Liron yearned for the sky, but the ground claimed him despite his wishes. After climbing through the wreckage, he had fallen over four distinct times. He had panted, sitting against a wall, calming himself. Minutes passed, but he had regained parts of his endurance. To test it, he jogged at a slower pace. Once that became easy to do, he ran. And thereafter, he exploded himself on a roof, jumping from house to house.
Angin's drugs worked miracles on him. It kept his battered husk of a body functioning. A sour taste spread through Liron's mouth, and his throat hurt. As with his innards, it was raw, bruised from the beating it had endured. But as the bureau grew, it vanished from his awareness. The sounds of battle reached Liron's ears, and he accelerated his sprint, using his spells to hurl himself forward.
He had gotten used to it by now. This ordeal had its benefits. It forced him to practice his spells in a controlled manner. Instead of causing havoc that dwarfed a mountain, he had to apply his blasts in a subtle manner. Only as much as he needed. Not relying on bringing down his obstacle by sheer force but by creating an opening through hitting a weak spot. With each new jump, he experimented with the size of the spells he cast.
He shrunk them down until the explosion brought him over to the next roof with as little momentum as possible. It was like shoveling coal. He could fill his shovel to the brim, hurling it against the furnace's opening, only half the coal finding their way in. Or he could pick up a smaller amount, flinging them in with a quick motion, none missing. The latter had more grace to it. And burnt through less strength.
And Liron required all of it. He had wasted more energy than he should have, suffering under the consequences of it. Jean wouldn't have struggled underneath it like him. Angin had explained that an experienced Wizard strained less under an abundant usage of their Conduit. Liron hadn't been a Wizard for two weeks. He was lucky that he hadn't started to piss blood.
Liron bolted past the marketplace, glancing in the direction of the battle. Ragner and Gustav were holding their own against Kasper and Anna. They focused on blocking and countering their attacks. Neither side went all out, saving their strength. Angin, on the other hand, threw everything he had at the assassin. His blasting rod fired green flames, and his staff erupted with a focused shockwave. The assassin used her spiderwebs to pull herself out of harm's way. Her movement shared a passing similarity to Liron's methods. But hers showed her mastery of her spells. She moved with a certainty and trust in her capabilities Liron lacked. Angin's armor withstood the assassin's onslaught of slashes.
But Angin didn't fight to his full extent. Neither did the assassin. The Alchemist had to protect Emma, keeping her close, shielding her from everything. Part of his Nanium had wrapped around her. The assassin clearly had yet to reveal her true might. As with the Lordschaft, she intended to use everything on Liron and him alone.
Liron bit his lips when he saw Emma. He turned his head away, clenching his fist. He had to do his part first.
Gabriella and Zonis' battle was chaos incarnate. The masses had lost their steering hand, throwing themselves blindly at them. The crossing was littered with corpses, blood, and guts drenching all. But their own were among the dead, too. Three more wolves had died. One was overrun with countless hunters. They still gorged on the beast's corpse, eating its flesh with a starving man's hunger. The other two found their end at the hands of the Wrathlings. The last wolf did not die without a fight. It had bitten down on a Wrathling, piercing his guts with its fangs. But in his dying breath, the berserker had crushed the beast's skull. Now both lied together, embraced in their deadly exchange.
Retaliation for the fallen had come swiftly. One Wrathling's corpse hung in the shattered remains of a house. Gabriella's Conduit and the remaining wolves had worked in unison to bring the berserker down. Deep gashes covered the warrior. They had savaged him from all sides, throwing his dying body into the building. The next death, Liron witnessed himself.
Zonis had jumped off his wolf, fighting a Wrathling on a roof. The Whisperer danced his body, constantly moving and twisting it like he consisted of a liquid, evading each strike. The Wrathling roared, thrashing around to catch his opponent off guard. But Zonis had seen more fights than Liron had his mother. No attack surprised the Whisperer. He had faced berserkers like him before. And he knew how to kill them.
As an opportunity for a counter presented itself to him, Zonis fused the fingers on his right hand into a long, thin needle. He swung at the Wrathling in a wide arc, allowing the warrior to see the attack. Despite his all-consuming rage, the berserker's instincts knew this strike to be one he had to block. He held his massive forearm up, Zonis' arm slapping against it. But the Qilesh's being was in constant flux like a river.
Liquefying his bones in the last moments, Zonis's arm didn't stop, bending around the Wrathling's, changing its trajectory. The needle rammed into the berserker's ear. The warrior's eyes went wide, and Zonis broke off the needle, pulling his hand free. Even without any solidifying structure in his limb, the Whisperer retrieved his arm without issue. Like a snake he had tamed.
The Wrathling's head twitched, blood pouring out of his nose. Without a further sound, he fell on his knees and collapsed. What a frightening opponent. Now Liron knew why the Empire struggled to defeat the Qyoral.
Liron raised his hands, cheering. Zonis looked at him, giving him the biggest smile he could. Gabriella and her Conduit were battling the last Wrathling while the other wolves tore through the masses. Three-Eyes bathed in death, raging forward to end the masses. Liron pushed aside the thought of all the lives lost. The time to regret was not now.
They had a real chance of winning this bout and continuing with their plan. As Liron wanted to leap down and aid Gabriella, he noticed a lone figure close by. The Warpriest. His once stainless garments had made acquaintance with the filth and horror his faith had enabled. He looked shaken, speaking with a momentous tone into the Machina, turning up his voice.
Liron summoned his Conduit, fearing for the Hunters to gain new strength, but nothing changed. Liron frowned, searching for what the Warpriest was affecting. And then he saw them. Charging from far beyond, thundering down a larger alleyway, hundreds of Sinners. The Fallen Choir had heard their master's call, and they wanted nothing but to follow it.
A Warpriest of his standing should not have control over such a force. Apparently, he had been quite busy these last few days. He would rather not rely on Hunters alone. As they came closer, Liron recognized their hair was still hanging to their heads. They were young. Well, Liron knew now for certain where most of the people from Kupferrang went. A surge of bodies, one whose true scale Liron failed to fathom. How many were coming their way? This Fallen Choir had to be in the thousands.
Liron clawed at his chest, his breathing becoming strained. Their entire plan would be buried underneath the mass of bodies. Emma and all of his friends would die a painful death. And all because of him.
Staring at the Warpriest, Liron touched the handle of his Conduit. Would the Fallen Choir turn dormant once their master had died? Perhaps, or perhaps it wouldn't change anything. But even if it would change their situation, Liron doubted he could kill the Warpriest. Why position himself in the open? A Warpriest needed to be seen and heard by the troops he was ordering, but this begged for an attack.
If the Warpriest had survived the explosion, so had Adenius and his lion, too. Liron had seen the cat fighting. He could be rather arrogant, but he wasn't delusional. This beast would pick him apart like a child with a flower. Petal by petal.
Liron's eyes twitched as he recalled Angin's words. Their goal was not to kill anyone. Liron didn't need to kill his enemy to win. He studied the alley the Sinner came rushing through. Tight, with no greater passage leading to another main road. A bottleneck, one he could close.
The roof underneath his feet tore asunder, and Liron was flung through the sky. As Angin had told him, repetition was not always a good teacher. His mistakes could teach him well, but only if he didn't fall for them twice. He covered himself in smaller clouds, igniting them as he reached the alley. Tiny explosions slowed him down, killing his speed in measured steps. He still stumbled and hit his ass hard on the road, but all butterflies began as caterpillars.
With the hordes coming his way, the time for measured steps had passed. The alley was surrounded by tall buildings and towers on both sides, providing him all he could ask for. The black blade burst to life. Smoke erupted from it like from a dragon's maw. All caution forgotten, Liron let his magic run rampant.
He performed each hau he had grown accustomed to, combing them in a flux of slashes. They gained in speed, transitioning into one another as if they were one. Each strike unleashed a sickle, cutting into the adjacent buildings. The clouds lingered, fusing. Liron's sword dance conjured nature's wrath, a storm of black swelling. A front of smoke conquered the alley, climbing towards the sky.
Sweat poured down Liron's head, his hair wet and sticking to him. His arms ached underneath the demand. Their weight increased with each hau, expanding like the monster they created. But Liron endured, the world shrinking to nothing but his blade and the threat ahead.
As his smoke wall expanded, Liron couldn't see the charging anymore. But he could hear them. None of them spoke, but their naked feet slapped over the road, carrying an earthquake to him. As the ground itself trembled around him, fearing the horror closing in, Liron stopped.
He panted, his arms sticks of steel. His fingers cramped around his sword hilt, having forgotten how to loosen up. With a weak step, Liron walked backwards, gaining some distance. As the silent thunder rolled towards him, seconds away from reaching his smoke, Liron pointed his blade at the wall of black, firing his knife out from the tip.
He coated himself in smoke and shot himself upwards as his spell became Drom's blinding hate. He blinked, struggling to understand where he was. The air's sharp kiss told him all he needed. The explosion had served its purpose, tearing through the building and killing dozens of Sinners. The rest were cut off as entire sections of the neighborhood collapsed, burying the alley in their remains.
While not as fast as before, Liron was fast enough to die. He bolted over the roofs. Had he been any lower, he would have crashed into a house, and his tale would have found its end. But perhaps fate had such an ending written for him already. He descended, coming closer to touching death.
As before, he exploded the smoke around him, slowing him in a controlled manner. But his spell had drained him, his consciousness wavering. The surrounding explosions twisted him and spun him. His momentum was dragged to a halt, but he had no energy left to cushion his fall anymore.
He felt the well-acquainted embrace of debris, flailing as he plummeted through it. He fainted, but the sounds of battle woke him. Ragner's axe shredded through a house next to Liron, raining pieces on him. He rubbed his face, his vision wavering. He heard all through a thick veil, his senses numbed. As they sharpened, Liron crawled out of the ruin he had crashed into.
The world escaped his understanding, utter chaos around him. He didn't know who he was and why. But as he saw a figure pounded into the ground ahead of him, having survived a spell intended to kill him, Liron awoke in spirit, too.
Angin, his armor of Nanium severed. The Alchemist held a wound on his chest, groaning. And Emma was nowhere to be seen.