Discordant Note | TBATE

Chapter 95: From the Chrysalis

Sevren Denoir

I watched as Toren's corpse disappeared beneath the waves, feeling a wave of horror at the spirit's actions. The young mage had been extremely suspicious of me from the start, but as we'd gotten to know each other these past few days, a kinship had budded between us.

To see him die tugged at my emotions in a way I did not expect, especially after the tantalizing offer from the thing inside his body. I'd thought it had cared for Toren, yet its actions spoke otherwise. Stabbing him through the heart...

Part of me was still unsure if he was even dead. The young man had a strange aura to him; one of mystique and power that burnished under his truthful exterior. The young mage was no politician. I had very quickly deduced the tells he gave for when he lied.

I wasn't even given a chance to process further. An elite undead rushed me, snarling through deformed lips. I was forced to divert its mana-clawed hands to the side with my own, before punching it square in the jaw with a supersonic fist.

The creature's head twisted at an unnatural angle as my knuckles rocked across its face, dropping to the ground.

But I was still without a weapon, only my hairavant wire to my name. Without my dagger to accentuate my skill, it was like going into a fight with only a buckler and no way to strike back.

Bered was launched to the side by the commander undead. Internally, I felt at my mana reserves. Less than half of my total capacity was left.

I gritted my teeth, banishing thoughts of Toren Daen. The Relictombs cared for nobody, and I had a battle to win.

I blurred back toward the commander, sidestepping an arcing bolt of lightning one of the grafted appendages threw at me. Those attacks were exceedingly weak: maybe even under what a mark could produce, but even the slightest misstep now could bring death.

I zipped toward the commander, my hearing a buzz for the barest moment as I engaged my rune. When I reappeared, I tried to wrap my wire around its leg, but the thing had clearly been watching my previous fight. It grasped onto the thin loop, then pulled.

The wire cut deeply into the monster's fingers, but I was forced to disengage lest the creature break my only weapon. If I had my dagger, I would've had more options.

Hraedel was the next to attack, the fool. Five sickles of ice spurred through the air, their pristine white edges gleaming. Any other mage or monster would've tried to dodge that attack or attempt a parry of some kind.

But the brutish commander, standing easily two stories tall, simply tanked the assault without a care. The ice sickles cut divots into its flesh, yet new meat quickly flowed to fill in the gaps.

Bered rushed the creature from behind, aiming his mace at where Numar's sword was still embedded in its leg. It impacted like a gong, driving the blade further in. The commander stumbled, going to one knee.

Seeing an opportunity, I zipped forward, my fist blurring as I altered its mass. Right before the moment of impact, I increased the mass of my strike tenfold. I'd practiced this technique for years, but the timing had to be precise.

My blow struck like a boulder, the shock rippling up my arm and making my joints ache fiercely. The creature's pristine skull cracked from the impact, toppling over and sliding slightly on the metal.

I was careful in using my regalia for barehanded combat. Due to the nature of how my body accelerated and decelerated with reduced mass, I couldn't change the direction of a punch once it had been thrown. It was very, very easy to overextend what would've otherwise been a catastrophic blow simply because the opponent shifted slightly to the side.