SIXTH BOOK OF THE CHRONICLES OF FANTASILIA SERIES
𝘚𝘩𝘦 𝘸𝘢𝘴 𝘭𝘰𝘴𝘵. 𝘚𝘩𝘦 𝘸𝘢𝘴 𝘧𝘰𝘶𝘯𝘥. 𝘕𝘰𝘸, 𝘴𝘩𝘦 𝘪𝘴 𝘥𝘦𝘵𝘦𝘳𝘮𝘪𝘯𝘦𝘥 𝘵𝘰 𝘴𝘢𝘷𝘦 𝘵𝘩𝘰𝘴𝘦 𝘴𝘩𝘦 𝘭𝘰𝘷𝘦𝘴.
Xanthiene Vivenca has to find allies and legendary objects of po...
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2412, Diori 19, Daleth
Screams, blood, swirls of magic.
The plain contained nothing but those for the past few hours. The shadow of the flying island dwarfed the entirety of Penleth stronghold and the one thing keeping it at bay was a solitary figure shrouded in light.
Xanthy, the Virtakios, had her arms extended. Her magic ran wild and turned the air around her into electrifying tendrils. The only thing preventing her from losing control of her unruly power was a solid presence at the back of her head, a piece of the Arbotro's essence.
Whenever the cannons by the flying island's base extended in preparation to blast, Xanthy was there to intercept, using the Virtakios to change the course or wink the ammunition back into their initial forms.
All of these, of course, didn't go without a price. Every time Xanthy dealt with the cannons, her magic became wilder and hazier. Her form was closer to unraveling now compared to other times in her entire life. Still, she continued to resist the call to give up. Not now. They've come this far.
She has come this far.
Below her, foot soldiers from Cardovia, Synketros, and Penleth clashed in some sort of a three-way battle. The down-side was Penleth struggled against two opponents while Cardovia and Synketros focused only on one.
Such was the state of this war. Penleth had been at a disadvantage from the start.
Something flashed by Xanthy's periphery and she cursed as she extended her hand towards another cannon that's about to fire. Hold on. The Virtakios screamed in her veins as loud as Xanthy was aloud as she fought to unleash her magic against the cannon's ammunition. Just a few more seconds. Then, her magic faltered, turning off in a wave of cold like a faucet refusing to channel water from the well. She tried again. No luck. Queen's breeches. No.
Xanthy barely veered away and covered her ears as the cannon, aimed at the outer quadrant's walls, blasted a ball of pure odian powder. It slammed against its target, sending debris and fire raining down on the poor people trying to defend it from being overwhelmed from below.
She wasn't able to stop it. Too late. She was too late. A scent similar to incense wafted in the air.
From the inner quadrant's battlements, Reeca cursed. She pushed scouts out of the way as she followed the trajectory from where the ammunition fired. What in Umazure was Xanthy doing up there? She had one job!
"Soldiers!" Reeca called to a group of people she assumed were behind her. "We march to the front lines!"
"Right now, Commander?" a clueless boy in his fifteens asked.
Reeca slapped upside the head. Her own blood boiled in a calm rage. "Unless you want to be left behind by your platoon like a mad pelgar," she hissed. "Of course, now."
