The Warlord

Chapter 50: Ansel

Absolutely everything has gone to Hell.

Varlock swipes his fist at my face, trying to smash my brain to smithereens, but I duck.

Absolutely. Everything.

I thrust my sword at his chest, aiming straight for his heart. He leaps away just before the tip of my sword touches his clothing.

Behind me, the corpse of "Varlock" hisses and steams, fumigating the air with a rotten stench. It must have been a talented shapeshifter demon, or perhaps one that could weave illusions. Whatever the case, it has served its purpose. It's bloody, irrevocable purpose.

Varlock advances, forcing me to back away. I reach a hand back and touch gnarled wood that leaves splinters in my fingers.

The air slashes by my ear as Varlock punches at my face and I duck under. I am too fast for him as I sink my sword into his chest from below. Blood, black as night, streams out of his body and he gives a growl of annoyance. I take the chance to flee, leaping into the air and skimming over the canopy of trees. Up ahead, I see Calthius — or rather, "Daimus" — stalking through the forest. He opens his mouth and lets out a soul-splitting screech, but I fly up to his face, putting myself right in front of his eyes.

"Are you in there, Calthius?" I say through gritted teeth, working my spell so that I can tap into his consciousness.

His mind is covered with thick layers of pure magic, and for a moment I almost lose my grip. I have never experienced such power, not even from the minimal surveillance I did on Varlock. The magic clouds over my own with an ancient importance; the weight from living for years and having the wisdom to attest to it. I feel my bones aching as I try to press forward, but he shuts me out. The backlash ripples through my body, leaving me seeing stars.

A hand closes around my ankle. I am viciously yanked back to the earth, the wind forced out of my lungs by the sheer speed of the attack.

"You cannot disturb Daimus, foolish girl!" Varlock swipes at me, and I raise my sword to parry. But I am dazed and I am slow, and I can do nothing as his punch sends me flying.

My back slams against a tree trunk, and I almost vomit as I curl up on the ground. Varlock appears over me, his shadow blocking out the brightness of the sky. I see his magic spiral into a weapon aimed to kill. It glimmers once. Twice.

My breathing slows. The coughed-up phlegm makes the air in my lungs wheeze. I close my eyes, ready for the end. I expect his magic to slice across my throat, cold and precise. I expect my blood to bubble up, my nerves to sever cleanly. But instead, the sound of an explosion shakes the ground beneath me, and the presence of Varlock disappears. What? I open an eye, expecting it to be a trick, but he has truly vanished. Shakily standing, my head still spinning, I clutch the trunks of trees for support as I try to flee deeper and deeper into the forest. Keep moving forward. Get as far away as possible. My sword is clenched between my trembling fingers as I stumble along, feeling ready to pass out.

A figure materializes right in front of me, hunched over, releasing streams of black magic. I grip my sword and scramble away as quickly as I can, holding the weapon out in front of me. Dirt and grime lines my skin along with sweat, and my legs wobble like fragile saplings. The hunched figure lifts their head, and it is Calthius' eyes that stare up at me.

"Ansel," he croaks. "Help."

"Calthius! What's going on with you?" The streams of dark magic burn my hands when I try to step forward and cradle his head.

"Ansel. Please. I need to get to Serestine." He reaches for me, his fingers bursting with spores of dark magic. It flows from his mouth and his pores, leeching the color out of his face as he leans forward. "Help. Help."

"You're in no condition to travel!" I weave a little spell between my fingertips and press it into his palm. A wave of light ripples through his body, and he breathes in, his lungs cracking and wheezing. For a moment, the dark magic dissipates, and his eyes become blue like the clear sky again. Then he doubles over and tendrils of magic gush out, twice as much as before.

"Ansel, she showed me the truth. Please, please. Take me to Serestine."

"I can't even touch you, Calthius!" I reach towards him again, and let him watch as my fingers welt and redden underneath the dark magic.

He lets out a grim, exasperated sigh and backs away. His jaw clenches as the dark magic warps into two pairs of black wings. The feathers shift and glitch as he leaps into the air.

"Calthius!" I cry out, running after him. He resembles a crow as he grows smaller and smaller, until he is only a speck in the distance. "Calthius get back here!" My chest heaves in pain, but I do not stop running. The little, brown-haired boy that smiled underneath the warm lights of Heaven's palace is slowly fading in my mind, replaced by a cold-faced stranger with eyes of winter. Oh, Calthius. What happened to you?

I grit my teeth and summon up my strength. If I were at my full strength, the distance to Serestine would be nothing at all. But I am weak and low on magic. It might take multiple jumps, or I could risk it and try to travel there in one go. I can no longer see Calthius, but I am still running on my wobbling legs. For what, Ansel? For what? I sheathe my sword and stop, breathing raggedly. For a chance.

The thrill of my Lord's power sings in my blood as I enter the blackness again. I keep everything tight, controlled, and precise. The wind that seems to peel my skin back only lasts for a second, and then, I am standing at the entrance of Serestine. The blue-domed palace is in the distance and beige-toned houses sprawl out before me. There is not whisper in the air, and yet everything is more static than peaceful. This whole place is subtly buzzing with a nervousness.

I pull my hood up and wrap my cloak around me, but then I hear the flap of wings. "Calthius?" I whisper, whirling around.

"My, my. What a surprise we have here."

My heart stops for a moment. He lowers himself carefully to the ground in his dark, flowing robes. Zarul, Varlock's right hand man, gives me a cruel smirk.