The Cursed Blood, стр. 85
“Oh, brother… I feel I must be honest with you. I’ve been looking forward to this very, very much.” He gripped his staff with two hands and planted it hard into the earth with a soft thunk that impossibly echoed with a deep and unsettling groan from deep in the earth as he twisted and dug it into the ground.
The crystal atop his iron staff pulsed blindingly and flared. Reality bulging out from where the Wizard stood in a crackling wave of warped matter that struck with a crunching, ear popping cascade of power that reduced the Elvish guards to twisted, steaming horrors of warped, melted armor and flesh in a single violent heartbeat, leaving the King gasping in agonized shock on his knees and leaning on his sword as he stared upon what had been done in mute horror.
Trembling with rage and a hint of weariness the High King struggled to his feet, his rich cloak smoking, he looked at his fallen guard with tearful eyes and then turned his glare to his fellow Wizard.
“You will pay most dearly for that,” he assured.
“You are mistaken,” Gideon advised coolly, as if advising a pupal of a tiresome error in his studies. Purple fire flared to life in his claw like fingers and balled forth with a vicious acidic hiss that sent Efferieal Rain spinning through the air, trailing acrid black smoke, and landing in a tumbling heap on the grass.
Gramps was the first to reach the Wizard as the spell binding time broke. His sword broke clean in half and swept from his grip with a harsh shattering clatter as the Wizard met his powerful swing with an almost lazy block of his staff.
Gideon followed through with a strike like a golf swing that sent the once King of Camelot violently to the ground where he lay unmoving even as Aunt Milly was sent spinning away to land beside him from a clubbing backhand. Fazool, dagger drawn from his walking stick fell next with a shriek, landing in a smoldering, moaning heap.
“Oh please, an old coward, a fashionista drama queen, and a Halfling… That’s not enough, not nearly enough by far.” The Wizard coughed, wiping something dark from his lips, and glared at the fallen with disdain, only just turning in time to eye Manx as the faithful hound attacked.
For a moment hope swelled but was crushed into the chill of Darkling blood and horror as the cold in me flared as rage and terror drove it forth and a part of me screamed into the dark as I watched in horror as Manx just vanished with a heart wrenching yelp.
One moment the Witchound was snarling, fangs bared to rip out the old Wizard’s throat as he leapt gracefully through the air. The next, with a snap of the Wizard’s fingers and a pain filled yelp, he was just gone, leaving an emptiness in me that burned cold in my heart as tears streamed freely down my face.
“Unnatural beast,” Gideon hissed abominably as he stalked forward to the fallen and bloodied Efferieal Rain who was groaning and struggling to rise. He loomed over the fallen Elf Wizard and shook his head sadly.
“You were a fool to underestimate me, Elf.” He kicked him over and glared down at his fallen brother’s face with a sardonic sneer. “Though you will serve a purpose in my plans nonetheless.”
He lowered his staff, jaggedly pointed crystal glowing and pulsing and touched the King’s brow with it ever so gently, drawing a single rivulet of blood as Efferieal Rain’s face contorted in agony. The King’s jaw was open in a silent scream as his skin darkened and he convulsed, pinned by the staff’s magic as it leached his life and wizardly essence.
“Your power is mine, brother,” Gideon hissed as he staggered back trembling but almost extatically smiling at his victory. His staff held in nearly nerveless fingers as he stood twitching as sparks and arcs of green tinged arcane power ran along his form.
After a moment he regained his composure and glared first at the now amber like husk of his defeated wizardly brother that was crumbling into dust. Then he looked to White Owl who was watching it all inscrutably, his cowboy hat low over brow as he leaned on his own staff, beads, pouches, and feathers gently swaying in a gathering wind.
“You can do nothing, Master,” Gideon sneered in disgust. “So, I will ignore you, as you once ignored the world as it burned.” White Owl nodded at this, his face emotionless and hard as he surveyed the death and horror then shook his head with muted sadness.
“It’s not me you should fear,” he replied simply as he watched with a pained expression as the roots that had been holding me fast melted away, repelled by the curse awakening once more in my blood. The Wizard, however, failed to notice as he coughed and stared harshly as White Owl continued. “You’ve been running, young one. Now though, I’m afraid the monster you’ve created has found you.”
For once the near total confidence slipped as the Wizard, who greying and weary took a step back and stared about uneasily as a scream of rage shattered the infant silence.
Amid a shattering cacophony of demonic sounds Morgan appeared with a CRACK that shook what few colorful leaves remained on the trees loose from their branches. Morgan was terrifyingly beautiful as she stepped forth, otherworldly fire crackling about her like a demonic veil as she advanced with enraged determination.
“Hello, daughter. You seem, distressed.” He smiled at her, but fear was in his eyes as she stalked forward. Her eyes glowed yellow and her fists trembled even as his own tightened on his staff and it again began to glow dangerously, the very earth beneath it blackening and cracking.
They struck simultaneously.
Flames of purple