Book 3, Chapter 86 - Escalation (2/2)

Though Wolfblade was hardly as much of a threat as a demon, his continued existence threatened the elysian homeland far more than any demon did. With his death the Dark Atom would crumble. If this was to be his final battle, killing the terrorist leader would be more than worth his life.

The elysian army erupted in a chorus of loud shouting.

Drake watched with wide eyes. Was this the power of the elder generation?

Aegir Polaris wasn’t a demonhunter. Everything he did was by virtue of his own strength and potential. If he hadn’t seen it with his own eyes, Drake wouldn’t have believed a human was capable of such incredible feats.

If Aegir was this strong, what about his brother Skye? What about the leader of the templars, the one they called the War Saint?

Suddenly, Drake felt stupid for worrying over his general. Aegir could cut Wolfblade apart with his holy weapon without a problem. Meanwhile, Brontes had led the van into the heart of the Dark Atom forces just in time to help their valiant general slay the terrorist leader.

He was the general of the border forces – who was Drake to assume the general, a man who earned his position, would foolishly rush in alone if he thought it was suicide? Of course he had the confidence and smarts to make such a risk, and not just throw away the lives of his soldiers. What hubris, to believe all men in power were fools!

He felt a fire roil in his veins. Holding his weapon high, Drake let his voice bellow. “Prepare for a full assault!”

As Wolfblade watched the light of the sword grow ever closer, his face became white as a sheet. But if one were to look closely, they would see his pallor was from strain, not fear. In fact, there was almost a note of ridicule behind the man’s eyes, as though he were idly watching an ape make a fool of itself. He was running toward the muzzle of a gun and didn’t even know it.

A sword of sand came sweeping past.

Simple and unassuming, it was hardly worth noticing compared to the dramatic scene from moments before. In fact, its approach was entirely disregarded by most.

Aegir felt the danger as it approached, but he was already committed. After the clash with the demonblade, his holy weapon had already suffered significant damage. So it was that when the seemingly feeble sword of sand collided with the general’s sword, the blessed weapon split down the middle.

But the sword of sand kept coming.

General Polaris’ breastplate couldn’t stop it and the sword pierced his chest. Its gritty point exited from his back with a spray of bright red blood. It almost seemed to hang in the air for a moment like a macabre fog.

Like a great eagle with broken wings, Aegir tumbled from the sky. He struck the ground a few meters from Wolfblade, while the godslayer watched with a dispassionate gaze.

Watching from a distance, Drake froze. Brontes, too. All the soldiers who saw their great general fall were suddenly frozen. When the shock wore off it was replaced with berserk fury. Brontes commanded his men to cut a path to Aegir, but it was already too late.

It was a trap! A rain of sand arrows descended on them from the sky!

They struck with more force than a spray from a minigun, easily strong enough to punch right through the armored soldiers. More frightening still, the flesh of the soldiers were reduced to sand and in mere seconds they crumbled away as though they never were. The vanguard was now nothing more than a pile of dust.

Aegir gasped as he was shocked away from a brief moment of unconsciousness. He raised his head and came face to face with a masked visage, only one eye revealed and yet still somehow refined. Wolfblade stood a short distance away, watching him with a smile, yet did not attack.

Bastard! You dare mock me?!

Aegir tried to rise, but in that moment a wave of sand appeared to submerge him from the waist down. The sand was like a giant hand, which reached up to encase him entirely. Slowly, bit by bit, crushing force pressed in on him from every direction. Any second he would be pulverized.

The elysian general was about to be smashed to paste before the eyes of his soldiers.

In this critical moment a streak of icy blue light arrived with a burst of energy. It inserted into the sand and froze it instantly in place. Jutting out was a spear of masterful craftsmanship, appearing to be made entirely of ice. Only Aegir’s face remained free, the rest of him locked in a prison of crystal and sand. However, the crushing force was gone.

The mocking light in Wolfblade’s eyes faded. He reached out with his mind for the demonblade, wrenching it from the distant cliff and calling it back to him – aimed directly at Aegir’s back. But before it could find its target, a figure wrapped in the purest white descended from above. He bore a magnificent sword that filled the area with a bone-deep cold.

In the same instant this new foe knocked away Wolfblade’s sword, the icy shell around Aegir shattered.

Frost de Winter lifted Aegir from the sand and stood between him and Wolfblade. With his feet planted firmly on the ground, he reached down and picked up his spear, Frozen Dirge. The sword in his right hand cut toward the terrorist leader. The series of changes were unexpected, and too fast for Wolfblade to react. No one was nearby to come to his rescue.

The ground in front of Wolfblade began to fracture and open up. A burst of sand gushed from the fissure to form a towering wall. Deadly icicles lodged into it, jutting out like a hedgehog’s hide. But the sword strike was enough to split the sandy shield, just wide enough for Frost to throw Frozen Dirge through the opening. The mighty spear ran Wolfblade through and pinned him to the rocky wall behind.

It all happened in a matter of seconds. One after the other, white-clad figures fell from the heavens.

There were at least a dozen, men all wearing snow-white cloaks. Demonhunters.

Frost flicked his wrist and Frozen Dirge dislodged from the wall of its own accord. It almost seemed to sing as it streaked through the air and returned to his grip. Raising his head and looking toward the sky, toward a black figure who peered down at them through burning red eyes.

“Young man. What is your name?”

A smile spread across Frost’s lips. “I thought we were here to exterminate a few measly rats. How unexpected that the Dark Atom would be hiding a sheltering a demon. Good. Killing your kind is what demonhunters do best!”

Agents of the Dark Atom looked at one another in speechless despair. The demonhunters had arrived too quickly.

Things were different now. It wasn’t just a war, it had escalated to a confrontation between demonhunters and the very creature they were sworn to destroy. Everyone knew the capabilities of the young man, this champion of Skycloud. Though he himself perhaps was not the warrior Aegir Polaris was, he had led a contingent of veteran demonhunters to the field. They were not a force to disregard.

Demonhunters and a demon. Old enemies, face to face once more.