Book 3, Chapter 89 - In Deep (1/2)
A master demonhunter, former Knight-Commander, and bearer of Castigation fire. The Crimson One was capable of reducing whole armies to ash by himself.
But as Cloudhawk fervently searched the distant forces of the Crimson Church, he saw no sign of their leader. He sighed in relief – it appeared the old man was still recovering.
No answers were forthcoming as to why they were here at all, though. However, in attacking the elysians they proved that they were – at least in part – on the side of the Dark Atom.
Good. Cloudhawk was pleased by this sudden change in circumstance, for at least the Sanctum of Judgement could hold the elysians at bay for a while. The Dark Atom wouldn’t be so easily wiped out. The day sure was turning into an interesting drama, that was for damn sure. What happened next was anyone’s guess.
Frost de Winter’s razor-edge eyebrows furrowed as the hail of green fire descended. In a dangerous growl he ordered the retreat. The demonhunters under his command fell back quick as the wind.
They were all dressed in the same superior equipment, and easily recognized by the pure white cloaks draped across their shoulders. Across from them were the warriors of the Crimson Church, a tide of blood red. Both sides eyed one another, the air thick murderous with enmity.
Frost’s demonhunter squad was a collection of top talents. For over a decade they were commended for their great abilities and accomplishments. Their members were among the best demonhunters in active service. The fact that Abaddon’s appearance hadn’t routed the elysian forces already was a testament to their abilities.
Once again, the situation on the ground was changing,
The red-robed missionaries of the Sanctum made no effort to hide their identities. The field came alive with flashes of power from the relics they wielded. It was hard to understand – how could these supposedly pious men, bearing the gifts of the gods, turn these artifacts on the children of the holy lands?
The church’s demonhunters were no match for Frost and his squad, but their timing was impeccable. Appearing suddenly in the perfect moment disrupted the elysians’ brief advantage.
Their leader was a man in his fifties, unattractive and rugged as though he were plucked from the ruins. But he was tall, and strong, and stood before the missionaries in bare feet. His relic was a standard with the flag rolled up. The flagstaff itself ended in a sharp point, so that with the flag wrapped tight it was no different than a spear.
He motioned with his hand. Half of the priests separated from the group and joined the Dark Atom forces in battle.
The Knights of Splendor were recovering, and thanks to their equipment the hail of Castigation had not done as much damage as it could. However, now they were faced with a dozen missionaries of the Crimson Church. Though not of the same caliber as Frost’s squad, they nonetheless were demonhunters, and a demonhunter’s presence on the field was not to be discounted.
“You!” When Frost saw the standard bearer a deadly cold crossed his eyes. In their depths was a terrible fire born from loathing. He growled his words, stressing every syllable. “I should have known.”
Obviously, Frost and this barefoot priest knew one another. It was clearly not a friendly relationship.
Cloudhawk gave the priest a curious look. “Who’s that peasant preacher?” He asked.
“He’s no peasant.” Drake’s face was solemn, but also surprised. “He’s a member of the Cloude family. Twenty years ago he was a famous man in Skycloud. Ten years ago he was the lieutenant commander of the demonhunter division of the Skycloud army. Around then, with Sterling’s influence, he resigned from his post and disappeared. Now all of a sudden he show’s up here… your information was right!”
Cloudhawk was all full of concerns and suspicions, but for the time being it was what it was.
He might as well take the gift he was given. “Well, no shit I’m right! When has my information ever been wrong? That guy looks like one of the Crimson One’s captains, but the real danger in the Crimson One himself. Who knows if he’s lurking in some dark corner, somewhere waiting for his chance. Like I said, you walked right into a trap!”
Just a captain? What a joke!
It was nonsense from the Warden, just a wild guess. Really, the peasant priest was one of the Crimson One’s right-hand men. When Sterling defected from Skycloud he took a hundred or so demonhunters with him. It would be no surprise if he enticed several from his own house to follow him as well. A master demonhunter and Knight-Commander would definitely not be lacking in loyal underlings.
Cloudhawk quietly rejoiced over meeting Sterling at Fishmonger’s Borough. While he almost died, dealing with the man then was far better than having him show up now. If the Crimson One was at full strength and here in this battle, the outcome here would already have been written.
“All these years you claim to be in seclusion, but here you are! In the wastelands, colluding with sinners!” Augustus Cloude stepped out from among the demonhunters, furious in his accusations. “You betray your family! You betray your faith! These misdeeds you commit against our gods are unforgivable!”
The rustic-looking barefoot man let the words wash over him. He showed no grief, no guilt. Who was betrayer, and who was betrayed… was the word of one angry man enough to condemn him? He felt no compunction to explain, nor did he respond. Instead, his eyes turned toward the Caliph of the Sands.
“We have arrived as promised. I expect you to hold true to your commitments.”
“Fear not. He has already left with his prize.” Abaddon remained suspended above the battlefield, with dervishes of sand dancing around him. In one hand he held a yellow-gold sword of sand, and grit whipped all around him in a cocoon several meters in diameter. It marked the borders of his own domain. “What is your name, priest?”
“I have abandoned the name of my birth. I am now known as Wyrmsole.” Though he did not speak loudly, there was a definite force to his voice. In it one could find what remained of his former days as a noble. When next he turned his eyes back to Frost and the other demonhunters, he said something that made them scratch their heads in confusion. “These lost and pathetic men do not know why they fight. They give of their blood freely, ignorantly, and those that fall do not know to what end they consign their souls.”
Augustus bristled. “Our heroic soldiers who fall in battle live for eternity on the peaks of the heavenly mountain! It is blasphemers like you who are condemned to the endless abyss!”
The corners of Wyrmsole’s mouth twitched upward in a taunting sneer. “You who live in a world of lies. Your faith does naught but blind you.”
“You dare!”
“Punish the heretic!”
All the demonhunters within earshot were incensed by his words. In contrast, the priests in red were dispassionate and unmoved. They had already abandoned their faith in the elysian gods. They were true blasphemers.