Songs of Souls

019: The Broken Rhythm

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A flux of energy swirled at the gate as his brother struck the barrier. Deynfif's fingers twitched, tracing invisible lines in the air as he analyzed the pulsating shield. "Eight energies," he murmured, his eyes darting between the shifting colors. "Pulsating... alternating... Energy Negation." The shifting colors weren't random. Like angles in a chaotic dance, they pulsed with a hidden order.

"Einntyr!" he barked, turning towards his brother. "Alternate strikes! Use fire! One spot! Break the rhythm!"

The earth trembled. An insistent drumbeat - footsteps, too many footsteps - vibrated up his staff. They're near. "I'll hold them off!" His staff lashed as he traced precise angles in the air. "Three units of length and height, then a third for width. Geometric Earth: Cuboid!"

With a final slash of his staff, the space distorted in front of him. A slab of rock, a rectangular prism, materialized. He'd buy them time. Metal sparked against rock, each impact a jarring tremor through his staff. Ice projectiles shattered, sending icy splinters skittering across the dirt.

One wasn't enough. Another cuboid, identical, slammed into place beside the first. He couldn't let anything through - not while... He clenched his jaw, a surge of pain lancing through his temples. He swept his staff left, one slab followed. Upper right! The other one shifted, a synchronized dance of earth and will. Center, then below. His staff dipped, tracing the geometric ballet of defense. Each movement sent a fresh wave of pain through his head.

Energy projectiles slammed against the cuboid slab, a spiderweb of cracks spreading across its surface. He winced, his head throbbing as if struck by a hammer. The world swam at the edges, his concentration fracturing with each twitch of the staff. He gritted his teeth, forcing his will onto the earthen objects, twisting them against the relentless assault. The relentless thud of approaching boots echoed in his ears, pushing him onward. No time for weakness. He tightened his grip on the staff, each breath a shallow gasp. Their lives depended on it.

A pained hiss escaped his lips as another projectile splintered the cuboid, sending shards of rock flying. Not enough. He glimpsed a sea of Imperial armor beyond his shields, their numbers unending. He needed something to cut them down, to break their advance. Something with an edge. A pyramid.

Base first. With a flourish of his staff, he traced a square in the air. Staff aloft, he aimed for a single vertex three units above the base, the apex, the pyramid's crown. He whipped the staff down, connecting all the vertices, picturing the edges forming. A pyramid, rough-hewn but solid, appeared. The staff thrummed, an uncomfortable heat radiating through his grip. But then, a sickening crackle. It crumbled, dust raining down as it vanished. He stared, his stomach twisting at the empty space where it had been.

No! The staff burned against his palm, the heat almost unbearable. He gripped the staff tighter. The angles, the energy flow... where was the flaw?

There had to be a way. He traced the shape again, the square base forming with a flick of his wrist. But before the final stroke, he hesitated, his fingers twitching over the staff. With a deep breath, he sliced through the air, omitting one vertex from the base. Four vertices, six edges... The count flashed through his mind, a lifeline in the chaos. And four triangular faces. "Geometric Earth: Tetrahedron!"

The staff vibrated, the heat this time a low thrum against his palms, not the searing burn from before. With a sharp flick, a rock triangular pyramid materialized. It quivered, a low hum vibrating through the air as it spun.

This time, the object held. Solid. Stable. He launched it with a jerk of his staff. The tetrahedron tore through the air, leaving a trail of displaced dust. The pyramid slammed into the first Imperial. The crunch of bone and elemenium jarred in his ears, a tremor that went straight to his teeth. He whipped his staff, guiding the tetrahedron. Another impact. Then another. A spray of dirt and blood splattered against a nearby tent. Each impact stole the air from his lungs.