Book 4: Chapter 62: The Battle for Hume VI |
Michael gained a tremendous appreciation for how powerful Ollie’s barrier had been as he was struck by the combined arcane might of hundreds of mages. He was slammed to the ground, his every bone shattering, his skin scorched black, and his eyes melted leaving him in blackness. Somehow though, he was still alive. His durability, armor, barriers, and constant healing had let him keep clinging to life. Ollie had been right, he didn’t die, that absolute bastard.
Michael began drawing his hands and legs back beneath himself to push himself to his feet even as his bones resolidified and his eyes reformed. He used them to look across the battlefield. The immediate area around him was clear, but it still wasn’t going to be enough for the others to easily follow in his wake. He started running, pushing his way forward now that the way had been cleared. He made it nearly halfway when he started to feel the magicka build above him again. He threw up a barrier with as much strength as he could manage.
His barrier shattered instantly and everything went white again. Michael felt his body shatter and melt for a second time. He started to push himself up again, feeling his body screaming as he restored it. His breathing ragged through burnt and crisp lips as they healed.
He started running again, making sure his healing was still extended back to the others. They were further back than he expected, and he sensed that they were struggling desperately. He didn’t dare look back though. If they became the threat they were focused on instead of him then they wouldn’t be able to survive a blast like he had.
This time he made it less than halfway when he was struck. He was still for some time. The power of the blow had been more focused, more powerful. There had only been just enough consciousness left for him to keep healing himself. He pushed himself up and tried to start running again. He stumbled and fell, pushing back on to his feet to run again.
He made it less than ten yards before he was hit again. The pain kept him just aware enough to keep healing himself. He began to push himself back up and found his armor heavy and cumbersome. Still he pushed to his feet and stumbled forward. His progress this time wasn’t pretty. He stumbled forward for a few steps, fell to his knees, and pushed himself back up to stumble forward a few more feet. Then, he was hit again.
This time he healed just enough to let himself move forward. His skin still burnt and his eyes healed just enough to make out the vague impression of monstrousness ahead of him that he was moving toward. He had no idea how far he’d made it this time, but he knew it wasn’t any further than the last time.
He didn’t even feel it when he was hit the previous time. Some automatic thought process had somehow kept him healing himself and he awoke to red light illuminating dark sand in front of his eyes.
His mind was a haze of unclear thoughts barely strung together. He had a vague sense that he needed to move forward, but any attempt to lift himself up seemed impossible. He slowly moved and arm forward, and dug his hand into the sand in front of himself, pulling himself a few more inches forward.
That was the only thought that came to the surface of his consciousness as he awoke again. He wasn’t sure if he was alive or dead, but he was very worried that the flower his granddaughter had given him had been damaged. He’d had it in a pocket on his chest, right above his heart. It had probably been destroyed.
He was struck again.
…
Ollie looked on in horror as he watched yet another pillar of light descend on Michael’s still form on the ground, an inhuman sound exploding from him as he raised his staff and swung it. A massive blade of magicka descended down and eviscerated everything in a ten yard radius. He then raised his left hand and sent out a wave of flame in Michael’s direction, trying to clear the path to him only to find it immediately re-filled by the unending horde that surrounded them. Their plan had been sound, but the moment Michael had moved forward it was as if all of the rift creatures around them had gained a second wind. Or perhaps, their intention had been to separate them all along. Ollie hadn’t been able to get them into the air again.
Pyotr was desperately fighting his way forward as well, his left hand sending out bolts of flame even as his two smite-infused shortswords whipped out like a maelstrom of death.
Marcus was right next to him. He’d given up firing his pistols and was wielding Reaper like a club, sending rift creatures flying in every direction, reloading and firing whenever he bought himself even a half-second of breathing room.
Pyotr carved a scorpion in half, pushing forward, when suddenly his expression calmed down. His face softening as yellow ichor splashed across him.
If you come across this story on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen from Royal Road. Please report it.
Ollie risked a concerned look at him, using a brief barrier that he extended rapidly outward to buy them some space.
“He’s going to get up again.”
“Yeah, because we’re going to reach him and drag him the fuck back,” yelled Marcus as he beheaded a horned man with a shot.
“No. Look,” he raised his sword showing it was still covered in divine fire. “We still have these and we’re still uninjured. He’s still healing us. He’s got something left. He’s always had something left. We just have to have faith in him. He’s always pushed through.”
Ollie risked a glance at Michael’s still form, his armor still gleaming even after all that had hit him.
“Get up you bastard!”
…
Michael found himself floating in a sea of stars. It was a familiar feeling. He was dead. He could see the thousands of motes of light floating around him and he spun around to look at the great mass of light behind him. He could feel it beckoning him, pulling him toward it. It wasn’t acting maliciously, it was just trying to call him home.
He looked down, seeing hands of gold and a body of light. He wasn’t formless as he had been the first time. He was tangible. The marks that the divine had made on his souls, the titles and deeds that had grown within him, it had changed what he was.
The mass of light behind him pulled harder, but it couldn’t move him.
At the edge of his awareness, he heard voices. At first he thought it was the gods calling him, but as he turned his attention to them, they came into greater focus.
Please, close the rift
Protect my son while he fights
Keep my love from harm
Send those bastards back where they came from
Save us
They were prayers, and they were to him.
Michael could feel them, calling him, pulling him just as powerfully as the light behind him was pulling him. He began to move toward them, going with their pull even as the light behind him began to pull harder. He could feel their belief, their certainty that he would save them, their faith. It was an energy within him, one he realized he’d pulled from before when he’d needed it most, when he was at the end of his reserves, but had somehow managed to keep going. He kept listening to the prayers, letting them pull him harder, and harder. Soon he was flying through the sea of stars, each mote of light becoming a blur on the edge of his awareness as he moved faster and faster.
Be safe Grandpa.
Dad. Come back. Please.
Get up you bastard!
Michael was light for a moment, and he crashed back into the smallest mote of light, a tiny orb of gold that was barely flickering.
…
Michael opened his eyes as they reformed along with the restoration of the rest of his body. He filled his lungs with a deep inhale and his limbs restored. He pushed himself to his feet, his body suddenly covered in golden light and flame, burning even brighter than when the battle started. He raised his right hand and Ruin flew back into his grasp from several hundred yards behind him where it had been lost. He raised his left hand and the wall returned to it. Then he began to run again, faster than he had even the first time he’d recovered.
Magicka built above him and slammed down as it had before, turning the world white.
When it cleared Michael was on one knee. He pushed himself back up, and started running forward again. The magicka began to build again before slamming down on him again. He was stopped for a moment this time as well, but when it cleared he hadn’t even fallen to one knee. He started running again.
This time he was able to reach the edge of the crater that had been created by the pillar of magicka, where the horde was gathered. They didn’t even hide their fear, fleeing from him in terror as he approached.
He opened his mouth and released a tremendous bout of divine dragonflame, covering hundreds in front of them with golden fire to clear his path. Another pillar of light struck him, but this time it didn’t even stop him from moving. Hundreds of insectoids swarmed toward him, the horned men and harpies too frightened to approach him. He hit them like a missile, his shield in front of him sending them all flying to the side, covered in flames.
The pillars of magicka started to fall faster and more focused. He could sense the fear and desperation of the horrifying amalgamation of chitin and flesh as he approached it. It rained down magical devastation on him again and again, but it no longer slowed him in the slightest.
As close as he was he could see thousands of lizardfolk writhing in pain as they were drained of power again and again to hurt him. He could see one, just above the massive head of the beetle, only his head and one arm exposed.
The beetle moved its building sized mandibles toward him, clamping them in his direction with a blow that could’ve shattered a mountain. It missed him, as he climbed a series of barriers he created beneath his feet. He leapt up, landing on the beetle's massive head. He leaned down, grabbing the lizardman’s hand with his shield arm as he changed Ruin to Rend.
“Don’t worry,” he said in a tongue that could be understood in every language. “You’re going to be okay. You all are.”
He squeezed the hand and raised his sword, then he drove it down through four feet of chitin as hard as steel, and released the power of his divinity.
Divine might and flame tore through the creature’s body, spreading through every inch of its massive form. It screamed as it felt its every cell touched by flame. They didn’t stop with the creature though, as the flames reached the ends of its legs they began to spread outward, sending out a wall of golden flame that spread into the horde that surrounded it. Thousands of rift creatures were evaporated instantly. Others tried to run, but were too slow as the flames continued spreading.
As the flames spread, so did Michael’s healing. As the chitin of the monster burned away, the lizardfolk bound within it were healed, their own bodies becoming whole again even as the horde around them was destroyed.
When it was done Michael pulled his sword free, the golden flames fading from him. He bent down and helped the lizardman who’d fallen free next to him back to his feet. Then he moved on to the next one.