The essence wars an envi.., p.47
The Essence Wars--An Envious God, page 47
Grantchu and Kaedryn stood slowly, keeping their backs pressed against the rock. Vorruk lay nearby, his breathing slow and heavy, two arrows still embedded in his thick hide. He had little strength to move.
Cyre had slipped away, already creeping south along the cliff’s edge before Grantchu could stop her.
Then—
A whisper of movement above.
Grantchu shifted just enough for his head to come into view, only for an arrow to slice through the air, missing him by a hair’s breadth. He had little time to react before it splintered against the rock, scattering fragments harmlessly around him. Grantchu sucked in a breath through his teeth, pressing himself harder against the cliff. But the movement only threw his sword slightly off balance, swinging uncomfortably at his side.
Kaedryn, still tracking the northern flank, didn’t dare take his eyes away. The archer above had proven himself accurate, and the soldiers closing in meant their time was running out. They were being boxed in, and Vorruk, wounded and weakened, couldn’t afford another fight.
And yet, the battle was coming for them all the same.
The first of the attackers stepped fully into view, her approach tactical, precise, and unshaken by the shifting light of the encroaching dawn. She moved with confidence, her posture unflinching, each step carefully placed against the uneven rock. There was no hesitation in her movements, no attempt to mask her presence.
But she was not alone.
Kaedryn sensed it just behind her, something faint, something shifting. A subtle disturbance in the air, like heat shimmering off sunbaked stone.
The Camouflager.
She moved like a shadow melting into the rocky beach shore, her colors shifting seamlessly to match the muted grays and browns around her. Every step was careful, absorbing sound as if the very air bent to her will. Though the uneven ground beneath her feet slowed her, she carried her weight with such grace that the sand and scattered rocks responded with a mere whisper. Had she been on firm, level ground like the open grasslands, her concealment would have been flawless. Still, she commanded the terrain with practiced control, blending into the background so completely that even the keenest eye would struggle to spot her.
Still, there was something else that unsettled Kaedryn.
At first, it was a subtle distortion, an odd refracting of the space around the girl. But as she advanced, it became clear.
A shield.
It extended well beyond her frame, an invisible barrier that warped the air just slightly at the edges. Kaedryn’s grip on his sword tightened.
A shielder.
That complicated everything.
A shield like that meant getting a weapon through, whether by sword or projectile, was nearly impossible. It meant she could advance on them without fear, pushing them further into a vulnerable position while the archer above could strike at will.
Each step she took narrowed their escape, tightening the trap around them.
While Kaedryn watched his opponent close in, Grantchu found himself facing something entirely different.
Strength. Pure, unrelenting, merciless strength.
The man who approached him had the slow, patient confidence of someone who knew they were stronger, knew they had no reason to rush. He carried his massive two-handed sword as if it were a mere extension of his arm, as though its weight was insignificant.
Rougge Delys. The Breaker.
Grantchu had backed himself against the cliffside, using the uneven rock to anchor his stance. But it was also a disadvantage, as the wall behind him left no room to retreat and no space to maneuver.
The first strike came like a hammer against steel.
Grantchu had no armor, no plated defense to absorb the force, only his sword, his footing, and sheer will to block and repel The Breaker.
The fabric of his travel-worn garb, bought from Melivelisha’s markets, clung damply to his frame, offering no more protection than a thin veil against the storm of blows coming his way.
His only defense was his skill.
Rougge’s blade came down in a devastating arc, the sheer force of it shaking the ground beneath Grantchu’s boots. He struggled to deflect the impact, angling his own sword to redirect the momentum, but the weight of it sent a jarring tremor through his arms.
Lightning crackled along his blade as he discharged his gift’s shock, sending a yellow pulse through the steel upon impact.
But Rougge was already moving again.
The shock should have slowed him. It should have given Grantchu an opening, but the moment the first strike ended, the second had already begun.
There was no pause in his attack, no hesitation in his form.
His sword moved with terrifying speed, each strike carrying the power of a weapon twice its size, yet wielded with the swiftness of a duelist’s rapier.
Grantchu fought to keep pace.
He deflected again, but every time he blocked, Rougge’s relentless assault forced him back, further against the cliffside.
One mistake. One misstep.
If his foot slipped against the loose stone, if his balance wavered for even a second, he might expose himself to the archer perched on the cliffs above.
He needed to find an opening, and fast.
Each blow came heavier than the last, a relentless rhythm of steel hammering down upon Grantchu’s blade. Three strikes in quick succession, then another, even more devastating, crushed against his guard, forcing him further back.
His arm ached from the impact, his grip tightening out of desperation rather than control. Every block sent tremors through his bones, weakening him with each exchange.
He kept charging his blade, sending jolts of electricity through the steel, but it was useless.
Rougge showed no sign of slowing.
The Breaker just kept swinging, relentless, unwavering, his monstrous two-handed sword crashing down with the weight of a battering ram.
It was over for Grantchu. There was no defending the onslaught of blows from Rougge.
That is, had the scouts not made their move, Grantchu would have fallen.
Everything happened in a blur, too fast and too precise for Naithen Vorr, the sniper on top of the cliffs, to react.
The first knife hit his back and bounced off harmlessly, deflecting against the layers of thick fabric and reinforced leather. The throw had been poor, rushed and unsteady, which told him everything he needed to know about the scouts’ lack of combat experience.
He flinched as if a mere branch had brushed his skin.
Annoyed, not injured, he turned sharply, his bow still drawn, arrow nocked, his instincts already screaming that something was wrong.
Then, without warning, a streak of black appeared, slinking low to the ground as it shot toward the cliff’s edge. It was so fast no one could register what was happening. Cyre was a blur of fury, hunting with deadly precision. A rush of cold air followed, sharp as a winter gust, curling into ice as the atmosphere thickened around him. All they saw was a flicker across the archer’s chest, and then a cough. It began as a shallow gasp but collapsed into a violent, choking sputter as icy vapor coiled into his lungs before he could process what had happened. His face paled as frost formed on the ends of his stubble and lashes, his skin glassy with freezing condensation. Lips trembling, breath hitched, strangled by the sudden cold. Air escaped him, torn away before he could gasp, his lungs seizing as frost licked against his throat.
Seizing his chance, the scout leapt from cover and sprinted into the open. An arrow loosed wildly, flying off into the dawn without aim or purpose. Without hesitation, the scout drove forward, arms outstretched, slamming into Naithen Vorr’s chest with full force.
Naithen toppled backward, his balance lost, his arms grasping at nothing but air. His body plummeted, twisting through the rising light before crashing into the jagged shoreline below. The impact came with a wet, splintering crack that echoed through the cliffs as his skull split against the weathered stone.
A heartbeat of silence followed.
Rougge and Grantchu both froze.
The fight had shifted. For the first time, Grantchu wasn’t the one at a disadvantage.
And he didn’t waste the moment.
He feinted left, then broke right, escaping the cliffs and finding a better position.
Above, the scouts stood at the edge, watching.
And Cyre, small, silent, and deadly, flicked her tail and disappeared back into the dawn from the direction she had come.
Rougge saw an opportunity.
The death of Naithen Vorr hadn’t shaken him; if anything, it had emboldened him.
Grunting, he raised his sword and swung harder, wilder, his strikes fueled by raw, unrelenting aggression. Each blow carved through the air with devastating force, smashing against Grantchu’s defenses like a siege weapon.
With Naithen gone, Rougge’s massive sword carved wide, thunderous arcs through the air. Despite the raw power behind each swing, Grantchu’s footwork was precise, sidestepping and angling his blade to deflect with minimal effort. With every parry, his confidence grew, allowing him to push forward, probing for an opening amid the fury.
Even so, he couldn’t afford to let Rougge past him.
If he did, the Breaker would be free to reach Vorruk. Or worse, Kaedryn.
Kaedryn had his own battle to fight. Although he could now move away from the cliff edge, he was still being pushed back, his sword striking uselessly against Ysera Vennic’s shield.
And then, from behind the shimmering barrier, sharp nails raked across his skin.
Invisible fists lashed out, connecting with his ribs, his shoulder, his jaw.
The Camouflager.
Azleeya circled in the shadows, her movements unhurried and relentless. She let his strikes fall harmlessly against Ysera’s shield, her eyes never leaving his form. With steady breath and unwavering calm, she waited for the moment he over-committed. Then, she struck from the darkness.
Kaedryn had no way to counter what he couldn’t see.
Then, Ysera’s blade appeared. A short sword, drawn and ready. And that changed everything.
Not all shields worked in both directions. Ysera’s, Kaedryn realized, could be selectively broken from within. A single well-timed thrust, and her own sword could pass through while keeping his out.
Kaedryn was being attacked from two fronts. And worse, he was being pushed dangerously close to Vorruk.
But shielders had weaknesses. A shield projected outward. It did not extend above.
From the cliffs above, the two scouts had been waiting.
They might have failed with knives, but throwing rocks? That, they could do.
One after the other, two large stones came hurling down.
The first struck Ysera’s shield, bouncing harmlessly off, disrupting the shimmer but not breaking it.
The second?
Azleeya.
The rock struck her skull with a sickening crack.
Blood streamed from the wound as she crumpled onto the jagged rocks, her camouflage breaking in an instant. For the first time, she was visible.
She scrambled to her feet, naked and shivering, staggering back to where her weapons lay, scooping them up with shaking hands.
She was coming back.
More stones rained down, but the terrain was unpredictable. The bounces were wild, uncontrolled, and Kaedryn was now in the firing line. The scouts hesitated. Throwing more might risk hitting him instead. The advantage had shifted, but only for a moment.
Kaedryn was being driven back. Grantchu too, locked in battles that offered no ground and no reprieve. Every strike, every movement edged them closer to defeat.
Ysera’s sword lashed out, catching Kaedryn’s leg first, slicing through the thin fabric and into flesh. A second cut followed almost immediately, tearing across his right arm, forcing him to recoil. His footing slipped on the wet rock, and before he could catch himself, he crashed backward onto Vorruk’s massive form.
The bear had been half-conscious, his breaths labored and sluggish, his body still recovering from the arrows embedded in him and the exhaustion of the relentless chase. But the impact of Kaedryn slamming into him, combined with the screams of battle around them, sent a surge of awareness through him.
Vorruk’s eyes snapped open.
A deep, guttural growl rumbled from his chest, a primal force awakening within him. The moment his gaze locked onto Ysera, still advancing with her blade, his instincts took over.
With a powerful lurch, Vorruk rose, his sheer size and weight sending Ysera stumbling backward. She had only a moment to react before the bear crashed into her shield with enough force to shake the ground beneath them. The impact hurled her backward onto the jagged rocks, the air leaving her lungs in a sharp gasp as pain exploded through her body.
But Vorruk did not stop.
The primal rage had consumed him, overriding pain, exhaustion, and reason. He pounced.
Ysera clung to her shield, the shimmering barrier flickering under the relentless assault. Vorruk’s claws, though unable to pierce the protection, struck with bone-crushing force. His sheer weight bore down on her, the shield absorbing the impact but doing nothing to stop the pressure.
Her spine cracked first.
Then her leg twisted at an unnatural angle.
A scream tore from her throat, raw and ragged, before she went still, her body no longer responding.
But Vorruk didn’t stop. He pounded again, and again, each strike duller than the last as the shield shimmered and flickered. Her arms twitched, then fell limp at her sides. The shield faltered, then vanished entirely.
Ysera was nothing more than a broken body beneath him now.
Some twenty yards away, the Camouflager had been watching, frozen in horror as the scene unfolded. The moment Ysera’s shield failed, the moment she stopped moving, the fear took hold.
She began to back away.
Then she turned and ran.
Grantchu was locked in a relentless battle, forced onto the defensive as Rougge’s strikes came down like hammer blows. But he was quicker now, more agile, slipping just beyond the full force of the attacks and striking back with calculated precision. Sparks of electricity pulsed down his blade, each swing charged with raw energy, yet even that had not been enough to bring The Breaker down.
Vorruk, his body wracked with exhaustion and pain, finally collapsed to the side, landing beside Ysera’s broken form. His massive frame barely moved, his ragged breaths the only sign of life. Kaedryn pushed himself to his feet, shaking off the pain that throbbed through his limbs, and turned toward Grantchu, ready to intervene.
But once again, Cyre had moved first.
Silent as the wind, the sleek black form had returned, weaving her way down the cliff undetected. She brushed past Rougge, so quick it was almost imperceptible, and yet the shift in temperature was immediate.
A small puddle of water pooled beneath his boot, remnants of the tide’s earlier reach across the stone. In an instant, it froze solid, the surface flash-cooled to a perfect sheet of ice. It wasn’t deep, a thin layer, but it was enough.
The moment Rougge moved, his footing shifted ever so slightly, the pressure against the ice unexpected. His stance faltered.
It was all Grantchu needed.
The Breaker stumbled, his balance lost for the briefest moment, falling hard onto one knee, one hand slamming against the ground for support.
Grantchu’s sword was already in motion.
The blade crashed through the weakened section of Rougge’s armor, cutting deep into his neck. The electric charge surged through the steel, sending a violent jolt coursing through his body. His fingers twitched, his muscles locked, his breath hitched in a strangled gasp.
Then, his body slumped.
The Breaker had fallen.
Grantchu collapsed, his breath coming in ragged, uneven gasps. The fight had drained him, and though he had survived, the weight of the battle pressed down on him like an unseen force.
Kaedryn gave him a quick, distracted glance. He would be fine. Vorruk wouldn’t.
Kaedryn turned to the massive black bear, his heart tightening as he took in the sight of him. Vorruk lay motionless, his immense frame heaving with shallow, labored breaths. Blood stained the rocks beneath him, pooling dark and thick.
Kaedryn dropped to his knees beside him, pressing a hand gently against his fur.
‘Vorruk, buddy, hold on there,’ his voice faltered before reaching the bear’s ears.
But it was hopeless.
They had made their stand here, fought their battle without concern for retreat. Now they were trapped, cliffs towering above them, the sea at their backs. Even if Vorruk could move, there was no path out. No escape.
And Vorruk wasn’t moving.
Kaedryn swallowed hard, pushing down the wave of panic rising in his chest. His fingers curled into Vorruk’s fur, clinging to the warmth still left in him.
‘Vorruk, you gotta listen to me, buddy. You’re okay. You’re okay.’
But the bear remained unresponsive to his voice.
And Vorruk’s breathing was slowing.
CHAPTER 30 – The Blade in the Smoke
Dawn had just kissed the horizon, its first weak light stretching outward, painting the sea in muted hues of gray and gold. Waves crashed over the rocks in a steady, relentless rhythm, their roar drowning out the quiet, broken sobs that escaped Kaedryn as he knelt beside Vorruk.
The great bear lay still, his massive frame rising and falling in slow, labored breaths. He had refused food, ignored the water Kaedryn had tried to press to his muzzle. He was fading, slipping further away with every agonizing second.
Above them, a voice finally cut through the sound of the waves. One of the scouts had returned.
‘We’re getting help!’ he called down.
Kaedryn barely acknowledged him. His world had narrowed to the steady, struggling breaths of his companion, to the helplessness clawing at his chest.
Time blurred. Nearly an hour passed before movement stirred along the cliff tops once more.
More voices.
