Cinders of the Past: A Storm of Ash

Black ash fell like snow within Drubain. The fires that consumed the city in a raging inferno seemed to burn hotter and wilder in the presence of Metasterix. The elder demon’s bright orange eyes flashed with glee at the imminent bloodletting. The sound of battle pierced the roar of the inferno. It was no longer a fight for human survival. Those who failed to escape the city were dead. All that remained were the monsters and fledgling demons tearing one another apart. It would not be long before the battle against the elder demon would attract them. Kurst readied his weapon and took several steps towards Metasterix’s left while Luren approached the elder demon’s right. The trio from the King’s Daggers took up a defensive position around Nealonder. The pack of winged hounds had recoiled from Metasterix’s presence and gathered around their master alongside Rennaul, Ethenial, and Vellemy.

Luren felt his blade hum with excitement. This won’t just be a clash between two of the Undying. But between two elder demons. Punishment and fire meeting shadow and consumption in battle. Luren turned his gaze to the black blade in his hand. Ulnath, no doubt you’d rather be free of this form that your soul has been twisted into. There was a way to free the elder demon from its form and unleash its fury upon Metasterix. Luren considered the choice. But what then? Two elder demons bent on destroying one another would only bring about greater destruction. Worse yet, I would be without a weapon and that would leave Kurst to finish off the victor alone. Luren tightened his grip on his black blade. His eyes trailed to the long, black talons of the elder demon. The dark, blade-like claws gleamed in the light of the fires.

Metasterix closed his eyes and raised his head to the sky as if he were savoring the moment. “We’ll have an audience soon enough my companion in everlasting life.” The elder demon’s voice was restrained, it no longer boomed like thunder.

It must be like speaking in a whisper to him. Luren halted and steadied himself. His eyes flicked to Kurst then back to their opponent, “tell me, how does an elder demon become an Undying? It’s not something I’ve ever seen or heard about.”

A small chuckle escaped the elder demon. “You know very little of the distant planes, don’t you? I suppose it’s only natural. Even the brightest among you scratch blindly at the greater mysteries.”

“What mysteries are there to discuss?” Kurst said.

The orange eyes of the elder demon shifted towards Kurst. “Plenty. Though one such as yourself is too willfully ignorant to even listen to what I’m going to say.”

Kurst stepped forward. Luren held up a hand to halt him. “How did an elder demon become an Undying? Such a thing is a gift from the primeval gods to mortals. It’s how they can most directly influence the mortal realm. What would be the point?”

“Not all elder demons were born in the distant planes. When an Undying meets their end, they are more than any ordinary mortal soul. We are exceptional, valued; not the mere currency that is traded between gods. I was once mortal like you.”

“Being an Undying is a path to godhood,” Luren said.

Metasterix frowned Although it was hidden in the cloud of smoke billowing from his body. “Not for the devout. It was the traitor god Kaldym who opened such a profane pathway.” Metasterix aimed a razor-sharp talon at Kurst. “Where do you think this one’s gods came from?”

Kurst's grip tightened on his weapon. “What?”

“Kaldym brought about the ascension of your ‘precious’ saints. Without the primeval gods yours would be nothing.”

Kurst leapt forward, swinging his hammer. Metasterix stepped back, leaving a trail of smoke as he moved. “You will die for this blasphemy.” Kurst swung again.

Metasterix batted the angered man away. “Don’t lose your temper with me because everything you believe is a lie.”

“Kurst, keep your cool. We’re not going to win if you get yourself killed.”

“I refuse to believe my father died for nothing.” Kurst attacked and smashed his hammer into Metasterix’s chest.

Pain ripped through Luren’s body as his chest was caved in by an unseen force. He fell onto his back straining for breath as his obliterated lungs and heart began to heal.

Metasterix stumbled back but stayed on his feet. The elder demon took several pained breaths as he recovered from the attack. Kurst retreated towards Luren.

“That was a good hit. It would have hurt far more had I not made our friend on the ground my brother in pain.” Metasterix massaged his wounded breast. “I would have thought that blessed hammer would have killed him. It seems that I’ll still have to take some measure of caution.”

Luren gasped as his lungs pieced themselves back together. His bloodshot eyes fell on Kurst. He took several more breaths of the ash filled air. “Kurst.”

“What?”

“Don’t ever do that again.”

Kurst glared at Luren. “You forget your place. Perhaps I’ll take a few more swings at this beast to teach you that lesson.”

Luren rose. He gave the Saint’s Sword a sharp shove. “Put aside the fanaticism or we’re both going to die. Then you can talk to your father about dying for nothing.”

Kurst swung his hammer at Luren who met the attack with his sword. The pair started to come to blows to the song of Metasterix’s laugh.

“I’ll kill you both,” Kurst roared.

Briar tendrils grasped the two men before they could come to blows again and separated the pair. More than a dozen wrapped around Metasterix but withered and turned to dust as soon as they touched the elder demon’s flesh. “Both of you quit this foolishness and focus,” Nealonder said. “We have a bigger problem to deal with.” She turned her attention to Kurst. “What the demon says is true. Like it or not, you need to come to terms with that fact. Your father lived and died for a lie, but it doesn’t mean the Five Saints are false. In truth they treat us mortals better than the primeval gods. As do the rest of the new gods.”

Metasterix growled. “Weak upstarts, all of them. Servants of a dead god.”

“Yet they are still greater than you.” The tendrils receded and released Luren and Kurst.

Glaring from behind the curtain of smoke that enveloped him, Metasterix said, “I’m going to flay you alive before sending you to my lord, witch.”

Luren scowled. “I’ll take your head before you can even try.”

Several weightless briar tendrils that were as thick as oak branches grew out from the armor of the men. Luren stared at the strange snake-like vines. Nealonder cleared her throat. “They won’t be able to attack the bastard, but they can take a few hits before needing to grow back.”

Luren smirked. “Thanks, Nealo.”

“It’s my pleasure.”

The pair charged the elder demon. Metasterix met them with a flurry of his black talons. With a single swipe Metasterix carved through the protective briars. Both Luren and Kurst took the opportunity and struck the demon. The black blade Ulnath bit into the meaty shoulder of Metasterix. Luren recoiled when Kurst’s hammer struck the elder demon’s gut. He fought through the pain to swing again. Sparks flew as blade met claw. With a swift swipe Metasterix sent Luren flying.

The wind fled Luren’s lungs as he struck the ground. His vision was blurred. He watched the vague figures of Kurst and Metasterix clash. The sound of battle extended beyond the fight against the elder demon. Luren turned his gaze. Blinking, he focused his sight on Ethenial, Rennaul, and Vellemy fighting back a horde of creatures. The fangs and claws of the winged hounds tore through the burned and scarred flesh of fledgling pain demons. Luren’s eyes locked with Nealonder’s. There was worry in her gaze. Luren pushed himself up, but he couldn’t feel his legs. Looking down, Luren saw that he had almost been separated from his lower body, held on only by thin strands and sinews. Although he had suffered many horrible injuries, his head still grew faint at the sight. Being hit by those claws is like being struck with a blessed weapon. I can’t recover from this like normal. Not on my own. “Nealo, help!”

Nealonder nodded and began making vague motions with her hands and arms.

Luren gritted his teeth and pulled himself back together. Threadlike briar vines began to stitch the divided man back together. Pain tore through the rest of Luren’s body as he regained feeling below his waist. Although it was muted by the sensory overload his body was suffering, Luren could feel the briar threads snaking through his legs, growing thicker as they spread. With a flick of Nealonder’s hands Luren kicked himself to his feet. Luren stared down at his legs that moved at another’s command. Of all the horrors I’ve suffered this is among the most disturbing. Trusting in Nealonder to keep him alive, Luren readied his sword once more.

Kurst had been struggling against the elder demon on his own to the point where Metasterix had begun toying with him, dancing around the warrior all the while taking halfhearted swipes to stab at Kurst. “If you are the greatest in your order, then I must admit that I’m heart broken. Though watching you bristle with rage is amusing.”

Luren’s legs drew him closer with an awkward gait. Metasterix was too busy mocking Kurst to notice Luren drawing in behind him. He swung and felt Ulnath cut into flesh and strike a rib. Metasterix howled Kurst struck the elder demon’s right arm, shattering it and Luren’s arm. Luren screamed. His dominant hand dropped from his blade.

“I hope your attack was worth it.” Metasterix attacked Kurst. The demon struck like a viper towards the man’s head, snipping and slicing flesh from bone.

Luren watched as the man fell back onto the ash smothered street. A dark, crimson hole gushing blood was all that was left of Kurst’s nose and his ear had been cut from his head. The man’s face was marred by several deep cuts forming a maze of wounds. Luren turned his gaze to the others. They struggled to hold their ground. Half the pack of winged hounds were dead. Sithasmus, the hound who was without half its face still fought, ripping and shredding through any foe foolish enough to approach. Ethenial, Rennaul and Vellemy were battered and bleeding, but managed to stand firm. The trio were coordinated and disciplined in their effort. They fought far better than Luren and Kurst had. Despite all their efforts, they were being pushed back at a steady pace as a pack of Theadros closed in on them. Luren cursed under his breath. This has gone from bad to worse.

Metasterix whirled around in a thick cloud of smoke. He struck at Luren who met the attack with his sword. Claws locked with blade as the two wounded combatants glared at one another. Luren’s legs buckled as Nealonder released her control of them. He fell to the ground as half a dozen thorns the size of a man’s arm impaled Metasterix’s body.

The elder demon let out a ragged cackle and began ripping the large thorns out of himself. “You think a few splinters can stop me?”

Nealonder responded with a flick of her wrist, several more enlarged thorns stabbed into the demon. Metasterix roared and stomped Luren in response.

Luren would have screamed had his chest not been crushed. Though the elder demon still stood upon him, Luren felt his body healing what it could. My chest is recovering faster than my waste. My arm that Kurst shattered is recovering at the same pace as my chest. Luren’s eyes flicked to Metasterix’s right arm. Though it wasn’t as damaged as his arm, Metasterix was still recovering from the hammer’s attack. If I had to wager it, I’d say his arm is recovering as quickly as my waist. So, I just need to avoid those claws of his. Luren grew faint as he drew several feeble gasps. With the last of his strength Luren hacked at the limb holding him down. The cold metal of Ulnath bit into the leg again and again until Metasterix recoiled from the assault.

“It seems you’ve got some fight in you after all,” Metasterix said. “But I admit, fighting you and your little friend was disappointing.”

Luren said nothing as he fought to remain conscious. His eyes drifted from Metasterix to Kurst who was bleeding on the ground and then to Nealonder who had been forced to take up her own defense against her assailants with whip-like briar vines. Ash fell on Luren like snow as he turned his gaze to the sky. The shrill cry of a raven pierced the air.

Luren blinked. A raven? Here? He scanned his surroundings. Metasterix was still recovering from his wounds as he struggled to stand on his wounded leg. His companions were still occupied by their assailants. A cobalt blue raven with haunting black eyes landed on Luren and began pecking at his chest. There was a second cry as a large raven whose feathers were blacker than any abyss landed on Kurst’s chest and began hopping up and down on the man.

Kurst muttered and made a feeble attempt to swat the bird away only to get his bit.

Both ravens turned to Metasterix and began to caw and cackle at the elder demon.

Metasterix growled. “Vexing creatures. They are mine to kill. Shut your beaks and let me finish in peace if you want a strip of their flesh.”

The ravens took flight and darted past Metasterix and into the portal. The magical tear heaved and buckled then began to swirl with the colors of the two birds as if they melded with the portal. The fires consuming Drubain began to die as a shadow fell over the burned skeletons of the buildings in the dead city. The monsters assaulting Nealonder and the others recoiled and fled.

“What is this?” Metasterix said.

A realization struck Luren. He began to laugh.

“What’s so funny?”

“You’d best start running,” Luren said. “Our fight is over.”

Metasterix raised his black claws to strike. “Then I’ll finish you now.”

Luren didn’t flinch, staring down the elder demon, he dared Metasterix to attack.

The claws came down. A crack sounded from the portal, Metasterix’s hand fell to the street. Blood and ash mixed in a thick pool on the ground. The demon stared at the bloody stump that was his arm.

A hoarse, feminine voice echoed from the portal, “You would do well to leave this place, son of pain.”

Standing in front of the glowing rift, was an old, decrepit woman with well-kept silver hair dressed in black and inky blue rags with both ravens resting on her shoulders. She stared at Luren with pale blue eyes. Luren recognized the impartial gaze. It’s been a long time, but I remember that look.

Metasterix turned. “You should not be here, false one.”

The old woman seemed unmoved by the demon’s barb, “Your master is my enemy, wretch. If he seeks to bring destruction upon this realm, then he will find that there are more than just myself who would oppose him.”

The elder demon rose to challenge the old woman, though his wounds had yet to fully recover.

Elentia’s words pierced the air, “Fall back, Metasterix. This is a fight beyond your abilities. Come to the Mistwood Forest to recuperate. We will plan our next move later.”

Metasterix paused and thought for a long moment in silence. Grumbling, he retrieved his severed hand and fled from the ruined city.

The old woman approached Kurst and placed a hand on the man’s chest. She muttered something under her breath. The wounds covering the man’s body began to heal, though the spell did little to replace his nose and ear. Kurst groaned and remained on the ground. The old woman came to Luren next. “You’re in a sorry state Malpharn.”

A slight grin pulled at the corner of Luren’s mouth. “My apologies for appearing in such a state before you, Lady Wanderer.”

“It’s not just your mutilated appearance. Your soul, your resolve. It’s pathetic. No wonder that creature was able to pierce your armor with such ease.” The woman placed a hand on Luren’s chest and as with Kurst mended his wounds.

Luren flinched as she ejected Nealonder’s briar vines from his body. Although grateful, Luren suspected there was more to this meeting than chance. “Why did you really intervene here.”

The old woman shrugged. “It is my nature as the Walker of the Paths.”

“My Lady,” Luren said. “Lying does not suit you.”

The Walker of the Paths smirked and returned to the portal. Before leaving she turned to Luren and said, “I could not let the god slayer die today.” The woman turned and left with the portal closing shut behind her.