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Sirius’ efficient and timely arrival proved the necessary turning point to shift the tides in their joint favor against the dark god’s servants. Gaunt, pale faces once jubilant in their small victory fell in despair, their cries of anguish and human suffering falling on deaf, uncaring ears as the two battle brothers parted them like wheat before the scythe. Bolter rounds and holy flame washing them away like the foul taint they were. Alone, a single space marine remained a terrifying force. Together, they were a living nightmare. They devastated those remained, putting to flight the few that survived. Standing utterly victorious amongst the smoldering ruins nary a single living cultist in sight Basilious took the moment to recuperate and reload. His expended tank lying forgotten in the ashes at his feet as he fastened fresh fuel to his arm mounted incinerator. Perhaps he had been too generous in his usage, already having expended two full canisters and locking his third into place. The town around him had been rather swiftly transformed from its humble origins into a hellscape, fragile homes collapsing into smoldering ruin. Hungry fire leapt from house to house in an uncontrollable maddening dance of destruction. Overhead dark chemically blue smoke clogged the sky, climbing ever higher in as a grim beacon to the Astarte’s wrath. A mark that could no doubt be seen for miles around.

Flames licked at his armored boots as he parted from the inferno, stepping into a less volatile portion of the town, where his respirator need not work so hard cleansing the pungent smog from the air. The fire would not doubt spread to these currently untouched buildings, but that would be in the next three minute or so. His gaze traveled across the abandoned portions. Either the residents were dead, concealed, or in total rout. Either way there were no threats currently. The fire would see to the hidden ones soon enough. Off to his left Sirius attended his own business, the two marines maintained standard combat dispersion, close enough to aid one another, but far enough apart that no lucky explosive would end them both. Their separate purges, though disparate in their methods were similarly effective. Basilious took a moment to attract Sirius’ attention, not to give warning but only to convey his thoughts. He did not require words to express his appreciation for the assistance his brother provided. Instead he gave Sirius a singular nod before turning and continuing in his hunt.

A robotically transmitted voice interrupted Basilious’ actions however, and the steel-clad warrior paused his progress. Their words of warnings and orders were followed by Olympio, demonstrating his talent in telepathic communication. Basilious’ lips twitched upward, unable to keep the competitive grin off his face. “Received Bieito, Justicar. Sirius and I shall change course and rendezvous with you at the gate. And we shall be on guard for the daemonic.” The young knight felt a tinge of what could only be good natured jealousy, though his conditioning prevented him from recognizing the truth of the feeling. Bieito would be the first of them to slay the hated foe. It was possible Basilious considered, that his fire had purged a few daemons, eradicating them under its holy power where eyes could not witness their demise, but he doubted it. Such fortune was not his to count upon, and could one really tally the death of daemons if one did not witness their slaying firsthand? A question for later he decided swiveling forty degrees to the right, moving through the remaining town post haste. A guarded, but rapid advance that met no adversary yet…





Hey @Sep I'm interested in this, and I have a idea for a character. But First do we volunteer for the Avatar slot?
Exhaustion weighed on Caleb’s heels, lead weights that dragged him down urging him to rest upon the comfortable bed awaiting him upstairs. Two packed days in a row, featuring both physical and emotional turmoil proved more than enough to drain even the most energetic twelve-year-old. His body ached in a dozen different places, Hazel’s purple restoration potion having done its work and faded back into obscurity. Carefully he pressed at some of the bruising scattered across his arms, chest, and face, exploring the many injuries reveling in the story each held. Every single one a testament to his efforts. A small smile twitched at the corners of his lips. He could just imagine the other children at Red Twig, and the jealousy in their eyes when he told his story, of all the adventures he took and interesting people he met and friendships he forged. How many could lay claim to having helped save an entire magical city? He would be the hero of Eagletown and Thorn, a feat worthy of knighthood surely. That would put a stop to Miss Ardia’s scorn.

He could recall the stern matron of nearly a year prior, dragging him inside by his arm and dumping him unceremoniously into a wooden tub, its soapy contents being considerably less than warm. Every orphan received a bath on a weekly basis, though some Caleb included, were more resistant to the scheduled washing, requiring the firm hand of the head mistress to ensure the cleansing mission was completed in a proper manner.

Caleb emerged from the soapy depths, spouting water, and giggling, mildly resisting Ardia’s attempts to search his dark hair for lice and other pests. “Ah, Miss Ardia I was practicing swordsmanship, every knight needs to know how to fight.” He rubbed water from his eyes, and in doing so splashed some onto the matron’s apron. The older woman’s lips turned down into a look of fearsome disapproval, and she dunked the child beneath the surface, a bit rougher than she should have. Letting him reemerge she took to him with soap and rag, clucking her tongue irritably.

“Practicing swordsmanship, bah, it looked to me like you were rolling in the dirt. Besides foolish boy, knights are the sons of the nobility. You might be many things Caleb Crowsnest, but of noble birth is not one of them.”

“Or, or!” Caleb argued, as he always did whenever this conversation arose. “By noble act of courage, gallantry, and selflessness where the lord or king deems the achiever worthy of such honor as knighthood.” Caleb long since memorized the letter of the law, that could potentially allow an orphaned peasant boy the distinction of reaching this most desired position, usually privileged only to the aristocracy. Rare though the award might be the addendum meant it was possible.

Ardia snorted, pulling him from the bath and toweling him dry. “As if you could ever manage that. Keep your head close to the ground Crowsnest, and put these foolish dreams to rest, you will keep yourself from getting hurt that way. Get dressed and run along now. And do try to stay clean!”

A gentle pull on Caleb’s hand grounded him back in the present. “Mister Caleb?” Roger’s voice held a note of concern, and he observed the child more closely. They were standing in the Nieve’s household kitchen, and Roger had just finished putting together a quick sandwich for the child to eat before he was put to bed. “Are you quite alright? You seem to have drifted off there for a moment.”

He gave himself a little shake, letting the last dregs of the memory fade. “Yeah, I’m fine. Only tired that’s all.” He assured the doctor. “Thanks.” He remembered to say when Roger gave him the food. He bit into the bread and meat hungrily, having forgotten the last time he had the chance to eat.

Sitting the boy down and letting him finish the quick meal Roger set about making several more for the rest of the family, who were no doubt starving as well. “I’m certain you are tired, more like completely fatigued after today. Once you finish you can take John’s old bed upstairs again, he will no doubt be sleeping on the infirmary one down in my office.”

His face fell, and the food turned to ash in his mouth. Setting the half-finished sandwich down he forced himself to swallow, his grumbling stomach forgotten. “Is John going to be alright?” Caleb asked, a conflict of both spite and concern waging in his heart.

The fleshless hands stilled in their work, his skull dipping slightly. “I don’t…” Roger caught himself and resumed the finishing touches on the platter. “John is one of the most stubborn individuals I know, he’s strong, and has every reason to live. If anyone could survive such an ordeal, it would be him. Besides, he will have world renown doctor, and a potion master attending him.”

“Oh, alright then.” Roger seemed convinced, and he made sound arguments. Caleb resumed eating, feeling moderately better. Byures, John, all of them could be saved from the brink of death, besides outside forces best efforts to finish them off. Caleb felt a happy thrum in his heart and he finished his meal jumping up from the kitchen table despite himself. “Hey Roger.”

The doctor turned from his work. “Yes?”

“Could I go out to Edward first, I know you’re going to be busy, but I can find the upstairs on my own once I get too tired. If its alright of course. I just want to make sure he’s okay.”

The doctor wanted to deny the request, seeing the dark rings around Caleb’s eyes, and the no doubt numerous bumps and scratches that needed rest to heel. Yet, he could not bring himself to say no, not right now. “Very well, but you need sleep. Do not be out too long. He’s probably worried about you as well, so it’s for the best I suppose.”

Giving the doctor a heartfelt thanks you Caleb scurried from the kitchen, passing through the parlor on the way to the back door. He paused just long enough to collect Flower, the seagull squawking happily at the boy’s presence. She hopped onto his shoulder and pecked at his ear, in a friendly but ‘don’t leave me again’ manner. Her injured wing was still tightly wrapped in its makeshift cast, but she looked much better after a full day of preening and rest. Thus, reunited with the first companion he made on his journey Caleb entered the Nieve’s garden space, spotting the golden equine at once. Edward gave an excited shout running to meet his friend halfway.

“You’re alright!” He whinnied, not even trying to conceal the relief in his voice. The young hippocampus pressed his head against Caleb’s chest, until the boy wrapped his arms around the horse’s neck.

“Of course, I am.” He chuckled releasing the embrace and stepping back. “You said I would be, remember?”

“I was still worried.” Edward pawed at the turf, looking slightly embarrassed. “After I saw all those gnomes, going inside. There were so many… I ran for help but what if I wasn’t fast enough…? And Sara and Roger, they are only two people. What if I was wrong and you did get hurt, really hurt.”

“Our friend saved us.” Caleb explained, trying to spare his friend’s guilt. “Byrues the Hunter, he was amazing… Its kind of a long story actually. A lot happened after we went inside.”

They settled inside the stables to each tell their version of events. Edward lay down in the hay, and Caleb rested his head against the horse’s broad chest while Flower perched above them, watching over both youth as they swapped tales. They soon lost track of time, and when no on came out to find him Caleb felt himself starting to drift. The unorthodox conditions were oddly comfortable, the hay felt soft and the air warm. Evening shadows cloaked the stable in cozy darkness, and Edward had long since fallen asleep. Glancing up he could see Flower, her head tucked under her good wing. Edward’s rhythmic breathing was lulling, and Caleb lacked the energy to move. Deciding the effort of returning to his offered bed upstairs would be too much Caleb let himself slowly slip into unconsciousness…
A hush fell over the hall, everyone, even the lungless Roger paused to catch their breath. A stale scent hung heavy in the air, replacing the sickly-sweet rot that came before. Underfoot something crunched beneath his boot and it took Caleb a moment to realize all the stain glass windows were shattered, their remains nothing more than thousands of sparkling multi-colored shards lying scattered across the ruined chamber. The damage did not end there. Smoldering holes from blasts were patterned randomly across the walls and floor, and more than a few corpses rested in unnatural poses amongst the battered upturned furniture. It felt surreal to walk amongst the desolation, as if all the damage and suffering were nothing more than his imagination. He stalled beside Byures, sucking his breath in at the alligatorman’s countless wounds. He felt Roger walk up behind him, laying a skeletal hand on his shoulder. For all his centuries of life and unlife Roger never forgot the sting of death, and the suffering the grim passage brought in tow.

Checking the sleeping warrior’s pulse, the best he could manage on the unfamiliar anatomy Caleb glance back towards the reanimated doctor, his blue eyes pleading for good news. Roger could only turn his pale face away. “I did all I could… He is beset by a poison and more bolts and gaping wounds than should be feasibly possible. I am quite sure both his legs are fractured as well. Any lesser creature would have perished already.”

The boy’s lower lip trembled. “You can’t let him die; he saved my life… You gave him medicine for the poison.”

“Not exactly.”

“Then…?”

“I induced him into an herbal sleep.” Roger said gently. “Slowing his heart rate to stem the bleeding and the spread of the poison, or if worst comes, inhibit the senses so his death might be less agonizing. Perhaps if I had time, and he were in my infirmary there would be something I could do. But he is to heavy to move, and too far gone for me to retrieve my remedies. Who knows, he is fearsomely strong, perhaps he will fight off both the venom in his veins, and the trauma of his many, many wounds on his own.”

Taking the giant’s limp hand in his own, Caleb could not keep silver tears from slipping down his cheek, dampening the dull green scales. To think, he attempted to fight the Hunter and save the council members not long ago, only to be mourning beside his inert form less than an hour later. It was almost overwhelming for the child, who underwent so much already. Roger maintained the comforting pressure on the grieving boy’s shoulder for a moment longer. He needed to check the others and see if anyone survived Darmae and Scer’s wrath. Just casting a cursory inspection of the chamber’s interior did not instill him much hope, but he had to try.

“We can’t leave him.” Caleb begged, when the skeleton move to depart. “That would be cruel, no one should die alone.”

“You and I will stay beside him.” John offered from a few paces away, where he stood sentinel beside the looming chamber doors. Caleb fixed the man a piercing blue stare, that permeated John’s very soul. He squirmed under the pressure, but he had spoken his words honestly and held the boy’s gaze. Let him examine my conscious, I am not lying. Not this time. John reassured himself releasing a grateful sigh when Caleb gave him a small, acknowledging nod. They would not abandon their vigil beside the Hunter, not unless imminent danger forced his hand.

Roger flitted from body to body, first checking his most prevalent charges, clucking his nonexistent tongue at Caleb’s sprained wrist, John’s battered shoulder, and Rainbow’s broken nose, but otherwise found nothing that warranted immediate medical attention. The rablin himself chose to stand watch over the broken Darmae, though not much watching was needed. She lay transfixed upon the ground, an occasional spasm rippling across her body as a faint, high pitched whine escaped her lips. Her hair, once long and proud had melted away, leaving nothing but a scared scalp in its place. Finally, her eyes glowed a pure white, no pupil or iris remaining as she stared unblinking towards the ceiling. There is nothing, Roger decided, I could do for her, even if I felt so inclined. He moved on. Every corpse needed little inspection to determine their fate. Indeed, none were even merely mortally wounded, being far past rigor mortis. After a lengthy depressing search Roger stumbled across Mason and felt a rise of hope. The young council member lived, and he even appeared mostly intact. Grasping the young man under his arms the skeletal doctor dragged him away from the wall and into the light. The redhead moaned, but remained unconscious, a sizeable lump on the backside of his head proving to be the culprit of his current state.

Near the door John felt himself slouching, his limbs trembling not from exhaustion, but from the magical strain. His very heart burned but he kept his mouth closed, not wishing to disturb the busy doctor over minor concerns. Minor, he huffed to himself. After what I have consumed I my heart might give out any second. A part of him felt he deserved this pain and he determined it best to suffer in silence. No sooner had he decided this when his enhanced hearing suddenly pricked his ears, and he straightened up, swords at the ready. “Someone’s coming through the entrance hall.” He warned, preparing himself in case the newcomer proved a foe. The large door pushed open, and none other than Sara Nieve stepped through, and dagger in her hand. “Mother…’ John breathed, shocked and somewhat ashamed. The withering glare she gave him was all he needed to remind him of his mistakes. Sara looked over the mess left from the battle; her lips pressed into a thin line.

“I found Jake.” She assured John, before he could raise the question. She had seen it in his eyes, the guilt that resided there burned deep. Good, he ought to feel guilty she thought bitterly. “He’s fine traumatized but alive. Ribbon is keeping him safe.”

“Good…” John longed for her forgiveness, for her to reach out and hold him one last time. How could he tell her? How could he forgive himself, even if death felt so close?

“We should go…” Sara looked to each one of them, from Roger tending a wounded council member, to Caleb holding the hand of a dying warrior, and Rainbow, crouched beside a damaged elderly woman, and lastly to her firstborn son, who seemed so conflicted and lost. “There’s more gnomes arriving, almost a full army’s worth and I imagine they would not be happy to see all this.” She waved a hand to indicate the destruction and loss of life on both sides.

The child’s stained and battered features rose in protest, clutching protectively at Byures once mighty hand, now limp and weak. “Nooo, we can’t leave him behind. What if he wakes up and no one is here? I must thank him, for saving me, for rescuing all of us! He deserves better.” Caleb’s impassioned argument did little to sway the woman’s mind from the imminent danger, though her motherly instincts kicked in and she crouched beside Caleb, enveloping him in a hug.

“I know, I know it will be okay.”

“No, no its not okay. He was our friend, the first one we made here.” He twisted in her embrace so that he could press his face into her shoulder, small but strong fingers griping the fabric of her blouse. Her presence and the soothing circles she rubbed into his back reminded him of the Arrocmor tree, and the comfort he derived from that experience. Was this, he wondered, was this what it felt like to be comforted by a mother? Maybe not exactly the same, he decided eventually, but close enough. “We just can’t leave him alone. Please.”

“Caleb,” she pushed to away to arm’s length, holding him by the shoulders so she could stare him in the eye. He pouted, longing for the embrace he had wanted his entire life, but he said nothing, the fear of being denied holding further than his desire to ask for more. “This, this Crocarkil saved your life today, and was your friend?”

Caleb sniffed and nodded. “Yeah, his name was Byures the Hunter.”

Byures the Hunter! She almost shouted aloud in shock. How in the name of the Great Oak Tree did you become friends with him? She decided not to question it, deeming the boy and his mysterious array of companions both large and small, were an instinctive part of his nature. Whether they were dangerous criminals or otherwise. After all, he’d seemed quite fond of John earlier. “If…” She began, a bit hesitantly still slightly thrown by the reveal. “If Byures here saved you and risked his own wellbeing in the process. Do you think if he could speak, would he want you to forfeit his sacrifice so that you might remain beside him until his final moments?”

He wanted to deny her logic, but his rational mind would not let him. He rubbed his eyes, giving the slightest shake of his head.

“No, I don’t think so either. He would want you safe. Come child,” she took his hand and pulled him to his feet. “All of you, we should leave now.”

“John, do you think you can carry Councilman Mason?” Roger inquired as they gathered themselves to depart.

John favored the lad a quick glance. “Aye, he’s slight enough.” Stooping the larger man, pulled the red haired druid across his shoulders, bending forward under the weight. John’s muscles burned, and his legs trembled but he did not give out or even acknowledge his internal agony.

“What of Darmae?” Rainbow stood beside the crippled woman, unwilling to help her, but uncertain as to whether it would be safe to let her fall back into her ally’s hands. Sure, she might have been beaten for now, but if she could be healed and cast her spell upon Scer, who remained trapped within the heart of the Great Oak. What of Darmae he wondered…?

Necessity brought Basilious to the forefront. All around him the battle-brother could hear his comrades unleash a withering barrage upon the unfortunate first arrivals, suppressing the gathering horde. Bolter retorts echoed across the battleground, their concussive blasts painting gruesome abstract depictions on the rustic buildings. A meaningless crimson graffiti splattered by every meeting of bolt and flesh. Their covering fire would be sufficient for now Basilious calculated, its precise and lethal rounds eliminated any man foolish enough to attempt a counter response. The occasional desperate laser would hiss past the armored warrior’s bulk, but none of his opposition received the luxury time required to properly aim, even at such an obvious target. However, the cultists were gathering. Dark shapes flitted between the out-ringing buildings, forming hastily establish units. Some, Basilious noted, lugging slightly more concerning weaponry towards the outer defensive structures. One such squadron crawled beneath the cover of a haggard makeshift bunker, six to seven in total count. Working frantically, they brought together the pieces of a heavier weapon, one far more concerning for the assaulting force. Basilious felt his dark eyebrows rise beneath his helmet visor. A lascanon? Hefting his incinerator in both hands the grey clad marine changed course, lowering his head, and sprinting across the open ground intent on eliminating the threat to his brothers before they finished establishing the base mount.

He reached them at full pelt just before they finished screwing on the cast iron barrel. One man screamed a warning and Basilious knew some half a score of autoguns were rising to meet his challenge. Their weaponry could prove a danger, through sheer volume if nothing else but his eyes were locked on the dark-skinned man swiveling the lascanon towards the encroaching marine. The cultist blanched, he appeared half dressed and disheveled, as if he only just woken and thrown on a pair of pants before rushing out to join the fight. In hindsight, he might have been better served sleeping in. His fear got the better of him and he fired hastily, predictably. Basilious lurched to the left, the lascanon swiveled to the right, and a blaze of red energy sailed off towards space no doubt doing tremendous damage to whatever it eventually hit.

The men panicked, some tried to run throwing down their weapons. Others fired, the rounds glancing pathetically off his heavy armor. Basilious took heed of Kallikles’ order and showed them no mercy. Bringing his weapon to bear he unleashed a flood of pure white flames across the crowd, so intense flesh melted off bone, hardwood crumbled into ash and even stone singed cherry red. A putrid scent rose into Basilious nostrils, the powerful filtration system unable to cleanse it completely from the air. Stepping over the ruined bunker he turned his vengeful attention on the houses, purging the humble residences in a deluge of holy fire. He did not spare the trigger; fuel would not be an issue as he carried more than enough spare cannisters on his person. Once he felt confident the four houses could not possibly hold any survivors he pressed deeper, reporting his movements and actions to Justiciar Kallikles through his communication systems. Being separated from the squad, even if he left a rather obvious incendiary trail of his progress could be potentially dangerous.

“Justiciar, the enemy heavy weapons installation has been neutralized. I am moving to reconvene.” He cut off, eyes narrowing as a second enemy unit appeared, engaging him from further down the dirt street. Fully equipped cultists dodged in and out of ramshackle structures, loosing off small bursts before taking cover again. Small arms fire ricocheted off his armor, leaving irritating marks across the burnished surface, one impacted his head leaving the young warrior’s ears ringing. He attempted to charge, but his foe proving clever in their machinations fell back, drawing him further in until it seemed their exasperating fire descended on him from every possible angle. When a rocket flew past, detonating off a wooden wall sending splinters scattering across the no man’s land Basilious decided a tactical withdraw would be in order.

Falling back behind the burned-out wreck of his earlier attentions, Basilious slid the incinerator into its sizeable holster, drawing forth a more practical weapon for this slightly longer-range engagement. He needed to rejoin his squad, their unit organization being a decisive part in emerging victorious against this seemingly endless horde. His armor integrity surely was not holding up to regulatory standards after his unsuccessful foray. An involuntary grin spread across his face, hidden by the heavy bevor and face plate, but there none the less. Clever rats, he almost admired their tenacity in proving a challenge to him, and their cleverness in keeping him separated from the others. Killing one marine would be victory enough for them this day, even if they were wiped out to a man for their efforts. Considering the surprisingly lethal arsenal they were bringing to bear such a thing was possible, if he stayed separated from the rest of his squad that is. Basilious had no intention of shaming his Chapter however, he would not fall to cultists this day. Nor any other! “Brothers, I require assistance near the burning structures. I am suppressed and outranged, by more than a dozen heavily armed hostiles.” He reported, turning his bolt pistol on a particularly bold individual who peeked around the corner. The cultist lost his head, but more would soon arrive.
For all the abuse his body endured over the last forty-eight hours, Caleb never lost his natural agility. Acting more on instinct than coherent thought the boy set the dagger blade between his teeth kicking off the ground at the very last second, launching himself into a forward roll. Darame’s veritable barrage of magical attacks exploded across the floor behind him, sending splinters of blackened wood scattering everywhere. In the foreground John weathered the worst of her attentions, crouching behind his shield. Every blast drove him a little further back, but he held firm. His defense’s integrity holding steady for the time being. The women paused to catch her breath, run ragged by the incantations she spouted. John took the opportunity to rush forward, only to be stopped in his tracks by a fresh wave from Darmae.

Grateful for the lull John’s charge granted, Caleb crouched on all fours, chest heaving from his exertions. Breathing irregularly around the dagger clenched in his jaw he stood and darted across the open space, sliding behind an overturned table as a hastily cast fireball seared overhead, singing his scalp, and exploding off the opposite wall.

Small green hands dragged him further under cover, patting down his smoldering garments. “You okay?” Rainbow asked, once he assured himself the boy was not on fire.

“Fine, were you able to cast the counter?” Caleb peeked over the table edge.

Rainbow shook his head. He tried several times while the other two distracted Darmae. Every attempt of the long incantation resulted in a surge of power, as if a massive electrical charge would tear forth and destroy the gnome’s infection, but it would fade and die before freeing the Great Oak from Scer’s hold. “I don’t think I’m near enough to the heart, I think I have to stand directly atop where Scer made his entry. Plus the spell needs a living conduit, something for the magic to channel through in order to enter the tree other than the caster.”

“Like what?” Caleb asked distractedly, ducking down. A mammoth thorn pierced the table, sinking halfway through the hardwood and fortunately missing them both.

Scanning the ancient text Rainbow grimaced at the gravity of what the ancient mages inscribed there. The toll would be too high. “Someone… It needs someone to channel through.”

“Use me, I’ll get close to wherever it is, and you cast the spell on me.” Caleb volunteered at once.

“NO!” Rainbow raged, a bit to quickly than he should have. He calmed himself, his mind racing. “No, that wouldn’t work, because Darmae is standing directly over the sport where I need to cast it.” They both peered over the table edge. Sure, enough Darmae made her stand at the very heart of the council chambers, where the rot was deepest set. Thin tendrils of black smoke wafted from the scared surface, giving an almost hazy appearance to the witch. The wood, caked in foul magic pulsated against the disease, as if the tree itself fought back in vain.

The two conspirators mulled over their limited options. Caleb eagerly proposing wildly less viable plans, and Rainbow shooting each one down. Every rebuffed plan left the boy a little surlier, and at last he threw his hands up at a loss for what to do. “How about,” he snarked irritably. “You just cast the spell on Darmae since she’s standing in the way anyhow.”

Rainbow’s eyebrows shot up at this, admittedly unorthodox suggestion. “Actually…” The spell’s rebound could be near lethal for the conduit, he garnered that much at least from the written text. He would not risk such exposure on Caleb, but perhaps on a less willing host. One conveniently standing directly atop the target zone, blasting deadly magic at them from her hands. “That might work, which leaves only one problem. Getting close enough for me to touch her. We’d need a distraction of some kind, a big one that’ll really take her attention.”

“Like John’s flashbangs!” Caleb suggested at once. “They’d make a rather good diversion, and we could charge forward, and you could cast the spell, and I would use the poison dagger. In tandem, we’d save the tree and finish her off.”

“Err, yeah.” Rainbow agreed, realizing he had not shared the fatal aspects of the incantation yet. “How do we relay the plan to John?”

“Just yell for him to throw a few explosives?”

“Wouldn’t that negate the point of a diversion though?”

Caleb shrugged, his battered face twisting up in annoyance. Rainbow seemed so quick to critique his plans, but not provide a suggestion of his own. “I guess, but they’re pretty concussive. Even if she knew they were coming, it would not really change anything. She still doesn’t know of our part.” A scream in the background cut their deliberations short. John’s shield finally gave way to the torrent of punishment it received crumbling into dust beneath the force of an energy blast. John flew off his feet clattering down several meters away. Cackling Darmae advanced on the fallen man, raising her hands, a spell on the tip of her tongue.

“She’s moving.” Rainbow whispered, quite unnecessarily.

“No time to waste, go!”

Rainbow tried to pull the boy back to little avail. “Caleb wait we still need a distraction!”

Boy and rablin leapt from their hiding spot, one looking quite a bit more hesitant than the other even as the chamber doors exploded off their hinges, the titanic Byures and Roger surging inside. Darmae hesitated, eyes flashing between the growing number of hostiles advancing from every angle…




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