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Ifan slipped from his fingers and tumbled into the water; Gustov was taken aback. Turning his head, he saw An’kachat wielding the odd staff, his body shaking under the force of the spell he just unleashed.
“What do you think you are doing, Fish-man?!” Gustov readied his axe and began striding toward the sahuagin.
“I need to retrieve the stone. Move aside, Goliath,” hissed An’kachat. He regained his composure and swung the staff around once more, hardening the air in front of him and launching it toward Gustov.
The air struck Gustov’s hands, gripped tight to his axe. The force pushed them back into his body and his heels dug impotently into the shore. Two hands planted themselves on his back and held him upright, pushing against the momentum and cancelling it out.
“I’ve got you, big fella.” Dai patted him on the shoulder and readied his own sword.
“Thank you, Elf. Do not worry yourself. Keep your captain safe from the flesh creature, I shall deal with the fish-man. You two!” Gustov looked towards Kolt and Ryker, shaken by the sudden attack. “Help Ifan and my other allies, if you can. I will do my best to draw his attention. He wants the stone; ensure he cannot get his hands on it.”
Kolt and Ryker nodded. Ryker worked out where Ifan had landed in the lake and unstrapped some of his heavier equipment, before diving into the water after him. Kolt dashed along the side of the shore, keeping out of An’kachat’s eye line as he fixated on Ifan. Dai collected Fendrick in his arms and followed Kolt’s pathway.
“Now then! Show me what that staff can do, An’kachat!” Gustov let out a battle shout, and his body flexed hard. His veins pressed up against his skin and his muscles pushed up against the leather straps running along his bare torso. The steel handle of his axe strained under his tightening grip, and his nostrils flared. He dug his feet under a layer of stones and taunted An’kachat with another shout.
The staff whispered to An’kachat; Do not fear the Goliath, trust in my magic and we shall remove him from this world. His arms began moving on their own, drawing glyphs in the air with the staff’s tip. They burnt blue, and upon completion, the meaning resonated in An’kachat’s mind. Immolation. The glyphs came together and formed a singular blue fireball the size of a baseball, and with a push of the staff the ball sped toward its prey.
Gustov watched the fire’s creation with bated breath, and upon its release shouted once more, in the Goliath’s northern tongue. “Dragon’s Skin!” His skin flashed red and crackled with activity. Scales emerged across his chest, glowing red-hot. The fireball connected with his closed fists and spread across his torso. The heat dissipated across his body and whipped behind him, creating a tail that reached out and touched the air above the lake.
“Is that all you and your staff can muster? It’s time for my retaliation.” With a breath, the scales on his body vanished, and Gustov began a march towards the sahuagin. His steps caused the shore to quake lightly, the vibrations felt by everyone nearby. Picking up the pace, Gustov charged An’kachat, breaking out into a sprint.
An’kachat readied the staff, preparing for the attack. He winced as the Goliath approached fast, hiding behind the sleek metal. An axe swing streaked towards his body, and he whipped the staff towards it. The axe’s metal collided with the staff and released a harrowing twang that resonated throughout the nearby atmosphere.
The moment the vibrations reached his fingers, Gustov released his axe. Side-stepping, he moved to exploit the opening in An’kachat’s defences. His hands struck out and grabbed the sahuagin’s body before he hauled him above his head. An’kachat let out a worried cry, and Gustov set his sights on the fleshy mass. Taking a deep breath, Gustov launched the sahuagin towards his demise, and his body crashed directly into the undulating creature.
It gripped his neck first. An’kachat struggled. Scratching the flesh with his webbed hand, it refused his grip. Let it consume you. A whisper pierced his mind and drove him to madness. His hand clawed at the flesh desperately, his fingernails tearing off under the pressure. His other hand continued gripping the staff, and as he attempted to release it, he realised the mass had already wrapped itself around his fist. Its new larger size allowed it to fold around An’kachat’s body at an unsettling pace. Gustov watched as within seconds, it had enveloped nearly all of the sahuagin, staff and all.
Huffing, Gustov called to the elves, “The sahuagin is done for. Come on, let’s get to safety.”
Ryker had made his way across the lake and pulled Ifan’s unconscious body up and above the water. Wading back to the shore, he made sure to stay well away from the flesh monster, which meant staying in the water longer. He nodded at Gustov from the lake and made a sharper angle to his pathway to reach the land sooner.
Dai had retrieved Fendrick, and had hauled him safely to Kolt, who was tending to Rhian with a bent over and weak Angharad. They all acknowledged Gustov’s request and collected their infirm, helping one another to carry them away from the quarry.
The flesh monster continued writhing, more aggressively after having absorbed An’kachat and the staff. Gustov stepped back cautiously, but after a few more seconds, turned and moved to catch up with Kolt and the others. Having caught up with them, Gustov helped carry Rhian, replacing a limping Angharad.
“Thanks, big man,” winced Angharad.
“You’re welcome.” Gustov glanced at Kolt, “It will be easier if I take over entirely from here.”
Kolt nodded, and passed Rhian’s other arm to Gustov, who summarily hauled her off the ground, cradling her in his arms like a child.
“You’re arms…” a voice croaked from Rhian’s mouth. “They’re feeling a bit flabby, Gus.” She smiled up at him and opened her eyes gingerly, squinting as the low sun poured back into her awareness.
“A casualty of using my shouts. Gods dammit, do I need more arcanum and soon.”
“We’ll get you some as soon as we’re back in Trefynnon. You can last a week, right?” asked Angharad.
“I have no idea,” replied Gustov, shaking his head in worry.
Ryker emerged from the lake with a sodden Ifan, and soon intersected with the path of the others.
“How’s the prince?” asked Kolt.
“Looks like he’s seen better days. He’s out cold, but breathing,” responded Ryker.
“Need any help?” Kolt looked like a lost child, struggling with no longer helping out the others with their loads.
“If you get under his arm, we can carry him together.” Ryker placed Ifan down on his feet and Kolt wormed her way under his left arm, picking up the new slack. “Thanks.”
“No problem.” Kolt glanced back over to the fleshy mass. It had vanished. Stopping in her tracks, Ifan was dragged awkwardly away from her as Ryker continued unaware. “The… The… Podge. He’s gone.”
“What?” Ryker and Dai both turned in confusion, looking towards the now empty spot where Podge had met his end.
“The creature. It’s gone,” Kolt reiterated.
Rhian strained to crane her neck towards the site, as Gustov and Angharad turned to look themselves. Slowly lowering Rhian to the floor, Gustov pulled his axe out once more.
“Be on your guard. I’ll keep it away from us while you escape. Angharad, please help out Rhian, she should be ready to stand about now.”
“Just barely,” responded Rhian. Angharad bent down to help her friend, pulling her to her feet.
Gustov looked around, his neck whipping back and forth as he surveyed the quarry’s basin. No sign of any hostiles.
The group continued, with low murmurs of worry for Gustov. Rhian and Angharad were the ones to assure the elves that it was best to leave this to him, and that this was part of their pre-planned contingencies.
“Where are you, flesh monster? And why are you up and moving?” asked Gustov to the absent creature. A shadow flickered under his feet, coming from the group. Looking back to them, he noticed a large naked individual. His skin was like porcelain and completely hairless. And he was approaching Ifan fast. “Kolt! The prince!”
“Huh?” Kolt turned around, noticing a towering figure behind her. His long arms reached out and plucked at the pouch adhered to Ifan’s belt, containing the stone.
Ryker’s hand shot out and grabbed the figure’s forearm. His grip tightened and the man’s hand was unable to retract to claim the stone. “Who the hell do you think you are? Didn’t think we’d have to deal with handsy nudists in a random Inarellian quarry, but what do I know about your customs?”
The figure’s other hand sprung flat, his muscles tightening to hard stone, before swiping down at Ryker’s wrist. The tendons and bone were severed cleanly, leaving his hand flopping impotently on the figure’s forearm. Ryker let out a pained howl. The figure continued his motion, pulling the pouch off of Ifan’s belt. Ryker’s hand eventually gave way, dropping to the floor. Blood soaked the man’s pale skin, its spray soaking him from his bald head to his sleek, large feet.
The others were in a state of shock as the figure unfastened the pouch and began pulling the stone from its being. A shout pierced the air around the figure, threatening to burst Kolt and Ryker’s ears, as well as the unconscious Ifan. Blood leaked out of the figure’s ear, before the impact of Gustov’s fist pushed his huge body forward into Ifan. The tips of Gustov’s knuckles were sharp, the bone protruding from his skin. The shout had both sharpened and hardened his bone, allowing his fist to pass cleanly through the figure’s back, emerging clearly on the other side. The skin around Gustov’s arm stiffened. He felt himself get locked into the figure’s body, the wound sealing around his forearm.
“Nice try!” shouted Gustov. Placing his other hand on the creature’s shoulder, he hauled him over his head, before slamming him headfirst into the hard stone of the quarry basin. The skull crushed under his strength, leaving a bloody stump at the end of the creature’s neck. With a harsh tug, Gustov’s hand came clear of the figure’s body, causing it to fall, face forwards to the ground. Gustov panted, reaching over the figure, and collecting the pouch from its hand. “That belongs to us.” Confirming the stone was still in the pouch, Gustov stepped back, his body still flexed and muscles hard.
The body convulsed, and the wounds resealed at a rapid pace. The neck’s bloody end closed shut, and its length grew slowly, forming a new featureless face. Gustov looked at it, bewildered, still pacing backwards to make some more distance.
“Someone, catch!” Gustov turned for a moment, launching the pouch towards the group. Kolt caught it, ramming it into her own pocket. Ryker had collected his hand and Dai had let down Fendrick to help bandage and torniquet the wound. They hadn’t made any further progress leaving the quarry.
The figure helped itself up and off of the floor, its face’s features slowly filling in. Two black eyes appeared in the eye sockets, as well as a tall, broad nose and thin-lipped mouth. Small ears sprung out of the sides of its head, as it rotated back towards Gustov and the others.
“I see the humans in this time still have their tricks.” The figure spoke. Its voice was soft but cut through the atmosphere like a butcher’s knife. “That stone is mine. Please return it to me.”
“Fat chance.” Gustov collected his axe.
“Give me the stone or be returned to the planet. How long do you expect to hold me off for? You have seen that I won’t be killed so easily.”
“I’d like to see you try, tall man. I can hold you off for as long as I need.” Gustov released another battle shout, and his hands melded into his axe’s grip. The grey of the metal spread quickly up his arm before his entire torso gleamed in the afternoon sun. Finally, his head was encased, the grey contrasting heavily with the ice whites of his eyes.
“More tricks. Very well.” The figure’s own skin hardened, crystalising all over his body. Smooth contours transformed into hard, rigged edges and his hands became like knives.
“Seems like you have your own tricks!” shouted Gustov, his voice crystal clear through the metal coating his mouth. Baring down into the ground, Gustov dug the balls of his feet into the stone below. His feet carried him forward, and he swung his axe back, readying a forceful strike.
The figure pushed his back leg into the ground, preparing for the impact. He stood about as tall as the goliath, but his frame was far smaller. In his current form, the contrast of weight would mean this impact would be difficult to wear, he calculated.
Gustov stared down the figure, and his axe arced forward, colliding with the figure’s arm. The figure pushed his other hand into the impact site, struggling to prevent the force from moving him. The metal slowly bored into the crystalline structure of his body, and blood seeped out of the first cracks in his skin. Fully concentrating on the axe’s impact, the figure was caught unawares. Gustov’s skull came crashing down towards his own, and the impact shattered the layer of crystal on his head. Stumbling backwards, the blood poured down from the wound, stinging his eyes.
“Seems you’re struggling to deal with my tricks!” Gustov licked his lips, clearing the figure’s blood from the cold steel on his lips.
“Quiet…” snarled the figure. The crystal crawled back over the two impact sites, sealing the wounds once more. Regaining his balance, the figure stared down Gustov. His vision was still blurry from the probable concussion, but he knew his healing capabilities would deal with the problem soon enough. Turning on the offensive, the figure stepped forward towards Gustov, one knife arm raised, poised to strike.
Gustov gave the figure no quarter, rushing back in with a barrage of axe swings. The steel of its blade collided over and over with the crystal body, the figure’s skin splintering and cracking after each blow. This time however, the figure parried each strike near effortlessly. Gustov grew tired. The final few blows of his flurry of attacks grew weaker and weaker, struggling to penetrate the crystal. The final, weakest of the swings was stopped abruptly by the figure, his hands curling around the axe’s blade.
With some effort, the metal began to crack in the figure’s fingers, before shattering completely. The figure pushed the fragmented blade away. Crystal grew rapidly from his other hand, and within an instant, its sharpened tip bored its way into Gustov’s side. The crystal penetrated the steel with ease. It was clear to the figure that Gustov’s shouts had worn his body to a deleterious level, and the weakening façade was just the first sign.
Gustov winced in pain as his skin ruptured. His already shallow breathing accelerated, and his arms loosened off of his now useless axe. The figure bared down on him, striking repeatedly with his other arm. Gustov pulled the crystalline spear from side, and in a backstep, batted away the attacks with his arms, still coated in a rapidly thinning steel layer. The fifth attack shattered the steel of his right arm, and a knee to the stomach brought Gustov to the ground. The collection of crystals of the figure’s kneecap collapsed Gustov’s defences, breaking into the steel and leaving a bloody impact zone on his muscles.
Coughing up blood, Gustov watched as the figure made to strike with a finishing blow. He caught the figure’s hand and tugged him over, using the attacking momentum to bring the figure to the ground. Through pants, Gustov wrapped the figure’s arm around its back, wrestling him into a pin.
“Nice try,” Gustov panted, “but they’ve all but gotten away.” Gustov and the figure both tracked the group as they ascended the quarry’s walls a couple hundred metres ahead. “Be a good boy and stay…” Gustov tightened his grip, twisting the figures arm to breaking point, “down!”.
“They’ve forsaken you. You will die here today, human. It is the weaver’s wish. Fate has forsaken you.” The figure’s voice sounded effortless, showing no clear signs of struggle, even in his current state.
“More big talk from the tall man. Shut your mouth.” Gustov spat blood on his back, before contorting the figure’s arm more.
The figure gave into the submission. But the crystals on his ankle grew fast, sharpening to a spear. Catching Gustov unaware, the crystal pierced his back, striking true at the goliath’s left lung.
Gustov felt the breathlessness immediately as the blood pooled in his airways. His vision blurred, and the steel on his body crackled into nothingness, vanishing back down to his fingers, before leaving completely. His grip loosened and his body fell forwards onto the figure, the warmth of his blood seeping from his wound and his lips. The cold grip of death threatened him, the reaper’s scythe gnawing at his chest. In a final bid to prevent the figure from reaching Ifan and the others, Gustov wrapped his forearm around the figure’s neck. With all his might, Gustov made to suffocate his enemy, but the strain of tensing his biceps just accelerated his own demise. The pain grew intense. The figure struggled underneath but before Gustov could claim victory, the blackness of the void enveloped him.
