Chapter 142: Chapter 137 – Willow in the Western Wind V

Chapter 137 - Willow in the Western Wind V

Driven by a charged vector, the dagger hidden in Claire’s cloak cracked through the air like a whip. It nearly pierced the elf’s skull, but he deflected it with a magical puff. It was a breath attack, a blast of wind, sourced from within his throat. The spell caught not only the weapon, but also its wielder, blowing both away with overwhelming force.

He appeared in front of her before she landed and swung his sword at a blinding speed. She was able to catch the overhead cleave with her other dagger, but the defense was ineffective. His blade glided through the metal and cut into her flesh. None of her scales or bones were able to put up any resistance. Not against the cursed blade, nor its master.

The severed limb splattered onto the ground, blood erupting from its stump. She wanted to howl as waves upon waves of agonizing pain shot through her spine. But she clenched her teeth and bore with it.

Because it was the expected result.

She knew about his weapon. He had bragged about it when he taught her to better handle a sword, and demonstrated its efficacy on one of the labyrinth’s walls. It wasn’t something that she could handle with the shoddy tools at her disposal; she had entered the battle with the expectation that she would be unable to escape unscathed. That was why she ignored her throbbing shoulder and pressed on.

The attack that followed was a charge. Repositioning her tail, she launched herself towards him and rammed her spike towards his chest. The only point of divinity that had regenerated since Frederick’s death was immediately put to use. Her shard grew to three times its usual length and artificially extended her range. He tried to cut through it, but unlike her blade, the shard could not be cut. The resistance caught him off guard, throwing him off for just long enough for her to plunge it through his ribs. A quadrupedal bloodrush at its finest.

She grabbed his body with her remaining arm and threw him to the wayside. His innards were torn apart as the true ice emerged from the side of his body, a trail of guts following behind him. She had morphed the catalyst into a hand and grabbed a fistful of whatever she found in his ribcage’s depths. The sequence was swift, but not swift enough for her to avoid the counter that followed. His blade clipped past the side of her head as he fell, taking one of her precious ears along with him. The copious amount of blood expelled from the wound dyed her hair a deep crimson. The world began to distort, to tilt on an axis, as her hearing was thrown off, but she quickly crafted an icy prosthetic. The same was done for her arm; she filled the limb’s spot with a chunk of ice, shaped just like the part it was meant to replace. It was clunky and difficult to manipulate; the substitute barely did her any good, but it was the only way to stop the bleeding.

The damage that Zelos’ sword inflicted was damage that couldn't be regenerated. Each cut ate through not only her flesh, but also her maximum health. Like the deceased goblin, she needed a priest or some other divine power to remedy her broken body.

When she spun around again, she found her opponent already back on his feet. She had certainly dealt a heavy blow, but no longer was she capable of doing the same again. Her shard was already shrinking. She was out of divinity. There was no more fuel for its growth.

The elf opened his mouth as he flicked the blood off his weapon. From his lips flowed a melody, one made of bright, vibrant notes. The lyrics told the tale of a lost elven forest, made of willows with branches stripped bare by a raging storm.

His body began to glow a light shade of orange as their surroundings warped. Trees—willows—sprang from nearby buildings, their leaves the same oranges, reds, and browns as his hair. Dark rain clouds, crackling with lightning, filled the sky and obscured the heavens. The sunny afternoon was gone, replaced by a pouring rain that chilled her cold-resistant body to its core. There was something particular about the squall. She could sense it. She could feel its rains and winds against her face, but she knew it wasn’t there. Beckard, who still lay unconscious by the side of the road, was unaffected. His clothes failed to flutter, and none were showing even the slightest hint of absorbing the moisture brought about by the downpour.

She was its only target, the only one that could feel the westerly wind.

It was no different from any of Sylvia’s tricks. The bard’s song was distorting reality, taking into its spell all that heard its tune. It could have been avoided, had she plugged her ears before he began, but as it stood, it was too late. He had already plunged her into his pocket of the world, his personal reality, where the rules were exactly as he defined.

He raised his blade overhead as the song picked up its pace. Attracted by the lightning rod, a bolt of thunder descended from the firmament and struck his sword. Rather than frying him, it served instead to charge his blade. The energy remained within his weapon’s edge, pulsing in a strange mix of blues and yellows. The colours seemed to shift back and forth as he walked towards her, but they remained distinct, never melding together.

She whipped her dagger at him, but a quick swipe of the blade severed its edge from its chain. Another rogue would have given up on the weapon, but Claire did just the opposite. Betting on the broken piece, she magically grabbed its handle as soon as it hit the floor and drove it into one of his ankles. From there, she raised it, pulling it towards his core in an attempt to destroy his leg, but he tensed his muscles and locked the shabby knife in place. Casually lifting his foot, he grabbed the blade, pulled it out, and crushed it in his hands. She hoped that it would at least cut his fingers, but the metal offered no resistance. It crumbled like limestone and turned to dust in his palm.

Her mind raced as she looked around for an alternative. There were no other weapons for her to use. Pieces of rock had broken off their surroundings when the trees sprouted from within them, but she doubted that they would be of use. They weren’t heavy enough, and even if they were, he would be able to dodge them with ease. The trees themselves were just as incompatible. Their wood was too soft and brittle; she could easily rip off one of their branches, but they would just be cut in half, or perhaps even ignored.

There were no objects available to her.

So she grabbed a piece of the storm.

Raising her hand, she pointed a finger towards the crackling lightning overhead and seized control of its current. The impulse abided by her will and descended from the heavens, but it had no effect. Like the first strike, it was caught by the elf’s sword and stored within its blade. When she next raised her hand, she grabbed not one bolt, but five. Each of her fingers ordered a different current, but the attack never landed. The sky shattered before she could lower her hand, breaking into a million fragments like a mirror fallen to the floor. With the heavens went the bard’s illusion. The trees, the wind, the clouds. Everything was broken to bits.

“What the heck guys! Knock it off!”

A fox appeared between them, fangs bared and ears pulled back. She looked between the two fighters before standing up on her hind legs, crossing her arms, and huffing.

“Claire! You promised me you wouldn’t try to kill my dad!”

The lyrkress didn’t respond. Her eyes were kept focused on the swordsman, whose blade was still raised. He was slowly inching forward, one step at a time. Every time his daughter looked away.

“Stay out of this, Sylvie. She killed my friends.” He spoke under his breath. His voice was steady, but not quite steady enough to conceal his rage.

“That doesn’t mean I’m going to let you kill mine!”

A bubble appeared around the elf and trapped him inside. He tried to break free, both by singing and slashing, but neither approach was particularly effective.

“I wasn’t trying to kill him,” said Claire. She was still tense and her eyes were still on him.

Sylvia planted her face in her paws. “Oh, shush! You were totally gonna if you got the chance and you know it.”

“Maybe.”

“Definitely!”

Claire turned her eyes away, without another word. “It doesn’t matter. It wouldn’t have been possible.”

“See! I knew it!” grumbled Sylvia. “Geez. You’re so predictable…”

The fox shook her head before walking up to her father and putting her paws on her hips. He had already stopped struggling by the time she approached. His blade was back in his sheath and his hands were in his pockets, but his face had yet to return to its usual gentle demeanor, covered instead with a scowl.

“Dad, calm down. Please,” said Sylvia.

“I can’t, Sylvie. She killed Archie, and I think she might’ve even gotten Fred.” His voice was carried through a hole that appeared at the top of the watery prison.

“You stabbed him first,” said Claire.

“That’s bec—”

The shout was cut off by a glare. “You picked your side. All I did was join it.”

Log Entry 5092
Paralyzing Gaze has reached level 24.

“My side? My side!?” He smashed a fist against the bubble, his lips twisted into a furious scowl and exposed his clenched teeth. “You killed my friends!”

“Because you struck them first.”

“Claire! Knock it off! You’re just making it worse!” Another bubble appeared out of thin air and captured the lyrkress. The frustrated fox that was its origin slowly looked between her father and her friend with an annoyed groan. “Both of you are idiots!”

“I don’t want to hear that from you,” mumbled the rogue. Her voice was isolated, within the bubble. She could hear it bouncing back to her instead of leaking away, but the fox reacted nonetheless.

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“I heard that!” Sylvia grumbled and stamped her feet on the ground. “Anyway! Whatever! Dad, explain. Keep it short and sweet or I’ll shut you up again!”

The elf clenched his fists as his speech hole reopened. “They weren’t supposed to die. Alfred said that I just had to incapacitate them.”

“Alfred? You dealt with Alfred?” A second male voice entered the conversation with a groan. A hand against his head, Beckard slowly pushed himself off the ground and hobbled over to where the elf and the lyrkress were contained.

“They both did,” said Sylvia, with a sigh. “And thanks to that, everyone’s plans got completely messed up.”

“Both of you?” The cat pressed his paw against his snout. “Claire… does not surprise me. But Zelos? Why? You were supposed to be one of our sworn brothers, one of Flux’s chosen champions.”

“I was,” he mumbled. “I was.”

“You… were?” asked the priest, his throat dry. “Zelos… you…” Fury flared through his eyes, but only for a moment. A single breath was enough to drive it away. “Please, Zelos. I know you must have had a reason. So please, tell me. What happened?”

“Why, that’s quite simple, really.” A human stepped out from a portal, right between the two seasoned veterans. With the celestial’s advent came a sudden end to the bloodbath. All of the monsters suddenly stopped, just as they had the previous night. “He was offered a deal he couldn’t pass up.”

All seventeen of the artifacts crafted by the cat-sith’s dead companions were floating in the air behind him. The explosives were not just accounted for, but also disarmed. They had within them not a speck of the magic that they were meant to have absorbed.

“Alfred.” The name was muttered under the cat-sith’s breath as he raised both his arms. His gauntlets were gone, but he balled his paws into fists nonetheless.

“Oh, give it a rest already.” The human rolled his eyes, planted his cane down in front of him, and sat in an invisible chair. “If I wanted you dead, then I would have just had her,” he pointed at Claire, “maul you while you were unconscious. The two that I wanted to be rid of are already gone.”

Zelos took a deep breath, one that was visibly stuck in his throat. “You said you wouldn’t kill them.”

“And I didn’t.”

“Hiring an assassin is hardly any different,” said the man, with a glare. “You lied to me.”

“I didn’t lie to you. Their deaths came from an unplanned but admittedly welcome miscalculation.” Again, he looked at the lyrkress. “She said she wouldn’t work for me, which is why I contacted you instead. Now I owe two people for what was effectively the same service.” A small sigh escaped his lips as he shook his head. “Truly unfortunate. It feels as if I’ve been scammed.”

“Zelos… I don’t believe this.” Beckard slowly shook his head as he fell to his knees and clutched his head. “You tried to ruin everything, for payment?” His paws were trembling and his claws were exposed. “What could he possibly offer you that Flux would not? Where is your faith, elf? How could you just throw it all away?”

“I’m sorry, Beck. I’m sorry. I just,” the swordsman pressed a hand to his brow, “I just don’t think I want to destroy Llystletein.” He trailed off as he backed away from the magical prison’s wall and sat down. “I’ve been here for seventy years. I know all its ins and outs. And I’ve even met the woman of my dreams.”

“But what about the reward?” Beckard looked straight into the other man’s eyes. “Flux said that she would give each of us one of our hearts desires. Were you not offered anything? Is that why you never told us? Is that why you decided to forsake her will?” He fell to his knees. “Tell me, Zelos. Why did you betray us? It can’t have been just that.”

“Flux already gave me my reward,” said the elf. He dropped his sword and looked at his bloodied hands. “Almost thirty years ago.”

“That’s all the more reason for you to live up to her expectations!”

“I’m sorry, Beck. I really am.” Zelos stared at a pebble by the wayside as he mumbled. “None of you were supposed to die. You were all also supposed to be able to leave in one piece, and I was supposed to stay. That was the deal.”

“We could have all left!” The priest smashed his fist into the stone-paved road and shattered it. His eyes started to tear up as he repeated the motion, once, twice, thrice, each time with less force. “Together!”

Zelos slowly shook his head, his knife-shaped ears falling as he slowly met the cat’s eyes.

“You don’t understand, Beck. I don’t want to leave.”

“You… what?” Beckard’s face twisted in bewilderment. “But why?”

“Because this is my home.”

“I don’t understand. You could have gone anywhere, once we broke free. And you could have just taken your wife and daughter with you and found a new home, somewhere safer.” Seeing the hesitant, guilty look in his old friend’s eyes, the cat clenched his teeth and pounded the ground again. “Damn it, Zelos. We were going to win.”

“Like hell you were.” Alfred interrupted the conversation with a scoff. “I’ll have you know, for the record, that none of you told me anything about those.” He pointed at the explosives floating behind him. “I found most of them during one of my regular daily inspections. By the looks of it, they need several days worth of mana to function. You never would have made any headway, without a better design.”

Beckard’s face twisted as he looked between the objects and their deceased creator. Archibald had claimed that they were impervious to the celestial’s detection.

“Now… it looks like you two have mostly wrapped up, so let’s get on with all our business, shall we? I’ve got tens of thousands of logs to write, and no time for any of you.” Alfred pulled a piece of steel out from one of his sleeves and flashed it before throwing it in Beckard’s general direction. “I’ll be returning this, though I doubt you ever realised it was gone in the first place.”

“The key?”

“What else did you think it was?”

The celestial laughed as he watched the cat scramble to catch the artifact out of the air. It was larger than him, and his broken leg made it hard for him to land after getting off the ground.

“Now, I’m sure you’ve already seen the notification,” still chuckling, he turned to Zelos and smiled, “but I’ll just say it in case you weren’t aware. I’ve given you your reward, and Dixie’s received the same boost. Unless something drastic happens, you should now have about another three thousand years each.”

“I… thank you, Alfred.” Zelos nodded, slowly, before turning his head to Archibald’s corpse. “Do yo—”

“No, I can’t do anything about him, or your other friend. Don’t even ask,” spat the old man. “Xekkur would throw a fit if I brought either of them back to life, and he’d hunt down everyone involved, them, you, and even me.”

Zelos clenched his fists. “I understand.” His knuckles were white and his canines cut through the bottom of his lips, but he didn’t dare utter another word.

“Good.” Alfred turned around and looked at the two that had remained silent since his arrival. “Now, I believe the three of us need to have a bit of a talk.”

“I have a few demands,” agreed Claire.

“She means she hopes you’ll do her a favour or two,” said Sylvia.

“I meant what I said.” The lyrkress tried grabbing ahold of her fuzzy friend, but her hand was unable to make it past the bubble’s outer wall. Confident, Sylvia stuck out her tongue, only to find it magically seized as the essencethief absorbed the mana that made up her prison. 

Magically flicking the fleshy appendage in a random direction, Claire put on her usual poker face and craned her neck back towards the celestial. “Let’s negotiate.”

“I’d be happy to,” said the demigod. “But first, why don’t we move somewhere a little more private?”

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