Chapter 142: Chapter 142: Who Are You?

Chapter 142: Who Are You?

  Lysaila twirled her blade through the air in calm strokes.

  “I take it the old man is Lord Mora? And the little blonde brats must be his children. So, who are you two?” Lysaila pointed her blade at Callum and Clypeus.

  “An actual lamia?” Lord Mora shook his head and cleared his throat, “Who let you into my home?”

  “Oh, I’ll get to you soon enough,” Lysaila smiled, black venom dripping from her two long fangs.

  Lord Mora stepped back and swallowed.

  Callum raised his hands, “Let’s just slow this all down for a moment. I am Callum of House Veres. I don’t know why you’ve come, but surely you don’t wish to anger my House. I believe we can come to some sort of arrangement here, can’t we?”

  “House Veres? One of the Ruling Families of Hollow Shade?” Lysaila cocked her head to the side.

  He nodded, “Precisely. I am the son of the family leader, Lord Veres IX. I am quite certain we can come to an arrangement. Whatever your masters sent you here for, I can help you acquire it without the need for bloodshed.”

  “I have no master,” Lysaila hissed.

  Before Callum could respond, Lysaila’s tail snapped behind her and pushed her body forward. Her blade swung in a wide arc at the young vampire. Clypeus jumped in between, his twin blades flashed and blocked the lamia’s attack.

  “And who might you be?” Lysaila moved back, her tail curling in a smooth pattern.

  Clypeus raised his gladii, “I am the Shield of Veres. Be it monster or man, here I stand proud and I shall not falter!”

  “I am neither monster nor man,” Lysaila smiled.

  Her blade whirled in a silver blur, slashing at Clypeus from several angles. He spun his blades in small arcs, blocking each blow with a blast of sparks. The lamia did not stop, her slashes were endless and the longer Clypeus blocked the faster her blade became. He winced in pain, her blade sliced small bits of flesh across his limbs.

  “A swordmaster and so young too. What a pity to lose,” Lysaila licked her lips.

  Clypeus tried counterattacking but her blade was overwhelming, pushing him back with each blow. The tip of Lysaila’s tail flung forward and smacked his shins. He fell to his knees, his blade slipped out of his hand. She pushed past his other gladius and sank her blade into his neck. Sparks flew as her blade glanced off his throat. A faint yellow outline of scales glowed around his neck.

  Lysaila drew back and narrowed her eyes, “You’re a yellow mage. I wondered why your shins didn’t break.”

  Clypeus pushed himself to his feet, “It just took me some time to cast my durability spell. Your attacks are truly incredible, but I suggest you concede now.”

  “After that durability spell made your whole body slower? I’d rather not,” she giggled.

  “This is why you don’t compliment your enemy,” Callum began writing red ward symbols in the air.

  “It is customary to respect our elders,” Clypeus panted. He was already tired from only a few exchanges with her blade. 

  “Elders?” Callum frowned.

  “There is no doubt in mind, this lamia is a grand swordmaster,” Clypeus wiped the sweat off his brow.

  Callum’s hands trembled, the ward spell shattered before it was completed.

  “Callum, focus!” Clypeus yelled without looking back at him. 

  Clypeus knew he couldn’t fight her alone. Her speed and strength alone were overwhelming. Her sword skills were something else entirely, she reminded him of his sister of Gale, that insurmountable feeling.

  The durability spell could protect Clypeus against a few more hits, but the lamia was right. The spell made him heavier and therefore slower. There was no way he would be able to dodge her attacks.

  “You are both magi? That doesn’t seem very fair,” Lysaila made puppy eyes. “Let me even the odds.”

  The runes on the lamia’s metallic belt began to glow. The belt’s purple magestones flared to life. Lysaila’s image blurred and spread apart until there were four identical copies of Lysaila standing before them.

  “Magic? On a beastkin?” Callum muttered in shock.

  “Uh, Lord Mora, we need your help!” Clypeus yelled.

  Lord Mora was in the other corner of the study. He had pushed aside a bookshelf and had opened a secret door behind it. He didn’t bother glancing at their battle. Instead, Lord Mora walked into the secret tunnel, his children right behind him. Maeve followed them, her father smacked her across the face, sending her tumbling to the ground.

  “I told you, you have shamed me for the last time,” Lord Mora sneered.

  “W-wait, don’t leave us!” Maeve pushed herself to her feet.

  Lord Mora slammed the door closed behind him. Maeve banged on the door with her fists, it would not budge.

  “You bastard!” She cried softly.

  “Don’t worry, we’ll find him soon. We’ll find them all soon,” the four Lysailas said in unison.

  “Callum, ward magic, now!” Clypeus raised his swords.

  “I’m trying!”

  Callum’s hands wrote the red arcane symbols in the air, but they all blurred and became a jumble in his eyes. He already had difficulty writing simple wards, anything complex was impossible to read for him. His sister, Elise, had taught him how to read when the tutors could not, but this was different. The arcane language was far more complex than a simple book.

  “Callum!” Clypeus screamed.

  The Lysailas surrounded the Gale swordsman and assailed him with quick strikes. He tried blocking an attack, but the blade simply blurred like a puff of smoke as it clashed with his gladius, reforming as it came out the other side. Another blade struck his torso, his yellow scales flared bright from the force of impact. He kept retreating behind the study’s glass caskets to try and make some space. The lamias sliced the caskets and the artifacts within without a second thought and kept attacking relentlessly.

  Clypeus yelled and stabbed his gladii into a Lysaila’s torso. The blades sank in harmlessly. Her stomach gave off a faint purple smoke for a moment, before healing itself. The other three Lysaila’s attacked in unison, Clypeus tried blocking. The lamias’ swords streaked across his body. The real sword struck the back of his knees and crooks of his elbows, where the durability spell was weakest. His yellow scales cracked.

  “Ah, fuck it!” Callum released the ward spell, the red sigils fading into dust. 

  “Clypeus, eyes!” Callum brought his hands together and aimed at the lamias. A beam of light blasted forth, illuminating the entire room.

  Clypeus covered his eyes just in time to avoid the brunt of the bright spell, but his skin still burned from the intense light. Maeve had no such luck, she cried in agony and dropped to the floor, blinded. The Lysailas all winced in pain, shaking their heads with clenched eyes. Three of the lamias flickered purple for a moment before regaining their shape.

  Callum and Clypeus shared a glance and nudged their heads towards the real lamia. The blinded Lysailas swiped their blades through the air around them in a quick routine pattern. 

  Clypeus threw one of his gladii to Callum. They walked silently around the real Lysaila, surrounding her from the front and back. They nodded to one another and dashed in.

  Lysaila smirked. Her tail whipped around her, faster than her blades had ever been. Clypeus’ eyes widened in surprise, he slashed at the incoming tail, but his blade bounced off the scales. The tail smashed into both vampires and sent them crashing into the walls. Clypeus and Callum fell over, their bodies stock-still.

  “You actually made me get a little serious at the end there,” Lysaila’s forked tongue licked her smiling lips, her eyes still closed.

  Lysaila had been having fun playing with the interesting prey. The swordsman actually showed some promise, but his skills were too immature and he was too slow to keep up with her serpentine reflexes and strength.

  The Veres child was smart in trying to blind her senses. Unfortunately for him, he was ignorant. Lamias didn’t rely on their sight, but their hearing. Lysaila could hear their two pounding heartbeats as they surrounded her. All it took was for her to move at her full speed for a single moment, one strike was enough.

  “Oh, sweet prey, you both never stood a chance,” she cooed. “So long as you have a heartbeat I’ll know where you are. You can’t run away from me and if you can’t run, then I’ve already won.”

  “Isn’t that right, you pretty little thing?” Lysaila swiveled over to the prone Maeve. “You may be keeping still, but I can hear your heartbeat. Its quick rhythm tells me you are still awake and simply pretending. I don’t mind. I like the taste of fear.”

  Maeve tried keeping still, her body could not stop trembling. Her vision was still blurry and her skin burned from the intense light of Callum’s bright spell. She needed to get out of here. She needed to think. She needed time.

  The four Lyasaila’s turned their head to the door, the fire had already crept through the entire hallway and threatened to invade the room.

  “It seems two more prey are coming to play, how wonderful,” the Lysailas giggled.

  The lamias frowned, “Wait, no. There’s only… one?”

  The fire exploded across the door and blew the lamias away, destroying all three illusions. Stryg jumped into the room in a burst of speed. He vaulted over the glass caskets and landed on all fours on top of Maeve. He covered her body with his own and hissed. 

  Maeve blinked, surely her eyes were still damaged by the bright spell. The whites of Stryg’s eyes were gone, his lilac irises spanned across the entire eye. His slit pupils were razor thin and glanced all about the room.

   “Are you okay?” Stryg asked without looking down at her.

  “I-I’ve been better,” Maeve nodded from underneath him. “Clypeus and Callum they ar-”

  “They’re alive. I can still hear their breathing,” Stryg muttered under his breath.

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  Maeve swallowed, “What happened to your eyes?”

  “Too much fire, too bright,” he said.

  Lysaila laid on the ground, her eyes staring at the new prey. He looked kind of like the twins, but there was something else. She couldn’t quite tell why, but there was something different about this one.

  Lysaila’s tail coiled and pushed herself up. She dusted the ash off her skirt, “I didn’t expect that flame spell, the explosion caught me off guard. You really are just full of surprises.”

  “It’s been a while since I’ve seen your wretched kind,” Stryg gritted his teeth.

  “You know, you kind of remind me of someone I know too. Well, two people actually, twins, except they were a lot less talkative. I guess what I’m trying to say is, I don’t like you,” Lysaila placed a finger to her lip.

  “You’ve never seen anyone like me,” Stryg hissed.

  “Right back at you,” Lysaila hissed.

  Stryg threw a flame bolt right at the lamia, she curved to the side, dodging the blast entirely.

  “The same move won’t work twice,” she laughed.

  Stryg wasn’t listening, he had already dashed over to Clypeus and grabbed his gladius. He rushed low and thrust the short sword at the beastkin’s soft belly. Her blade flashed out, smacked his sword away, and struck with a riposte. Stryg bent his back, dodging her blade by a hair’s breadth.

  He pushed himself back and thrusted his gladius. Lysaila blocked the stab with graceful precision and slashed back with deadly accuracy. Stryg tried blocking, her blade sliced through his shirt and into his shoulder. He winced in pain and jumped back.

  “You’re not nearly as skilled as the other boy. Pity, I was hoping we’d have more fun,” Lysaila sighed. “Guess I’ll just have to gut you.”

  Stryg roared and leaped at her, his blade swung down above her head. She blocked the attack with a quick swipe, pushing him back. He twisted in the air, letting the momentum of the block turn him, and threw the sword at her face. She ducked below the blade. 

  Stryg sneered as he fell in mid-air, he had hoped she would dodge, her face was now close. He kicked her jaw with all the strength he could muster. The flat of her blade came up and blocked his foot. Lysaila grunted as she was pushed back to the wall from the force of the blow.

  Stryg landed, his mouth open in shock. How could she block at such a close distance?

  Lysaila rolled her shoulders, “I’ve never seen one so small yet so strong. Alas. You. Are. Just. Too… Slow!”

  Her blue tail whipped out with blinding speed, slamming him into the wall, cracking the stone bricks. He fell to his knees. 

  Stryg coughed painfully and scraped the blood off his lips.

  “Still conscious? Aw, too bad,” Lysaila giggled.

  “Maeve…” Stryg huffed. “Run.”

  “W-what?” Maeve’s voice cracked.

  “I don’t think… I can win… Run… while you can… Run!”

  Maeve nodded reluctantly. She got up with shaky steps and ran towards the door.

  “As if I’d let you just go,” Lysaila hissed. 

  Her tail changed direction and pushed her over to the door. Maeve froze, Lysaila slashed her blade down. A blue blur entered the corner of Lysaila’s vision. She curled to the side and barely dodged Stryg’s fist. His body slammed into the wall, shaking the floor. 

  “Run!” Stryg roared.

  Maeve ran out of the room and disappeared into the burning hallway. Lysaila hissed and chased after her. Stryg dug his claws into the wall, dug out a chunk of the stone brick, and flung it at the lamia. Lysaila twisted her body to the side and evaded, the stone chunk punched a hole in the window behind her with blinding speed.

  Stryg blocked the entrance. 

  “I’m not... done with you,” he panted.

  “You’re faster,” Lysaila narrowed her eyes. “Those dark veins around your legs, agility magic? Oh, little prey, it doesn’t matter how fast your magic makes you. Lamias are quicker than any orange mage.”

  Stryg took a deep breath. He flexed his claws and crouched low, “Didn’t I tell you? You’ve never seen anyone like me.”

  As they spoke, Stryg’s mind quickly ran through his options. He didn’t have enough training with purple magic to reliably create illusions. The same applied to his blue magic’s torrent spell-form, there was no water here and he definitely wasn’t capable of creating any. He knew lamias could fight in pitch darkness, so shadow spells were out of the question too. 

  Grey magic’s drain spell-form required long hand-to-hand contact, the lamia would cut him to ribbons before he got the chance. Grey’s curse spell-form and red’s ward spell-form were the same. They all required time. The lamia wouldn’t give him any.

  The lamia was already expecting his flame spell-form. He didn’t have any good options. The only option left was simple and obvious.

  He let the orange mana flow through his entire body, his veins darkening from head to toe. He forced all his orange mana to surge through. His body burned and ached from the exertion of the advanced agility spell, it wouldn’t be able to hold. But he didn’t need it to. He just needed a few moments.

  Stryg kicked the ground, the wood cracked underneath his feet. He shot at her like an arrow. Lysaila’s blade swept out with blinding speed. Stryg dropped under the attack and was met with her blue tail. He dug his claws into her tail as it smacked him into Lord Mora’s desk.

  He groaned and pushed himself up. Lysaila hissed angrily and retreated to the corner. She glanced at her cracked scales and bleeding tail.

  “How did your claws hurt me?” Her face darkened.

  The purple magestone on her belt shined brightly, her image blurred and spread apart, forming four Lysailas.

  “You’ll regret this,” the Lysailas hissed.

  Stryg tilted his head to the side. His altered eyes saw the world in pitch black with silver outlines. The flames coming from the hallway appeared as orange ribbons fluttering in the air. The smoke they gave off seemed translucent to him, he could barely make out their faint outline.

  Yet, when he looked at the lamias, three of them were like smoke. Translucent, with only a faint purple outline. Illusions?

  The lamias rushed and swung their blades at him. He ignored the illusionary attacks, their swords blurred and swept past him. The true Lysaila frowned and stabbed him. He sidestepped the thrust and clawed at her neck. She bent backward and avoided the strike. She twisted behind him and swung her blade. Stryg jumped away.

  “You can see through my illusions?” Lysaila looked him over once more. “You really are different. Yet you’re still too weak.”

  Before Stryg could move she was on him, her blade a storm of silver all around him. He dodged the attacks and tried jumping back but she followed, her blade never moving far away. He blocked her sword with his claws the best he could. Her strikes were overwhelming, he couldn’t follow her blade.

  His body burned, the last of his orange mana evaporated. His body suddenly felt sluggish and heavy. Lysaila’s tail swept underneath him and knocked him to the ground. His back hit the wooden floor with a crack. Her tail curled around him and coiled tight. She looked down at him from above.

  “I told you, little prey. I am not letting any of you go,” Lysaila smiled.

  Stryg tried desperately to move, her serpentine grip was as strong as steel. She opened her jaw wide, black venom dripping from her twin fangs. She licked his neck and sank her fangs into his delicious-looking throat. Or at least she tried. Her jaw hung over his neck, her mouth salivating. But, try as she might, she could not bite down. Her body shook from the exertion, yet her jaw did not clamp shut.

  Lysaila pulled back and stared at the strange blue prey. He was still struggling in her tail’s grip to no avail. She frowned. 

  She raised her sword and slashed down. Her blade froze right before it touched his neck. She tried pushing down on the sword, her arms trembled, the blade held still.

  Lysaila furrowed her brow as she gripped the sword’s handle tightly. Her fingers trembled and her face grew red, “Why won’t you die?”

  Stryg looked up at her, his eyes full of anger and panic.

  “L-let… go… of me,” he gasped.

  His words sent shivers down her spine. Lysaila’s eyes widened. She needed to release him. He needed to live. Nothing else mattered. She dropped her sword, her tail uncoiled, and gently lowered him to the ground.

  Lysaila shook her head, what was wrong with her? Why did she release this little prey? Why did she not kill him? On the contrary, why did she want to save him? What the fuck was wrong with her!? Unless… It couldn’t be.

  Lysaila stared at him with a mixture of fear and loathing, “Who are you?”

  Stryg kicked her in the chest, sending her flying out the window.

  He collapsed on the floor.

  “Damn snake lady,” he wheezed.

 

 

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