Book 3, Chapter 89 - In Deep (2/2)
Augustus’ face was crestfallen. This man was a senior member of his family, a man he should call cousin. He never would have believed that such an illustrious member of their family would fall so low. Did the honor of their family name mean nothing to him?
All of the demonhunters looked spurned and glared at Wyrmsole with loathing. A traitor like him turned to the darkness was worse than any heathen! Burning him at the stake wouldn’t be half what this bastard deserved! And worst of all, they operated in the wasteland under the guise of faith.
Wyrmsole understood their ire, of course. He had once been just like them, but all that remained now was numbness, indifference, and sadness.
He had experienced much in his life. There were times when he made the right decisions, and times when he was wrong. Sometimes he was firm, and many times lost. In the end he found himself, and discovered that there was no such thing as right and wrong. There was only that which must be done. As for the fate of his eternal soul, whether he would spend forever in darkness? None of that mattered.
Frost suddenly burst into action.
He brought his arm back and heaved Frozen Dirge through the air. Its silvery length seemed to drink in power from the world around it, and leaving a trail of ice crystals in its wake. With frightening speed it raced toward Wyrmsole, and the aura around it almost looked like a dragon formed of ice.
The attack was heavy with a bone-chilling cold and suffocating fury. Frost held nothing back.
Wyrmsole did not move, however the flag wrapped around his standard was somehow released. It fluttered open, a red banner that reached out like a tongue of fire. The pattern on its surface gleamed as the sun caught it, though the light seemed to come from the image itself. Then, as Wyrmsole gently waved his hand, the pattern came to life. A winged dragon, which mystically leaped out from the banner and into reality.
Two dragons of fire and ice met in fierce confrontation, intertwining as they battled.
The opposing powers warred, consuming one another. Wyrmsole’s reputation was clearly deserved, for his strength was nearly on par with Frost. However that was merely an opening move, and Frost had crossed the distance between them while their powers contested. He pulled the frost-covered sword from the sheath at his waist and thrust it forward, releasing an energy that froze Wyrmsole’s fiery dragon in place. It shattered into crystals of ice and fell away.
A swift, fierce aura of frigid cold sprang up around them. Rimeshard was a weapon of unknowable cold, but the fury with which it was wielded as burning hot.
The Church’s standard bearer didn’t know why this boy hated him so intently, nor did he care. In his years of service, Wyrmsole had committed all manner of crimes. The number those who wished him harm – alive and in the underworld – were beyond measure. What did another one matter?
“You are strong, young man.”
With this said the banner rolled up of its own accord, and a slight nick appeared on the pole’s surface. Immediately following a surge of fiery power arose, strong enough to counteract the chill of Rimeshard.
He was in it now, no option but to fight.
“You lot, help the commander.” Augustus waved his hand at a group of demonhunters, then set his eyes on the Caliph. “The rest of you, we are going to slay this demon.”
Abaddon looked upon the mighty demonhunter from the Cloude family with some interest. “I spared your life years ago, child. You should have learned to cherish it.”
His words were like a barbed thorn, digging deep into Augustus’ heart.
The refined, intelligent middle-aged hunter was consumed with anger. He would never forget the battle from years before, where the demon destroyed nearly all of the forces he brought with him to the wastelands. It was the greatest shame of his life.
This battle was more than just an opportunity to free the wasteland of this monster’s tyranny. It was a chance for Augustus to wash away the stain of disgrace!
Battle raged all around; in the skies above, and in the mountain below. War consumed the Blisterpeak mountains. For honor, for justice, for power, for faith, and for survival, thousands of men put their lives in mortal danger.
Cloudhawk kept watching. Once again it was unclear who had the upper hand. More and more support troops from the border army were flooding the field, and the Knights of Splendor were in full conflict with the priests of the Crimson Church. This battle could continue for several more hours and still a winner might be hard to determine.
No matter who won, in the end there would be tens of thousands of dead to bury. It had been a hundred years since the world saw a clash of this magnitude.
The Warden looked over the battle with an unprecedented sense of awe and uncertainty. He was vaguely aware of the fact that the elysians had more support, but also that the Dark Atom would fight tooth and nail for their survival. News of what was happening here would quickly spread, and when it did the other secretive factions of the wasteland would likely come to their aid. After all, it was the Dark Atom that kept Skycloud’s focus off of them. Were the rebel organization to be destroyed, how long would they last out in the open?
“This thing has gotten a whole lot bigger than just this fight,” Cloudhawk shouted suddenly. “It’s not hard to see, this is going to change the whole dynamic between Skycloud and the wastelands.”
Drake was still vigilant for the possible arrival of the Crimson One. Cloudhawk’s warning gave him pause, and he looked at his old companion in surprise. “Why do you say that?”
“Because the continuation of the Dark Atom is important for the wastelands. The dispute between the people on either side of that border has been brewing for a long, long time. The elysians have always tried to keep the wastelands in check, and the wastelanders have always fought back. Eventually the stalemate was going to break and force all that hatred to the surface.”
Cloudhawk turned his eyes toward Drake.
“This is that day. This fight is what destroys the balance, no matter who wins. The more elysians die, the more soldiers will be sent here from the border. All the wasteland groups wanting to get back at Skycloud will flood this place to win revenge. A long, drawn-out war will start right here if we let it, and the whole world will suffer for it. I’m just grateful I’m not a soldier.”
The thought horrified Drake.
The wastelands was a vast and impenetrable place, and no one knew just how wide it really spread. How many monsters were lying dormant, quietly waiting for their chance to rise from the shadows?
When the specter of the wasteland fell over Skycloud, would their soldiers really be ready? As a soldier, all Drake knew was that the destruction of the Dark Atom had always been a priority for his people. He never spared a thought for what would happen afterward. Not until Cloudhawk opened his eyes to the dire possibilities.