Chapter 2 - Manflayer

We collided, with a crash that shook the earth around us. 

The collision was not just of two bodies, but of whirring steel - Interfector and axe clashed, spraying sparks and flame through the night. For a moment, we were locked; A tremendous strength met me head-on, and it was all I could do to simply face it.

Around, a howl came up. The beastmen clashed their shields together, roaring with ferocious animal exuberance. A power, a significance, crackled around us - Burning blue sparks tumbling from the point of impact, where the Interfector met the Culler's cleaving blade.

It was like throwing myself into a furnace. Vorgosh was all teeth and claws and fierce snarling assault, as he brought that unspeakable strength to bear. Arms like steel girders bunched, driving me back with a single powerful heave - I braced, instinctively, aware that my feet were scraping deep furrows in the ground, wondering how I was still upright…

His knee exploded into my gut.

The breath left my lungs. My feet left the ground.

I hit the earth, rolling and rolling, clawing with my free hand to slow the tumble. There was a screech as my armored fingers fought for purchase, as I staggered to my feet-

He was upon me, again. Predator-breath gusted against me - a wretched bacterial stench - as that great axe crashed down. This time, I barely managed to parry in time: The shock of impact traveled through my arms and down my spine, the Interfector's burning blade shivering beneath the industrial-engine grind of steel-on-steel.

"Disappointing," Vorgosh growled, in that sonorous rumble. "You fight like a whelp. No skill. No predator's instinct-"

And then I head-butted him.

Quite why I thought to do it, I don't know. Only that I was desperate to break the clench, the unstoppable force that was slowly forcing my own sword back towards me.

Instinct. Like a drowning man clutching at straws.

And - miracle of miracles - he actually reeled back. Twice my size, upper body crammed full of muscle, and the blunt impact knocked the tiger-giant back anyway. In that fraction of an opening, I tried to eviscerate him with a savage slash, but he caught the blue-flaming blade on his axe's haft.

This time, he used the claws.

I had a fraction of a second to see them hissing towards me, dagger-length blades that gleamed like silver. Locked, I couldn't dodge - Instead, all I could do was to hunch and try to shield myself with my shoulder plate-

It was the wrong move.

Vorgosh's fighting claws raked across the mythril plating, drawing deep, parallel furrows. They found no purchase, unable to penetrate, unable to punch through…

But it didn't stop him from grabbing me.

Before I knew what was happening, the world whirled around me and I found myself wrenched off the ground, hurtling backward through the air to slam against the uncertain barrier of Cloven shields.

The stunning impact blasted the breath from my lungs, shooting stars through my field of vision - Growls and hissing imprecations echoing in my ears, as they backed away, clearing the killing field.

Something with a hyena-head spat on me. "Manflayer give you big die," something with jackal eyes sniggered, jaws slavering with vile hunger. 

I wrenched myself upright, resetting my stance, dimly wondering-

How am I still alive?

I'd never been a fighter. Not even in games. I'd gone into the fight fully expecting to be taken apart, and Vorgosh was complying. But - somehow, in my fumbling attempts to defend myself, against this perfect killer - I was still standing. Still whole.

I should have been in agony. Should have been all smashed bones and gore.

And yet-

Vorgosh stalked toward me, moving with that fluid grace. Tail lashing as a counterbalance, axe gripped like a toy in his hands.

"Human fighting. Poking and pinching. A little jab to stop the big dog."

His lips peeled back from those saber teeth.

"Time to die, whelp."

This time, when he came for me, he moved twice as fast. That great axe carved the air like a lethal avalanche, a huge over-arm swing that chopped right down my centerline. It was a death stroke, the kind meant to split me entirely in two.

I could have parried it, and died. Tried to dodge it, and be cleaved in half.

Instead, I hurled myself forward, and slammed into Vorgosh shoulder-first. Not the way a player tackles another, but the way a trapped munition-plant supervisor - hearing the hiss of gas, and knowing that anything less meant death - would have, in order to batter down an unyielding iron door.

Even if it shattered his shoulder to flinders.

Even if it broke him into pieces.

The way Gabriel would have.

I hit him like a wrecking ball.

That ten-foot mass - flailing, roaring - left the ground. The demolishing force of impact hurled Vorgosh back, axe and all; His form twisted, mid-fall, and slammed to the ground on all fours with the unthinking grace of a jungle cat.

His chest heaved like bellows as he wrenched himself upright, blood-red eyes narrowing to slits-

No words, this time.

"Come on," I said, and raised the Interfector. "Let's go."

Vorgosh's chest expanded. His neck bulged. He howled, an unholy sound that made every single hair on my body stand on end.

I charged, the Interfector whirring round in a blur of steel and flame. I forget restraint, forgot anything I had ever known of physics or fighting or doubt-

And I let the Devil in the door.

This time, when we met, there was no pause. No break. It was a furious exchange, a constant ring of steel on steel. Both weapons smashed together over and over again, flurries of blank, matchless fury, hunting for a gap in each other's defense.

I hammered blow after vicious blow at Vorgosh, putting all my strength - the might I hadn't known I'd possessed - into it. Overlapping understrokes and overstrokes, hammer and anvil, over and over again.

He barged aside my attacks, drove me backwards with a savage swing that nearly cleaved my head off, and then kicked out - Fighting claws slicing, a blow that would've gutted me, armor or no.

But I saw it coming. The Interfector hacked down at Vorgosh's leg, and he had to twist aside, tail lashing, his axe carving at my skull-

I hurled myself back. Saw the opening. Swung.

"[Ironskin]!" Vorgosh bellowed, and wrenched his arm up to meet the Interfector's acid-blue flames. My sword slammed into the trophy rings on his left arm, with the force of something like a missile impact; Metal shrieked, hammered iron bracelets splintering, spraying lethal shards as they sundered - His fur ignited, hungry azure flame writhing and crazing, the smell like burning hair but somehow immeasurably worse.

I had a moment to think: What?

His axe cleaved. The motion was fluid and beautiful, the blade vanishing in an oiled smear of steel.

It vanished because it was coming right towards me.

The Interfector was out of position. All I could do was what anyone would've done. One hand uncurled from the hilt of my flaming sword, shoved towards the blur of steel - I braced myself for the terrible, rending pain to come, as the axe carved down...

A surge inside my left arm, a pulse of intention from my spine to my fingertips-

Sparks flew. A dull grinding of metal-on-metal. A shock, reverberating through my arm, down my shoulder.

I heard - Drip.

Blood ran down my arm. I could feel a clear, sharp pain - too sudden to register - as I looked up. The axe's blade had cleaved right through the gauntlet I had thrown up to intercept it, and then bitten into my palm below.

And then it'd stopped. Dead, as if it'd rammed into a steel wall. Somehow, through some miracle, I still had all my fingers attached.

Behind us, the skirmish line of demihumans had fallen breathlessly silent. No longer an execution, this: It was a fight, now. Something their mightiest champion could lose.

Vorgosh kicked. I braced, but the blow took me right in the cuirass anyway, like a sledgehammer to the chest. I staggered back, leaning forward like a man walking into the teeth of a gale - My ribs twinged, the fingers of my free hand clenching and unclenching, as burning pain spidered along my nerves.

But I'd hurt him, too - the flames continued to smolder on the beast-champion's arm, as he swatted at the blue blaze. With an impatient growl, he raised his axe and raked it along his arm, trophy rings bursting and scattering, taking the top layer of fur with it.

The smoldering azure flame clung to his axe, now, a burning icon - Smoke rose from the limb, as he eyed me with murderous interest.

He boomed a laugh, one that showed his fangs in a disturbing way. "Good," he rumbled through that predator's smile. "At last, a fight worthy of the Red Talons. There is nothing to be learned from the slaughter of the weak - Only in the devouring of the strong."

At least someone was enjoying himself. For me, the fight had been fear, terror and impact - A desperate ring of steel-on-steel.

"Nothing to say, human? Then we finish this in silence."

I made to say-

And then there was a tremendous explosion.

---------------------

It was a huge blast. A pillar of flame, stretching skywards like an accusing finger. Cinders rained down from the above, as the vast camp took on something of the nature of a kicked-over anthill.

I'd been fighting for my life, so I hadn't had the chance to notice. But I hear shouts of demihuman distress, forms rushing out from their tents, fumbling for weapons. The distant clash of arms, the twang of arrows, the crackle of flames.

Heads turned. Even the Manflayer paused, his ears pricking in an oddly-feline motion.

Caius, I thought. He'd made it.

Then Vorgosh did something truly terrible: He smiled.

"I see now," he said - a liquid sound, almost a purr. "You are her mate."

"I...what?" I said, wrong-footed. It was the last thing I expected to hear, from the towering tiger-beast. But those bloody eyes flared with knowing light, above those terrible rending fangs-

It took me a moment to realize that he was looking past me.

Taking my eyes off him was a bad-idea. But I half-turned, all the same.

Looked.

Through the deep-shadowed arch at the inner end of the doorway, a serrated black sword gripped in one clenched fist, strode Sabrine.

With her came the priests.

---------------------

The first thing I noticed - the very first thing - was how she was completely covered in blood. Caked in gore from head-to-boots, as if she'd bathed in it. Her cuirass was a mess, so thoroughly smashed that it looked like the inner curve of a bear-trap, her surcoat soaked through with black arterial blood.

With her other arm, she cradled a body against her - a woman, smaller, slighter, lustrous brown hair showing through the dried blood. It took me a moment to realize there was something strange about her silhouette, something uneven-

Her leg. She was missing a leg. And an arm.

Light flared, overhead. A swell of brilliant radiance, eclipsing even the flame-light that had lit the charnel scene. Glowing figures unfurled overhead, gleaming mother-of-pearl forms that shone with alabaster radiance, burning halos rotating with golden light.

Jointed fingers gripped staves and swords, great feathered pinions holding them aloft-

Angels. Real, live angels.

An uneasy murmur rose from the Cloven Ones. The sounds of violence were drawing closer, closer - Even the yellow priest looked perturbed.

There was a fierce joy on Sabrine's face, one that became cold fury as she saw the tableau before her. "Kill them," she said, as if pronouncing sentence, but the other woman lifted her head, murmuring something hushed but urgent-

She lowered her fierce gaze. Turned her head to the side.

"Another time, human," Vorgosh growled. He made a fist of his scorched hand, and the line shuffled back - Slowly at first, but faster, faster, as if fighting the urge to run. The horse-headed priest shrieked his whinnying complaints, but there was no-one to listen, until his minders seized him by his robes and bundled him back.

Vorgosh hadn't budged. Not an inch.

That predator grin lingered, as he raised his axe in something that might have been a salute. "The Manflayer remembers. You will, too."

Then, and only then - Walking with that prowling-panther grace - did he withdraw. Carrying himself like a victor, as if heedless of the angels, Sabrine's glare burning a hole in his back.

It was then I realized, with a suddenness that made me light-headed, dizzy: I was going to live.

Sabrine was snapping out orders, pointing with her sword, like a conductor's baton.

"Get the angels to support Pavel's group! Anyone who can still fight, to the forefront - Healers to the rear! Forward, in the Holy Queen's name!"

I only had the vaguest impression of them. Men and women, in filthy half-rotted livery - probably the same ones they'd been captured in - scrambled past, on all sides. They'd armed themselves, I could see, and the angels soared overhead to follow them, their wings humming in a rising song of wrath.

I felt oddly disconnected from all that was happening. Weak, as if all the strength had drained from my limbs. I looked down; the Interfector continued to ripple with tongues of azure flame, and I couldn't seem to remember how to sheathe it.

And so I walked forward. Between the hurrying men and women, the battle that seemed so very far away now. Sabrine had dropped to one knee, easing her burden to the ground with a care that seemed almost delicate; It felt like the right thing to do, but my legs crumpled beneath me so quickly I thought I might never stand again.

I cast around for something to say-

"Gospel?" I asked, and Sabrine shook her head.

Something cold and leaden settled in the pit of my stomach. I'd liked that fussy, strangely brave dandy. I could only wonder how he’d died - But the thought made my blood run cold.

"Gustav?"

"Hurt, but he's reco-" she began. Crusted blood flaked from her, with every slight motion. I don't think she noticed.

The woman in her arms stirred, and Sabrine drew a hushed breath - Anxiety flitting across those sharply alert features. "Arisa," she said, then - "Arisa!"

"I'm…" Her chest rose, fell, shallowly. "-I'm...awake, honored sister."

Arisa turned her head. I had an impression of pale, elegant features - more feminine than Sabrine's, but somehow sharper, more inquisitive. She spoke carefully, as if each word was an effort.

Her remaining hand gripped Sabrine's shoulder like a lifeline, as if it was all that kept her from going under.

"Tell the others...drive the Cloven Ones back, they're retreating…"

A spasm of will passed across her expression. Some color flooded back into her face. Her eyes, drifting close, snapped open.

"We need to take all the prisoners with us," she said. "All of them. No...exceptions."

I could see, now, the damage that had been done to her. The right sleeve that hung empty, the way her left leg ended beneath the knee.

They didn't look like clean cuts.

"The stragglers, the other priests...Kill as many of them as possible - They won't forget the humiliation…"

That gaze, beginning to wander, found mine. Fixed on it at last.

"Oh," Arisa said, low, soft. "Did you know...Your face - perfectly symmetrical…"

Her eyes drifted close, and she sank into unconsciousness again.

"Is she-"

It took a moment, but her lips parted, her chest rising and falling, and Sabrine breathed again. "She'll live," she said. Relief permeated every word. For a moment, I thought she was on the verge of tears.

But then the Templar’s jaw set. She looked at me, momentary quizzical.

"What did she mean…'perfectly symmetrical'...?"

I shook my head, pretending not to understand - But I knew.

My face - It was the work of a character-creator. Of hours spent preparing a character, an avatar to send out into the swords-and-sorcery dream of Arcadia Online.

My blood ran cold.

Sabrine rose. Carefully, she eased her sister back against the wall. One of the priests - a woman in what seemed like her early forties, missing an ear, her cheek raggedly gashed - hurried over to tend to her.

"Come on," Sabrine said.

"We have work to do."

Next: The Inquisitive Maiden