A black, oily tendril flung out from Arkk’s shadow as a dozen burning suns manifested in the dark mass surrounding Arkk. The soldiers accosting Arkk, standing far too close and not expecting any kind of monster to attack them, were handily batted aside. Armored knights bowled through the guests and crowd. Fresh screams of panic and terror from both guard and onlooker joined with the cacophony already present in the throne room.
Arkk strode forward, moving through the cleared space and leaving Hawkwood behind. The guards would hopefully pick themselves up and help him. If not… Unfortunately, Arkk could only be in one place at a time. Even with as much as he owed Hawkwood for his help, Ilya took priority.
Vezta took form alongside him, transitioning from her shadowy state to a fully corporeal body mid-stride. Between the guards being thrown around, Vezta’s appearance, and Arkk’s glowing eyes, people were doing the best they could to get out of the way. A large number were running toward the throne, perhaps hoping to seek protection from the Duke’s guards. It just wasn’t enough. There were already panicked people running in the opposite direction from whatever the assassins had done, crashing into others and taking them down, creating a mass of people all pushing against each other.
He could easily order Vezta to throw them all out of the way. Fighting through the entire crowd and getting more soldiers trying to surround him was less than ideal. Instead, he turned to Vezta. “Cranium Internum.”
Vezta jolted slightly as Arkk’s perspective shifted. Then her body jolted again. This time, forward toward Ilya. Her body broke apart, losing its humanoid form to a mass of tendrils. He wasn’t controlling any tendril individually. Intention guided him, pulling him where he wanted to go. One with Vezta, Arkk lurched over the crowd of frightened guests and guards.
As an amorphous mass more akin to the lesser servants, they couldn’t hope to stop him. His body simply deformed, stretching out or constricting to fit between any gap of people that he could find. Covered with eyes, and not stunned by the sight of the shattered sky, he could instantly pick out the optimal path to take among dozens of options. He could also see everything around him.
One guard in particular, hand thrust out in an offensive motion, was trying to cast a spell in his direction. Arkk’s body simply twisted and deformed, easily squishing underneath the glowing green chains that lashed out from the man’s hand. Vezta’s body didn’t even lose any of its forward momentum.
Cresting a group of fleeing guests, many of whom dived upon seeing Vezta’s body stretching over them, Arkk got a clear look at the far end of the room. Inquisitor Vrox was still protecting the Duke inside the spell while a contingent of guards had arrayed themselves in front of the throne. Most of these guards looked less ceremonial and more functional, though still with a bit more opulence than anyone would go to battle with.
A distance from the throne, near the wall, Ilya was slumped in a heap on the ground. She wasn’t moving at all. Alya had backed up toward the throne, earning the protection of the guards there. The assassin…
He fled, rushing toward one of the walls not far from where Zullie was taking up her guard position. Wrong idea. Zullie, noticing, flicked her wand in the assassin’s direction. The same wind spell that she had used to clean up after testing the Langleey villagers swept the assassin off his feet, throwing him straight back toward Arkk.
Arkk wasn’t sure if Zullie intended that but Arkk wasn’t going to complain. Tendrils lashed around the bald assassin, gripping him and pulling him close. Terror, unbridled fear, twisted the man’s features. He struggled and thrashed in Arkk’s grip, trying to escape. He shouted and pleaded and…
Stopped.
All at once, he stopped moving. For a moment, Arkk thought he had somehow killed the man.
“It’s you.”
A dozen eyes across Arkk’s body blinked. At the same time, the assassin squeezed his eyes shut, grimacing as if a sudden pain struck him.
“It’s you. It’s you. It’s… [you]…” The man’s eyes slowly opened, just a sliver at first. Bright, golden light mixed with the red coming from Vezta’s many eyes. “[Found]/[Hide and Seek]|[Over]—”
Arkk’s tendrils moved on their own. Or rather, Vezta fought against his control, just enough to twist. The man’s head went from looking straight at Arkk to looking straight behind him. Arkk let the limp body drop to the ground, staring as the golden light reflecting off the floor flickered and dimmed.
Ilya let out a faint groan, barely audible over the crowd yet somehow impossibly loud in Arkk’s ears, ringing like a gong. He ended the possession spell in an instant, dropping to the ground beside Vezta mid-dash. Crashing to his knees, Arkk hesitated. Ilya was… not in a good state. Far, far worse than Hawkwood. Hawkwood’s wound had been deep but surgical, a straight stab through a majority of the man’s vital organs.
Ilya had been flayed. She must have tried to fight back. Without weapons or armor… Her arms had been torn to ribbons and her chest… It was like someone had stabbed her a dozen times over, each a twisting, ripping stab. Even among all the orcs and the various wounds they had sustained in battle against the slavers and inquisitors, none had been remotely as bad. That was the difference between armored combat against a fighter and getting attacked by a trained man to kill.
“Vezta,” Arkk said, not sure of even where to begin. “Is there anything…”
“I am sorry, Master,” Vezta said, having reformed her human form at his back. “I can seal small wounds, cuts, and scrapes. Something like this is beyond my abilities. Your spell to mold flesh stands a better chance. Failing that…” She trailed off for a moment. When she spoke again, a note of distaste entered her tone. “Failing that, the so-called holy magic wielded by the likes of priests, abbesses, and inquisitors would be your best option.”
Arkk shot a glance up to the throne. Vrox still had the projectile shield up in action. It looked like it had thinned a bit. Strain? Arkk hadn’t used it ever, so he wasn’t sure how draining the spell was. It had thinned to the point where Arkk could see Vrox beyond the shimmering swirl of the magic.
And Vrox could see him. Or, rather, see out. His eyes weren’t on Arkk at all. He stared directly at Vezta.
Would he help if Arkk asked? Arkk might have said no before this night but… now… He figured the answer might be yes, though conditional. Arkk glanced back at Vezta for a brief moment before shaking his head.
“There is still another assassin. The one who got Hawkwood. Can you locate him? Failing that, get Zullie and Dakka here.”
“I will not leave your side. If they arrive, I will protect them to the best of my ability.”
With a grimace, hoping he wasn’t making another mistake, Arkk nodded his head. Zullie should have a clear path toward him. Dakka was further back in the room but unless the assassin had gone back, she should be out of harm’s way.
He had to focus on Ilya.
Peeling up the top of her dress, Arkk grimaced at the state of her body. Steeling himself, he chanted the incantation for Flesh Weaving and focused, trying to feel out for the largest injury. Holy spells, he knew from asking Abbess Keena when he first learned he had the capacity for magic, didn’t require much thought put into them. They were miracles granted by the Holy Light. Not something mortal men had come up with on their own. A holy spell here would have simply restored her body. They weren’t universal cure-alls, there were limits, but with something like this where Arkk couldn’t even visualize what might be damaged, a priest would have had a much easier time than he.
That didn’t stop Arkk from trying. He felt around, physically pressing his fingers against Ilya’s wounds. Contact made Ilya’s muscles tense up, which Arkk took as a good sign. Was she breathing? It was shallow at best but there. A pinch here. Smoothing the flesh of an organ over there. Her stomach and abdomen were the worst. The assassin hadn’t tried going through her ribcage. Neither had he angled his blade upward. He had simply tried to put Ilya down in order to get to Alya, who could only be the actual target.
Why Alya and not the Duke? Was it because of the inquisitor protecting the Duke and Alya was just a secondary target?
Why start with anyone but the Duke? Killing someone out in the middle of the crowd was sure to start a panic. Even if the inquisitor hadn’t been present, surely the Duke would have been escorted to safety long before the killers could make their way through the crowd.
Arkk pushed a healthy dose of magic into Ilya, hopefully mending perforations and not making things worse. She had lost a lot of blood. So much blood. Kneeling on the ground, it felt like he had fallen into a muddy puddle of warm muck. But it was all from Ilya. Flesh Weaving couldn’t fix that. He had to hope that she hadn’t lost too much. His efforts were, at the very least, staunching the wounds enough to slow her bleeding.
Unless that was just her body running out of blood. Grimacing, wishing he had more practice on deep wounds, Arkk worked faster.
All the while, Arkk could feel eyes on him. Alya stood with mild injuries, simply watching him. She wasn’t moving to help or hinder. More guards had surrounded him and Ilya. Vezta wasn’t assaulting them, though with her tendrils stretched out around the area, she was warding them off. Inquisitor Vrox had finally let the spell drop, though even he wasn’t doing more than simply staring.
Had Vrox ever used actual holy magic? Arkk didn’t think so. Regular spells, yes, but in the fight at the false fortress, only the chronicler had used holy spells. Perhaps Vrox was incapable, which would make pleading for his help useless anyway.
A quick check through his employee links found both Dakka and Zullie still safe. Though Dakka looked about ready to start swinging at a few guards who weren’t letting her get closer to the Duke—and Arkk. Zullie still had her back to the wall. She was edging toward the front of the room but she was being cautious about it. It wouldn’t be long before she ran into the line of guards trying to keep people away from the Duke though.
It was odd. Arkk pinched closed one wound before throwing a glance over his shoulder. Behind the line of guards surrounding him, there was a brief gap before the next line of guards keeping the general public away. But it didn’t look like they were letting anyone out. Trying to capture the assassin? Or…
Had the assassins activated a trap of some kind? Sealing everyone into the room? There were doors along the walls but none were open.
The thought sent a chill down Arkk’s spine, forcing him to look up from Ilya. There was at least one assassin left.
They forced a room change. They trapped people in. They targeted a few select individuals. Arkk wasn’t sure who else had been attacked but based on Hawkwood and Alya, they were important individuals. And now, with half the garrison having made it into the room, trying to maintain order and people unable to leave, what was their next move?
“Vezta,” Arkk started, only to trail off as he spotted movement between the legs of the distant guards. The movement caught his eye because most of the crowd wasn’t moving at the moment. The feet appeared again, a few steps forward between some other sets of legs, moving perpendicular to the length of the room. Toward the wall where Zullie was.
“Vezta!” Arkk shouted, far more urgently. “He is heading toward Zullie!”
“Master, I won’t—”
Casting one look at Ilya, hoping he had done enough, Arkk grit his teeth. He wasn’t going to let any of his employees or friends die here. Some might call him greedy but he couldn’t just watch an assassin casually approach Zullie. Maybe she would blast him away with her wand again or maybe she would get caught off-guard. He couldn’t take the risk.
“Jalan yang paling banyak dilalui menyediakan jalur yang stabil untuk maju ke tujuan Anda dengan aman,” he spat out as fast as his tongue would allow, focusing on a stone brick road while swinging his arms down over his head as if wielding a heavy construction hammer. Not the easiest motion to make while trying to stand but all of Zullie’s magic—regular magic—required an element, visualization, and gesture.
As soon as his imaginary hammer struck the ground, ethereal bricks fell from above, forming a road of transparent cobblestone. The moment his foot stepped on the first magical brick, he felt more sure of his stance. His legs moved with an ease that couldn’t be explained through mundane means. His speed increased.
It had the added benefit of frightening a number of the guards ahead of him, sending them scattering to the sides in fear of an attack despite the bricks passing harmlessly through several of them. The effect didn’t extend far, unfortunately. A few paces. Although the swiftness stuck with him when he stepped off the road, it didn’t clear his path toward Zullie enough to sling a lightning bolt at the assassin.
Vezta tried to stop him. Tried. Capable though she was, her tendril lashing out to restrain him just moved so slowly from his perspective. It barely took any effort to step aside. By the time she realized she missed, he was already leaping over the second line of guards. Her attempt to stop him was exactly why he hadn’t tried possessing her again. He didn’t want her fighting him the whole way.
Now, he flew through the crowd of guests and soldiers. Supernatural stability allowed him to shift directions without losing speed, bouncing around, dodging individuals while making his way to the other side. It caused a commotion, naturally, drawing the eyes of guests and guards alike. It caused enough of a commotion that he spotted the sandy hair of the servant jolting forward, discarding subtlety in favor of haste.
Although he had a supernatural swiftness, the assassin had the lead on him. The throne room was large and opulent, longer than it was wide.
Zullie wasn’t defenseless, however. She had that wand, not to mention her library of spells. Arkk wasn’t sure if she noticed the assassin or if Arkk rushing at her tipped her off but the effect was the same either way. A gale of wind blasted through the crowd. Guests went flying through the air, landing on top of each other. Guards, weighed down by heavier armor, mostly fell over. Some managed to maintain their footing.
The assassin must have been prepared. Maybe he saw Zullie ready her spell, maybe he simply never let his guard down. The man rolled into the gust of wind ahead of Arkk, springing up to his feet the moment it passed.
With the crowd cleared away, however, Arkk could act. “Electro—”
The man must have heard Arkk’s incantation beginning. He dove to the side, hiding among people who had been out of the way of the blast.
“Run!” Arkk shouted. “He’s after you! Get to Vezta!”
Zullie didn’t argue. She didn’t turn and run either. Rather, she backed away, wand at the ready. Wise. Turning her back on an assassin wouldn’t be a good idea.
Arkk’s eyes slid away from Zullie, trusting in her ability to get to the safety of Vezta as long as he kept the assassin distracted for just a few seconds longer. People were running again, fleeing. Trying to push through the guards and escape the danger. The assassin wasn’t. The situation had gone wrong, yet he still pressed forward. Not toward Zullie now, but to the wall?
“Electro—” Arkk started again, only for the assassin to whip his head around. The man grabbed hold of a passing guest, a shorter man with wine staining the front of his disheveled shirt. A merchant whom Arkk was fairly certain Wolf had introduced earlier in the evening. Not that Arkk remembered his name.
He did try to struggle. That only lasted as long as it took the assassin to jam the tip of a sharp blade into his throat. It didn’t puncture the skin but it was clear that it would take little effort to cut the man’s throat. The merchant realized this as well. He dragged the merchant backward, one step at a time. The guards were quickly assembling, swords drawn. This time, they weren’t aimed toward Arkk. At least, not all of them. In short order, the assassin had his back to the wall, right where Zullie had been standing only moments before.
“Surrender,” one of the guards barked. “You are surrounded. There is nowhere to run. Your accomplices have been—”
The assassin let out a cry, inarticulate and angry. He shoved the merchant forward, forcing the closest guards to pull back lest they stab the man on their readied blades. Rather than try to flee, the assassin turned and stabbed his blade into the gearing of the winch against the wall. With a twist and a pull, the metal snapped.
The chain of the winch, leading up to one of the large chandeliers over the Duke’s throne, unspooled rapidly. Vrox grabbed the Duke, throwing both of them off the throne platform even as the chandelier crashed down. Even had they not moved, it alone likely wouldn’t have killed either of them.
But the moment the chandelier’s glowstones touched the ground, a deafening shockwave rippled out from the center. The violence of it felt like another gust from Zullie’s wind, except infused with a heat that scaled Arkk’s skin as it threw him to the floor.
Ears ringing and vision swimming, the last of Arkk’s cognizance focused on the assassin’s face appearing overhead, golden light shining from his eyes as he raised a blade to strike down. Arkk tried for a spell but the words came out slurred and unsteady.
A black, oily tendril snaked around the assassin’s neck. With a twist and a pull, the assassin fell limp just as Arkk blacked out.