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Ifan emerged from the main street onto the square, to a loud, bloody scene of struggling trolls and dark garbed elves pinning the pale white figure. Rhian and Angharad watched in awe as the attempt to finish the attacker came to its conclusion.
“Have we won?” asked Ifan.
“I’m not sure. Fendrick cried out for help to stop the figure from claiming the stone, and now they’ve pinned him to the ground while the guard captain attempts to retrieve the pouch from his hand.” Angharad watched with her spear brandished, her breath erratic.
“It got the stone?!”
“It got the pouch,” responded Rhian.
“Those gods damned elves! Fighting that thing while in possession of its very desire! I need to do something.” Ifan unsheathed his sword and began stepping towards the chaos. A hand reached out and grabbed at his arm, stopping him in his tracks.
“Any intervention right now would put all of those embroiled in that madness at risk. It’s a mass of bodies that are near interchangeable. It’s best if we wait for whatever the outcome is. Good or bad.” Angharad let go of Ifan’s arm, folding her hand back over her spear wielding arm.
“If that thing gets the stone, who knows what more damage it will cause? One fireball nearly razed a third of the town’s market district. I have to do something now, I’m the only one who can—”
“Trust in their sacrifice.” Angharad stared onwards, steely eyed and unwavering.
Ifan understood Angharad’s intentions. He knew that she was simply waiting for the worst. Rhian had also readied her crossbow, waiting patiently for the disarray to quiet. Near ten men were pinning a single attacker, and the struggle was continuing even now. If this thing could fell Gustov, and it was still alive and kicking after all this, then the worst was already happening, having retrieved the pouch. Ifan waited with his comrades for the inevitable, hoping silently that someway, somehow, they had been successful at stopping the figure.
Then, a prick covered ball like a curled-up hedgehog burst from the centre of the chaos. Several of the guards were lifted off of the ground, bloodied and impaled on sharp spikes. Ifan could see Kolt rolling out of the mass, scrambling to her feet, and rushing towards the three of them. As she stood, the ball of spikes retracted, dropping the bodies to the ground, and revealing the elves and Fendrick crawling backwards from the mess of blood and entrails.
Rhian reached forward and pulled Kolt away from the centre of the square. The screams from the guards gnawed at Ifan’s ears, quickly deafened by a growing gurgling of blood in their throats. The figure slowly arose from the pile of death, its body red with its victims’ life. Feathered protrusions began unfurling from its back, peeling through the layer of blood and emerging sleek and untouched – pristine white and beautiful in the blossoming flames. The feathers peeled apart, and the protrusions spread open, revealing a massive pair of wings stretching out over the fallen guards.
“I have returned, humans.” The figure spoke, its voice harrowingly crisp and clear over the din of destruction. “Your actions over the millennia have proven your true intentions. You are a scourge upon Eden and a parasite that must be expunged.”
Blonde hair slowly unfolded from the figure’s scalp, draping down their neckline and ending at their chest. Ifan noticed that breasts had formed on the figure’s body; the ambiguous frame of the creature lying somewhere between the male and female.
“I have retrieved my soul and am now reborn in flesh as the creator so ordained. Your perverse ambitions to use my brethren’s blessings to extract the planet’s magical essence will end here, today. The civilisation of man will die, and all shall forget your pitiful existence.”
The figure’s presence struck awe in each onlooker. Ifan saw the angelic figures of his scripture, and the elves saw the original being – the progenitor of the El’dorei. Rhian and Angharad were stunned by its beauty; unable to avert their gaze they watched as it trampled the corpses of the fallen trolls.
“I can feel the flow of magic to the surface has quietened once more. A blessing, I suppose. But the planet still weeps. Its very lifeforce is still being drained by another wound produced by humanity.” The figure looked westward, before returning their gaze to Ifan and the others. “Could you not see the damage siphoning the planet’s life has wrought? Your forms have twisted and changed,” the figure kicked a troll’s corpse upright, revealing its tusked face and patchy blue skin. “You suffer from its corrupting touch,” the figure stared at Kolt’s face, its eyes darting over her scarred visage. “You commit atrocities of war and genocide upon each other with its power,” it looked at Ifan, weighing up his entirety.
“And yet you continue to search for ways to continue its abuse. Leading you to me. In that form your forebears twisted me into.” With wings spread, the figure lifted itself of the ground, hovering gently over the mass of death below. “Do not fear. Despite your transgressions, I shall make your end swift, with great mercy for the Weaver’s creations. Go quietly and be returned to the planet.”
The figure lifted an arm and began chanting in an unknown tongue. A bright ball of pure white energy formed at its fingertips, growing in size with each syllable from its lips. Its brilliant light brought a shine like daylight to the early morning glow, and its intensity threatened to blind each of the onlookers. Ifan and the others covered their eyes, the light boring through their fingers with ease.
Before Ifan could even acknowledge the true danger they were faced with, the figure’s ball of light seared with the heat and brightness of the sun. The radiation seeped into their skin, the pale Rhian and Ifan becoming more and more tan as the spell continued. A weary lightheaded sickness overcame them, causing them to stumble and fall to the floor, still impotently covering their eyes from the light’s glare. Ifan crawled over to the others, folding himself over their bodies and steadying his breath.
“I’ve got one chance to keep us alive. Don’t move.” His eyes burst with energy, the whiteness rivalling the figure’s sun-like orb. With his own incantation, Ifan wrapped himself and his allies with a shroud of protection. Rhian embraced him closely, her eyes filled with tears as the radiation sickness threatened her with unconsciousness. Angharad had already passed out, her skin peeling from the heat and intense UV rays. Kolt’s breath was panicked, and each inhalation stung, the shroud of light providing a bare minimum of relief to allow her to continue each inspiration.
The figure finished its incantation, and with a flick of its finger, brought the sun to the ground. On impact, an explosion of light burst from its centre, the heat disintegrating the nearby buildings before reaching the coastline and evaporating the coastal waters in an instantaneous explosion of water vapour. The group were blinded by the extreme light, the strain causing each of them to succumb to the intense pressure exerted on them by the eruption of force. One-by-one, their consciousness was engulfed by the light, and they felt their minds melt into a comforting quiet.
Fendrick watched onwards in terror as all of his allies were swallowed by the light. His body stood, unphased, as the light stretched out onto the horizon, before finally vanishing, leaving a shattered abyss for miles all around. All he could see was the angelic figure, the prince of Inarell huddled over his friends, and an unending rolling wave of destruction.
