Vaehandre: Where The Stars Fall [Under Revision]

Chapter 23: Fates Unkind

[Photo: Art of War, John Anthony Di Giovanni]
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Moving further into the battlefield, Ingrid healed sixteen knights; however, the last knight she healed was too close to the epicenter of the battle.

Dark creatures charged at her.

She threw them back with a motion of her hand and crushed the heads of several others when she clenched her fists. The exertion it took to use her power was draining her strength. She drew more attention to herself, the more she slew.

While trying to help the injured, Henry was incapacitated. His healing factor barely kept him alive as he tried to grab his sword. With an effort, he stretched out his hand—blood dripping from the tips of his fingers. The blade moved past his reach even more. A goblin snarled near him. Crawling near him, he revealed his fangs and bit off a chunk of his neck.

Guarding his neck, Henry was choking on his own blood. He desperately gripped his pendant, shut his eyes, and ripped it off. His body broke and morphed into a towering werewolf with hind legs able to stand upright. He stood tall, thrashing, and gnawing at his assailants. Ripping the goblin in half, he saw his sister and ran to her aid.

Leaping from afar, he landed on the dark knight in front of Ingrid.

Ingrid lifted her hands and had a spell set in mind.

He was crouched on the ground looking at her, the color of his eyes were unchanged, nut-brown with a gleam of weariness.

She squinted her eyes to get a better look at them. She sighed and smiled at him with a knowing glance. "Henry," she exclaimed.

He smirked, growled, and leaped aside, continuing his rampage.

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Brum's vision was impaired by the blood flowing from his head wound. With difficulty, he looked for a healer every now and then as he fought on. Swinging mightily, he struck down many who ran his way.

One threw his body on him. They rolled on the ground; the dark creature scrambled for a weapon, but Brum grabbed its legs then pummeled the dark knight to death. The creature's head was all bloodied. When Brum stood up, a dark knight armed with a short sword and dagger drew near him. He faced him with his sword and missed heavily, but grabbed the short sword as it failed to penetrate his armor.

The dark knight kicked his legs and slashed at his face.

Brum thwarted the short sword, but the dagger found its way through the space of his armor, grazing his lung. He bellowed, letting out a guttural wail. Gripping his sword, he ran his blade through the knight's chin, killing him instantly. Brum fell to his knees, the dagger still in his chest. Every breath he made moved the dagger, cutting deeper into his insides. He winced and cried out as the pain intensified. Gauging his wound, he felt the blood had already soaked his gloves.