66. At The Darkest Hour

66. At The Darkest Hour

Dessin

A mushroom cloud of firebulldozes into us from behind, cracking the earth with its grumbling impact and sending us flying.

The explosion is bigger than the last, closer perhaps. Except this time, we don’t roll down the side of a dangerous hill. We land in front of a gooey swamp and a bald cypress tree. The woody projections of the roots bulge from the black waters, giving us something to hold on to as we try to lift ourselves from the earthy rubble.

Using my elbows to hold myself up in the swampy gunk, I twist my body toward the haze of everyone dressed in matte black armor, bearing their swords in our direction as their mouths gape open in a battle cry.

Through my aching ribs, brittle spine, and brain throbbing in a nest of burning embers and shards of glass, I wobble to my feet. It isn’t a choice whether or not I should let the stampede of these vast numbers run over my family in a brutal killing. I will stand against thousands of men without giving it a thought.

To my right, Warrose rises with me, having already handed Ruth off to Niles. Marilynn steps up to my left. She doesn’t look afraid staring into the sea of murderers. The harrowing image of the angel of death sweeping the land to find us waiting. She watches patiently, taking a deep breath and nudging my hand with hers.

“I’ve waited my whole life to see this,” she whispers.

Is this how her prophecy predicted our deaths? How could she possibly look so calm about this? Where is the fear that should wrinkle her forehead?

“How do you like these odds, Dess?” Warrose asks with a paling face.

I smirk with unease knotting my stomach. “It’s not fair to them.”

“Let’s not make it easy on them.”

I nod, appreciating my oldest friend standing by my side in the face of imminent death, never failing to rise against greater numbers with me.

The earth quakes around us as the army speeds up, flooding the open lands with stomping hooves and beasts sprinting ahead as they plan to end our lives first. And though I can feel time pushing against us with an iron fist, it also slows. A moment spread wide, bearing itself to face me as I realize…the earth quaking under my feet isn’t coming from their angry mob of an army.

The faces of the many soldiers closing in on us stare over my shoulder, losing the fierce look on their faces. And as we follow their frightened gazes, I finally see what’s shaking the core of the very ground we stand on.

Appearing like a god of death and hell in the distance, DaiSzek sprints with the force and speed of a world-ending meteor.

And Skylenna stands on his back, riding him as she bears her sword.

~

Skylenna

That apocalyptic puff of blacksmoke over the desert lands of Vexamen only meant one thing.

It wasn’t something the Nightamous Horde had to tell me.

It was something DaiSzek and I felt in our very core.

It was a call for help.

And as we raced into the face of an army larger than our own, DaiSzek and I showed no fear. No hesitation.

Our army follows behind us. Knightingale sprints as fast as she can yet is nowhere close to the otherworldly speed DaiSzek takes on. Wind beats against the front of my body, sending my hair and braids shooting away from my face like a long, golden flag. I grip DaiSzek’s long coat of fur, praying we aren’t too late, buzzing with anticipation of saving Dessin’s life.

The atmosphere of rain slaps against my cheeks, bringing the scent of deep water and blood spiraling up my nose. And something between DaiSzek and I changes as we see the horizon of an army aiming their sights on a small swamp in the distance. I feel an undeniable pull to them, like fishhooks cutting through my navel, dragging me to my soulmate. A bond that shoots fire down my spine as I ride DaiSzek into a war that will make history. That will fulfull a prophecy. It’s electricity transferring from his back into my hands, charging me with combustions of power. It ripples through the air around us.

“We need something stronger than just our fight, Dai,” I tell him as we eat away at the distance between us and the bald cypress tree.

DaiSzek is a descendant of the last living dragon that fought alongside our Fae king and Elven queen.

I gaze down at him. Those cinnamon eyes turning a bright shade of crimson.

It’s said that the last living RottWeilen can breathe fire like his ancestor. But only if he has a strong enough bond with his pack. The fae king, DaiSzek, used to merely close his eyes and imagine his enemies burning for his dragon to know when to strike. Do you think you have a bond like that?

His heavy paws beat into the earth like a drum of gods. The world rattles and shivers in fear at the great RottWeilen unleashing his fury, unraveling a power no one has seen in a thousand years. And it all clicks together as I hold onto his mane. Watching with gritting teeth and burning eyes as the army comes into focus, growing so near we can taste their adrenaline running thick in their pores.

DaiSzek can’t breathe fire.

Have you ever asked him to?

Well, no…

His strides quicken, practically levitating off the ground.

If he is the true alpha of his species, the last of his kind, then it should run hot in his blooddormant until his pack rides into battle, believing he can torch a path through the blood and clashing swords.

“Am I your pack?” I ask him with drops of rain splashing in my eyes.

My boy growls, revving up to sing his song of demise.

DaiSzek, used to merely close his eyes and imagine his enemies burning for his dragon to know when to strike.

“I’ve felt the connection to you since the day I found you as a child. You’ve always been mine. And I’ve always been yours.” My eyes water as the feeling bursts like lightning through my soul.

Do you think you have a bond like that?

“I love you, DaiSzek. I think we’ve always known this would be our moment. This is what we were meant to be.” And it simply feels like the right move to jump onto my feet, standing along the bulky length of his spine as I unsheathe our swords.

Twenty paces away from the small swamp, my family looks back at me, breaking my heart as I see their faces warped with the notion of one foot in their graves. Ready to die with honor. But there’s a glimmer of pride beaming from Dessin’s dark-mahogany eyes as he gazes upon my warrior stance, riding the back of the last living RottWeilen. In a single moment, he takes in my face painted like the reaper of Vexamen souls. The chains and armor and giant swords being raised by my fists.

And as if in slow motion, I toss him the sword of the fae king. And just as I do, their spirits reveal themselves to me. The warrior angels that came before us ride into battle at our backs, bowing their heads to me. It’s only now I realize the voice in my head guiding me through the prison has always been the soul of the elven queen, Knightingale. And even now as I wield her sword and ride the greatest monster alive, she’s with me. Dessin catches the bulky sword, filling him with a divine power that can only be gifted by God himself.

When you get out there, dashna, you’ll know when it’s time.

I do now. The front lines of the Vexamen Breed bolt toward us. DaiSzek doesn’t seem bothered because it’s time. And we both know it. My entire frame is lit with a force stronger than the gravity that moves the universe. Trembling, sweating, and levitating from the tips of my toes off DaiSzek’s back. I lean my head back with a smile contorting my face, and I close my eyes slowly, letting them roll back in my head as I believe in what the alpha of all RottWeilens is capable of.

I imagine my enemies burning to the ground.

DaiSzek takes a deep breath in, and I feel the exhale before I see it. He roars like both a king of lions and a massacring dragon. The legend hunches his shoulders to his ears with a force of air that blasts from his jaws detonating blue flashing sparks, and within a blink of an eye, dark red flames ignite, the color of his glowing eyes.

The fire is massive in size, dwarfing the army, and emanating a callous fury as it engulfs charred pathways through several lines of defense. DaiSzek’s body goes taut and hard to the touch with the scorching wrath of a dragon, the dominating energy radiating off of us in a musical dance of annihilation.

The faces of those who barely survive the blast are more shocked than if they saw the devil himself rising from the dirt to take them to hell.

Catching up behind us, Knightingale and a storm of white wolves make a head-on collision with Vexamen beasts like swamp dawpers and grinalie bears, wasting no time in their slaughter. The army of Demechnef rides in the wake of the smoke and flames being extinguished by the mob of dying soldiers, putting out the flames with their bodies. And even though we didn’t take out the entire army, we sure as hell made a dent in their forces.

Stormsages fall in line first, then the Nightamous Horde. And as they create an impenetrable wall on the left and right sides of DaiSzek and me, we slice through the limbs of these soldiers like slabs of butter. In the thick of the fighting, I jump off of DaiSzek’s back, beheading anyone that charges me. My nerves come alive, remembering every moment I trained with Kane as a child. Feeling the grief and depression from when I lost Dessin. The guilt from Ruth’s moment with the axe. The pain of watching Niles throw himself into the flames.

I’m a lethal assassin in the calm of night, slithering through the falling bodies and sharp weapons. Blood splashes across my face as I take down a man three times my size, feeling the presence of another towering figure coming right up behind me. His shadow blankets the sunrays that glimmer off my ancient sword. I swing the blade like a whip lashing through the wind, throwing my weight into the attack. But as I see the brown eyes looking down at me, my arm halts to a stop, pausing just before it touches the skin on his tan neck.

“Dessin,” I exhale in a rush. Every bit of passion under my skin is rushing to the surface.

He slips his sword into his belt, and hesitantly slides those giant hands around the sides of my face. I melt despite the pumps of adrenaline coursing through my veins. His touch softens the universe into submission.

“You came back,” he says, furrowing his brow.

I nod with watering eyes. “And I brought heaven and hell with me.”

Dessin blinks as he glares down at me with confusion and intense emotions flashing across his vision. “You love me.”

“Always.”

A soldier comes up behind me, but not before Dessin uses the tip of my sword to impale him. We break away from each other, staying close as we fight back-to-back. An unstoppable force that conquers the weapons that rise against us.

With Dessin by my side, I can do all things.

Bear all things.

Endure all things.

~

Niles

“DaiSzek just breathed fucking fire!” I scream in Ruth’s ear, hugging her chilled body to my chest within the curly roots of the swamp tree.

“Good, you saw it, too,” she says in a shiver. “I thought I was hallucinating.”

I bury my nose against her wet hair. We’ve both lost some blood, probably have concussions, and I can’t imagine how great her pain is right now. However, the cavalry has come! Soldiers in orderly lineups march on as Skylenna makes a blazing trail through a sea of fried corpses. It’s astounding and surreal to see before my very eyes!

“Help has come, Ruthie.”

“Thank God. I wasn’t sure how much longer I’d last.”

I dab at the tears dripping down her cheeks, kiss her temple, and hug on her some more. We’re going to get through this. We have been through too much for that to be our tragic ending.

“We deserve a happy ending,” I tell her.

“I don’t think that’s in the cards for me,” she chokes out.

“Oh, Ruthie!” I pull her ice-cold hand to my lips, breathing hot air against her fingers. “Don’t you see him? You think I haven’t noticed the vibrant light that shines between you and Warrose? Sure, he’s rough around the edges and eats like a brain-dead barbarian, but you’ve found your soulmate. And he’s currently slaying any living being that tries to harm us.”

She watches Asena toss him a razor-bladed whip and sees how he comes to life as he manipulates his favorite tool of destruction. The bronze muscles across his back flex and contract, hurling his body into a lashing that removes three heads at once. And those movements are positively bestial, a predator much faster than his prey. He’s a leaf in the wind as he rotates his movements around each attack, avoiding even the slightest cut or jab.

Marilynn isn’t far ahead of him. She stands out with her cherry-red hair and lips like a drop of blood on a piece of parchment. Her deadly presence twists around like a viper with her small hand blades. She’s fluid and packs a fucking punch. I wish I could be the man to help her, fight with her, but if I’m being true to myself…sitting here with Ruth, holding her, protecting her, is where I want to be.

Off into the distance, another army of mountain men and women with heavy axes and hulking bodies swarm around us. They remind me of Helga Bee and Gerta, helping us from all angles, supporting each colony for our seven forests. And to my surprise, Hangman’s Valley has its own colony. One that lacks a human population. Beasts of all sizes and colors enter the fight, gravitating toward Warrose to be commanded into the combat.

The clashing of swords and screaming men get a little too close to Ruth and me after a few minutes. It sends the hairs on my neck standing straight up. I scoot backward, closer to the bald cypress tree, hiding us away until the war is won, and this nightmare has ended.

Warrose and Marilynn are overrun, fighting too many at once, and that makes the snowy eyes of a nearby Vexamen Breed General that much more terrifying.

“Ruth,” I say in a warning tone.

The general slips past the defenses around us, charging toward us with his face covered in white scars and bruising blemishes. He’s wider than a Red Oak tree trunk, bald, with a mouth that is pinched and shaped like an asshole.

“Oh God,” Ruth gasps, seeing the man target us, too. “Warrose!” she screams, though it’s drowned out by the hectic noises of war around us. “Warrose!”

I attempt to continue scooting back, but it’s a failing effort as the goliath general trudges through the swamp water toward us. Reaching around his back, he plucks out two war hammers with flat heads the size of my face. His eyes the color of an ice storm bounce between Ruth and I, twirling those hammers between his fingers as if they weigh a pound a piece.

I act quickly. Or, at least, I set Ruth down and unsheathe the dagger Dessin gave me somewhat in a hurry. I focus on my lessons with Dessin and Warrose, how to defend myself against an attack. I must make them proud, and even though my shoulder is pierced with that stick of wood from the arrow I was hit with, my body becomes a numb, trembling vessel.

“I won’t let him hurt you, Ruthie!”

It’s all about confidence, Dessin once told me.

I do a little twirl of my dagger, flipping in my hand, then pointing it at the general with a calm and collected smile. I am a master of this dagger. No one is faster than my hand with this sharp blade of swift death.

Think to yourself, I am Niles Offborth, and I am not afraid.

It’s true. I’m not frightened of this big, stupid bald man. I am Niles Offborth, and I have been trained by the greatest warriors the world has ever seen. With a plunge forward, I jab at the general, forcing him to take a single step back. Pride swells in my chest at the small win. I jab once more, causing him to pivot to the left, avoiding my attack.

I can do this.

I am not afraid.

Blood pumps like a wild fireman’s hose in my arteries, causing my internal organs to vibrate through my core.

“Niles?!” Marilynn screams from several paces away from us. And I make the terrible mistake of glancing at her, trying to fight her way through the crowd of bloody, burned bodies.

The general attacks without hesitation, slamming the head of his war hammer against my shoulder, pinpointing the wound of the arrow stem. I grunt and fall to my knees, pulling the throaty sound from the pit of my stomach. My arm zings down to my fingertips with an injection of torment.

Before he can swing on me again, I use my position in the slimy swamp water to slice across his ankles, then as he doubles forward, I stab at a major artery above his hip. The general pierces my ears with his snarl that sounds more enraged than hurt.

The war hammer in his left hand blasts into my dagger, knocking it out of my hand and into the murky water and mud. Fuck. Shit. No.

“Run, Niles!” Ruth cries.

Run? I’d never leave her.

The general swings his heavy weight into my shoulder again. This time, it’s so hard and direct, the stem of the arrow comes jutting halfway out of my shoulder blade. Blood spills down my chest as I cry out. Broken. Something is broken or shattered or hanging on by a string.

Through the fat tears welling over my shuddering eyes, that fucking hammer rears back again, whooshing through the humid air in a straight line to my face. And I know, by the power behind that handle, by the muscles in this barbarian’s arm…this swing will crush my face. This swing will kill me.

I pray I’ll see my father again. I pray that my friends won’t mourn me. I pray—

The tip of a long, golden sword clanks against the hammer’s blow, halting a single centimeter away from my face. Sparks beam from the collision, and I cock my head back to look up through the sheer mist of rain at the lean, inky-haired leader of Demechnef stretched in front of my beaten body to block the killing blow.

“Ah, shit,” I hiss in sudden gratitude. “Fuck me!”

“I’m a little busy saving your ass,” Aurick Demechnef answers with a strained smirk. He kicks his boot into the general’s chest. His sword moves so quickly it makes sounds similar to a wind chime or a flute as it slices into a wrist, across the belly, above the knee. He’s a master swordsman, defending my helpless ass like it’s a child’s game.

After skewering the general through the right side of his chest, Aurick turns to me, slicking a hand through his professional, midnight hair. His smile hardly touches his icy blue eyes as he raises his perfect eyebrows, offering me a hand.

“Your first war, huh?” he mocks.

I grab his hand unenthusiastically. “Oh, fuck you. It’s your first, too.”

His chuckle is cut off, stopped too early with a loud popping sound. An egg cracks against concrete. The dark river of blood that spills from his scalp down the side of his face leaves us both momentarily immobile.

What?

Aurick’s radiant aqua eyes seem to short-circuit, losing focus, then return back to me with nothing but foggy confusion.

“Was I hit?” he asks absently.

“I-Aurick…I…” Shooting my startled glare over his shoulder, the general drops back to the ground with his war hammer coated in a few strands of black hair and blood. He got one last hit. Aurick…he shouldn’t have turned his back on him.

From here, there is only one sound that punctures the symphony of howling, feral animals, and the gory sloshing of war at its peak. Marilynn screams, and it’s a hacksaw to my chest. That singular cry stretches like hot lava through my trembling frame, blackening my insides. It wakes me up from a brief paralyzing shock, and I reach for Aurick’s shoulders as I stand before him.

“W-was I hit?” he asks again. And the confusion in his rapid blinking gaze twists my face at the start of an ugly cry.

I nod slowly. “Yeah, man.”

“Charles didn’t deserve it.” Aurick trains his eyes on me with a moment of lucidity. “I’m sorry, Niles.”

A lump forms in my throat as Marilynn sprints with high knees through the gooey swamp, grabbing Aurick’s midsection as he slowly loses his ability to stand. I help take on his weight, never breaking eye contact as the shock tightens its claws around his mind.

“I-I can’t feel anything,” he stammers.

That blood just keeps gushing, forking paths into his left eye, along the bridge of his nose, drizzling into his parted mouth. And I don’t know why, but I try to wipe it away for him. I try to clear his vision and make him clean again.

Marilynn presses her fist to her mouth to stifle her sobs.

“Don’t be sad.” His eyelids drift down, then snap back open. “I’m sorry.”

The red-headed beauty doesn’t ask what he’s sorry for. It seems she already knows.

Aurick is quiet for a long moment, shivering in the chunky water coming to my thighs as we sit among the ash that floats down like tears, and the screaming of dying souls that spreads through the barren land.

His clammy, pallid hand reaches for mine in a rushed movement. And his lips tremble as he pins me with a stare that captures every ounce of my attention.

“Take care of them.”

Those wintery eyes, bloodshot and glossy, go lax in their sockets. They don’t blink as they stare into the rain. Because there is no longer a spirit behind them.

Aurick Demechnef is gone.