Two-Thirds Blue

Chapter Seven: The Spark

Dusk had heard the legends. Everyone had. Delrox, neither human nor rozkod, a veritable god of death, hands stained with the blood of thousands, powers beyond reckoning at his fingertips. Stories of his presence always ended in slaughter. The few who survived encounters told of his otherworldly state, arriving shrouded in lightning storms, hovering fifty feet in the air and setting fire to the ground beneath him. Every soldier fighting for Ralevoir had heard of how Delrox could level the battlefield with a wave of his hand, or send dozens of men flying with a single swing, or drive even the bravest warriors mad simply by standing in their presence. Everyone had seen the drawings of his hooded cloak woven from shadows, of his mottled, clawed hands, of the demon eyes glinting in the void of his face.

Delrox walked casually toward Dusk and Onyx. No lightning. No fire. He was wrapped in a simple cloak, a purple so deep it was almost black. His hands were covered by worn leather gauntlets, his face obscured by the shadows of his hood. His presence was unmistakable, the reverence of his Berserkers was undeniable, but something was off.

Dusk considered running, but that would mean leaving Onyx at Delrox's mercy. And he wasn't sure how many more steps he could take without collapsing from exhaustion.

His jaw set, he gripped Onyx's sword in both hands and settled into stance. Do your worst, he thought.

Delrox continued to advance. Dusk stared directly at the point where his eyes would have been. Despite the seemingly debilitating horror that gripped him, his hands became perfectly steady and his breathing slowed to even regularity.

Just a few steps away from Dusk and Onyx, Delrox's progress halted. They faced each other for several long heartbeats, Dusk ready to attack or defend at a moment's notice.

A voice came from beneath Delrox's hood. "Come with me."

Dusk nearly dropped Onyx's sword. "What?"

Delrox spoke again. "Come with me," he repeated.

Dusk didn't know how to respond. There were no stories of Delrox speaking. He had always played the role of a silent force of destruction. And his voice– Dusk would have expected a booming, commanding thunderclap of a voice, or a snakelike hiss, or even just imposing bass tones at the very least. The last thing he expected was for Delrox to sound... normal.

He readjusted his grip. "Why?" was all he could think to say.

"You need me."

Okay. Conversation. With Delrox. He could handle that. "We're not going anywhere."

"You don't understand."

"You got that right."

Delrox began to walk again, his hand rising and facing forward. Dusk took a step back and brought his sword between them.

"Why are you here?" Onyx demanded.

"For you," Delrox said simply.

He was mere steps away now. Dusk dropped all pretenses and attacked, swinging at Delrox's extended hand. A flash of light and sparks erupted from the blade as it collided and bounced off, the force of the reaction ripping it from Dusk's hands and sending it clanging to the ground several meters away. Delrox continued unwaveringly and seized Dusk's face with a sudden lunge.

"What are you–" Dusk grabbed his wrist and tried to pull himself free, but Delrox's grip was ironclad. There was another flash, this time shaking leaves from the trees and sending a shockwave of dust clouds erupting from the ground around them as Onyx tumbled away. Dusk cried out as a searing dagger of pain dug into his eyes and brain, leeching the strength from his body and causing his knees to buckle under his weight. Delrox released him and he hit the ground.