Chapter 64. Chaos Blade

rigit blinked frantically after the searing burst of white hot chaotic energy filled the long chamber.  Her stomach churned with horror at the sight of Armand’s delicate features stolen by the horrible demon.  She cried his name, her vision stolen by the flare of magical energies.  The terrible shattering sound seemed to drag out forever followed by a high pitched ringing that threatened to unravel the very fabric of reality.

When at last it cleared she saw the dire black shape of the demon staggering away, clutching at its empty face and snarling like a wounded animal.  The shattered jade mask sizzled and crackled upon the stained flagstones beside the slanted table. 

And Armand…

She almost lost her feet and began strangling anew.  He lay perfectly still, corpse-like in the actinic glow of ambient power.  His face was utterly blank and his beautiful blue eyes stared unseeing at the rafters.  An essential part of him was gone, leaving behind a mindless husk.  Brigit cried his name again, hoping against all evidence that she might call him back. 

“Don’t leave me, Armie!”

Ashekoroth lost his feet and groaned angrily upon his shins, crippled by whatever Armand had done in his last moments.  Daring a glance at the woman Armand had called Threnody, she saw that she was also reeling, her slumped form pressed against the frail.  Brigit sobbed once, overcome by her grief for all that she had lost.  Alone, now, she only hoped death would come quickly and put an end to her suffering.

There was a movement at the far end of the chamber, a flash of magenta energies.  The graceful form of a man stalked into the flare of expended chaos.  She bit her lip and blinked away her tears, watching in amazement as the actinic light revealed Pendaran, whole and proud, his green eyes blazing with determination.  Clutching a battered rapier and the fine loop of a jeweled chakram, he strode boldly toward Ashekoroth.

He was foolish coming here like this!  What did he hope to accomplish by attacking the demon this way? No one else had been able to strike Ashekoroth down.  It was suicide.  Aghast, she could only stare as he raised his sword so that its tip lurked barely a hand span from the demon’s empty face.

“None can strike me,” the demon snarled with a voice drawn from another plane.

“I do not plan to strike you,” Pendaran said quietly, “but I do plan to destroy you utterly.”

To her horror, Ashekoroth lunged at him with a violent snarl.  In place of hands, terrible obsidian claws emerged from the shadows of the cloak gleaming with venom.  Pendaran danced lightly aside and with a flourish of the sword, struck out in the rough direction of the vile demon, completely missing…

…and yet there was a flare of chaotic energies and the demon howled in agony.  Brigit blinked.  How had he done that?  His swordsmanship was all wrong, he held the weapon as if it were a wand and his posture was lamentable.  Once more Pendaran brought the weapon down and around, a hoarse laugh issuing from his lips as the blade fell far short of its target yet wrapped the demon in a shattering curtain of power.

Reeling, the demon scrabbled to regain its feet, its glassy claws grating on the tiles.  Brigit gasped in horror as the black clothes fell away and the dire figure began to grow, a hideous warty monstrosity with slavering jaws and scything tusks.  Its insectoid eyes were black and empty voids that focused hungrily upon the frail little man with the play sword.  Saliva drooled from its charnel jaws, hissing and stinking as it fell upon the floor.

“You dare to strike me, puny human!” the demon roared, its breath carrying the fetid reek of long dead things, “I will take you with me to the Realm of Torment and feast upon you day and night.  There will be no end to the pain you will endure.”

If Pendaran were daunted, he made no sign, only smiled grimly and pressed forward with the sword extended.  Brigit gasped at his poor aim.  The foolish mesmer did not even seem to be aware that the point of the blade would end up impaled in the demon’s glassy talons.  Yet a hideous roar rent the air as the demon fell back and the blade shimmered with magenta energies.  Black ichor stained the flagstones as the impossibly small figure of Pendaran pressed forward, sweeping the blade twice more and wrapping the vile figure in tangled sheets of chaos.

The noose around her throat suddenly loosened and she fell painfully to her knees.  Threnody was beside her now, a razor sharp shard of jade in her hand.  Brigit gasped in fear as the woman seized her and drew the makeshift weapon against her bonds.  The tight press of the ropes sprung away and the painful needling of blood returned to her arms.

“Go from here,” the woman hissed, turning toward where Armand lay upon the table, “There is little time.”

Brigit looked on in amazement as the woman touched the bonds holding Armand to the table and they fell away.  Then, with a rattling sigh, Threnody collapsed, kicking and trembling upon the flagstones before growing still, her spirit fleeing from the stolen body. 

There was nothing for it but to do as she was told.  Clawing the braided cord away from her neck, she rushed to the table where Armand’s still form still lay.  She drew him unresisting into her arms, remarking how light and lifeless he felt.  Pendaran continued to batter the demon, pressing it back as if mindful of her location and buying her time to escape.  Ashekoroth would no doubt use her against him should the opportunity arise.

Rushing to the opposite side of the room, she followed the long wall toward the door and pushed past it, the wind and icy rain welcome upon her upturned face.  She was free.  Thank the gods, she was free.

“We’ll be alright, Armie, you’ll see.  Zhou or someone will come for us and then we’ll take good care of you.”

But he made no response.  The only indication she had that he was alive was the warmth of his body.  Unwelcome tears rose to her eyes and she carried him away from that terrible place.