn’t say anything. He didn’t object, but he didn’t encourage him either. Victoria kept walking, and Victor could feel the tension thickening the air as she fought back some kind of retort or objection; she knew it wasn’t her place. Was she afraid he’d keep her with him until he was satisfied with his slaughter, or, worse, was overwhelmed and killed? That made him wonder what his intentions for her were. Did he expect her to fight against such wildly lopsided odds?

“Relax, Victoria. You’ll stay with Kethelket and go with him as he fights free of the keep with his people.”

“I . . .” She started, perhaps, to object, but Kethelket spoke before she could formulate her response.

“If I leave you to battle this keep full of monsters, Valla will slay me herself.”

“Well,” Victor sighed, “you need to make her understand; I’m not trying to kill myself. This is a keep with tunnels and caves under it. It’s not a battlefield where hundreds of enemies can face me at once; I intend to move and kill as I go, never allowing myself to be surrounded. Besides, listen: We’ll use stealth as much as possible and hopefully free your people before any fighting starts. Then I’m going to blitz my way to this Dunstan asshole and deal with him. Before you object, think about how you’re going to get your people out. You’ll need the distraction.”

“Dunstan’s people will suffer greatly with his demise. If you have a hope of winning, that’s how you must do it: Slay him early to weaken his many thralls.”

“Victor.” Kethelket stopped walking and turned to him. “I yield to your leadership, but I must argue this point. There are more than a hundred of my people in there. If we free them, that means odds of only ten to one, as you said earlier. If you slay their leader and weaken the other vampyrs, shouldn’t we stay and try to kill them all? Shouldn’t we capture this keep? You hinted as much before you left Black Keep.”

“Well, yeah, but as I traveled here with you two, I started to think about how precious the few remaining Naghelli lives are. Even if we win, but you lose half of your people, is it worth it?” Before Kethelket could respond or object, he shook his head and said, “No. It’s not. Listen, Kethelket. You will get your people out of that keep, and after I’ve killed Dunstan and you see the effect it has on his people, we can reassess. You can reassess.” Victor looked at Victoria. “Do you know how much it will affect his ‘thralls’ when he dies?”

“I do not. I know he has a stronger connection to them than Eric did to his. They’re, as I said, a different bloodline of vampyr. I don’t know their origin or history or anything that might be of use, only that Dunstan calls his thralls wampyr and refers to them as his children.”

“Okay.” Victor looked at the high, curved, gray-stone curtain wall and cracked his knuckles. He knew what he was going to do, and it didn’t matter what anyone said. Even if Valla were standing right there, his plan would be the same. He had a goal in mind, and there wasn’t going to be any turning him away from it. “It’s settled then. Stealth by any means until the Naghelli are free, then I’ll make my way to where Dunstan is and kill him. You guys will get free and wait to see what happens between me and the wampyr lord.” He couldn’t help the grin that exposed his teeth, shining in the moonlight. Had he really just announced that he was going into a big, dark castle to kill a vampire lord? Who was he, Van Helsing?