The Decisive Battle, Part 1

Time was running out. The sun sank lower and lower towards the horizon, and Sylvina’s life depended on the witch and the paladin.

Atrina and Valerie rushed towards a battle they were woefully unprepared for. “What’s the plan?” asked the knight.

“We have to save Sylvina, no matter what it takes. There will be heavy resistance.”

“How heavy?”

“Very. For an egomaniac like Khyrs, I’d bet that every Descendant will be at their stronghold to witness the sacrifice, whether they wanted to or not.”

“We can’t fight all those creeps, and—I’m sorry, is that really their leader’s name?”

“Yup, it’s as stupid as it sounds. There could easily be over hundreds of cultists. Cunning will be our best weapon against such odds. A lot of luck wouldn’t hurt either.”

“Oh! What about your stone?”

“That bastard took it.”

“I don’t like this, Atrina. Not one bit.”

“Neither do I, but with you by my side,” the witch said as she laid a hand on Valerie’s forearm, “we won’t need that stone.”

The paladin’s face flushed crimson. “A-Atrina…”

“We can do this, Val. I believe in you, as you believe in me.”

Valerie beamed. “Let’s go kick that weirdo’s ass!”

-

A hellish glow emanated from the setting sun when the sorceress and the knight reached the destination indicated by Shaw. Deep in a nondescript forest, Atrina and Valerie stood in front of a moss-covered rock formation.

The witch dismounted the mare and ran her hands along the formation. “This has to be the entrance, but how the hell do we get inside?”

“Is it some kind of illusion?”

“Part illusion, part reality, but I don’t know where the illusion ends and the reality begins. This is a very sophisticated piece of work.”

As the witch traced the contours of the moss blanketing the formation, the furry leaflets undulated. Atrina backed away, and the moss cover split in half slowly, uncovering a passageway occupied by two young male cultists. One was significantly taller than the other, and they were arguing as they walked out.

“It's the night of the sacrifice, and we’re the unlucky bastards who have to sweep the surrounding area one last time for interlopers,” griped a Descendant.

“I’m actually quite relieved,” revealed the other. “I don’t know if I have the stomach to watch that cute girl die. Shaw did me favor by sending me out.”

“You’re so yellow-bellied! Only Descendants with nerves of steel get to be close to the master, like Shaw, Cassius, or Slender.”

“Two of those guys are dead, and Shaw is one arm lighter. The people in the master’s inner circle have an unfortunate habit of dying or losing body parts, and I want none of that!”

As the two cultists bickered, the witch and the paladin grinned at each other. An opportunity had presented itself.

Atrina and Valerie crept towards the cultists, but one of the men paused abruptly. “Hey, should we leave the door open?”

“Crap, good catch! Let’s close it—”

“Morpheo!” The witch’s sleeping incantation knocked the cultists out instantly. Atrina and Valerie relieved their unconscious enemies of their black cloaks before binding them to a tree with a spell.

Donning the cultists’ garments felt off-putting to the two women. “Phoo! Do they even wash these? Mine smells like something died in it!” griped the sorceress.

“Yours fits you at least. My cloak doesn’t even reach my shins!”

Atrina suppressed a laugh when she looked at her friend’s disguise. The cloak Valerie took stretched awkwardly over her armor, giving the paladin a malformed, bumpy silhouette.

“And that was the taller one’s cloak,” snickered the sorceress.

“C’mon, Atrina! Be serious!”

“Sorry, you’re right. Just take off your shoulder plates and your greaves. Oh, and push Jericho down a little.”

Valerie listened, and her disguise went from ridiculous to acceptable. Now appearing as passable cultists, Atrina and Valerie approached the mouth of the Descendants’ stronghold.

“Atrina…” The paladin grabbed the witch’s hand. “If we don’t make it out of this, I just want you to know that I’m sorry I hurt you. You mean everything to me, and—”

Atrina cut off Valerie with a kiss. As their lips touched, the witch poured all of her unspoken love and passion into that single kiss.

The witch tenderly held the back of Valerie’s head as she pulled away slowly. “You mean everything to me too, Val, but let’s stay focused. We’ll have all the time in the world for each other after we save Sylvina.”

Hand in hand, Atrina and Valerie braved the master’s lair.

-

The Descendants’ stronghold went deep into the dark places of the earth. The witch and the knight followed a steep path downward. The path darkened as the two women moved farther away from the entrance.

When they could no longer see the way in front of them, Atrina whispered, “Werelight.” A dim orb of light materialized in her hand, bright enough to only illuminate the next few feet.

“This is a humongous cavern,” Valerie observed faintly.

“We need to watch our step.”

Descending into the earth, Atrina was mesmerized by the darkness cyclically devouring and revealing the ground upon which she and Valerie trod. They were in a world of shadows, and the boundaries of that realm seemed to stretch into infinity.

“Atrina, look ahead!” Valerie saw a viridian light farther below. Time did not seem to exist in the stronghold, and the last stretch of the path towards the light felt endless to the duo. No matter how many steps they took, their destination did not appear closer.

The two picked up their pace. Eventually, the light grew as the women approached. They realized that the light emanated from a long hallway. Small viridian flames burned along the walls, kept under control by some malevolent force.

At the other end of the hallway was an opening to another room where low voices echoed. “Sylvina must be in there,” hypothesized the witch. She and the paladin checked their disguises one last time and crossed into the next room.

The witch and the knight were rendered speechless. Inside the room, cultists as far as the eye could see had arranged themselves along an ascending path that wound against the walls all the way up to the towering ceiling. The path spiraled around a single stone column that loomed far above the ground.

Fear scoured through the sorceress as she gazed at the top of the column. Khyrs stood there, garbed in bizarre scarlet robes that had to be from another time. His arms were folded, and his eyes were on the witch and the knight.

“Well?” the master demanded. “Have you ensured that no one will interfere?”

Atrina pulled her hood down and stared at the floor. Valerie silently gave the master a thumbs-up, desperate to protect their cover.

The gesture incensed Khyrs. “Such insolence! Did cats rip out your tongues, or do you both believe that I am beneath you, unworthy of a simple verbal confirmation?”

A familiar voice interjected. “I’m sure they meant no offense, master. Their presence alone should reassure you that nothing will disrupt tonight’s ritual.”

The witch raised her eyes to the man who spoke. From the tier of the path nearest the column, Shaw gave her a discreet wink.

“Then let there be no further delays,” declared the master. “Tonight, my loyal subjects, I shall spill the blood of the Divine Maiden. With her sacrifice, I shall transcend all human limitations, and with the power of my stone, I will destroy the Church and usher in a new, free age for man!”

The Descendants bowed their heads in reverence of their master. Khyrs lifted his head triumphantly, and the witch looked at the ceiling once more. “Valerie,” Atrina gasped sotto voce, “Sylvina is up there!”

Encased in a glowing half-sphere of a peculiar liquid substance, the Divine Maiden floated ethereally, facing downwards. Sylvina’s platinum blonde locks drifted in front of her closed eyes, and her delicate hands were folded over her ivory silk chiton.

Khyrs drew a knife from his robe and intoned, “Levitation.” Defying gravity, the master ascended to the maiden. He froze midair when Shaw leapt onto the column and exclaimed, “Fellow Descendants, I beseech you! Look into your heart of hearts and ask yourselves if this is what you truly want?”

A cultist ventured, “Of course it is! Once the master kills her, he can get rid of the Church, and we can live the lives we want!”

“Think, you fools! Do you believe one innocent woman’s death will magically solve all your problems? Heal all your wounds? More importantly, do you really think this man will care about any of you when he gets what he wants? He’ll have everything, while you’ll all have nothing! We will become disposable to that man—that parasite!”

Among the cultists, Shaw’s wards Nana and Levi watched their adopted father anxiously.

“What do you think you’re doing, Shaw?” barked the master.

“Something I should’ve done a long time ago,” challenged the one-armed cultist. Khyrs and Shaw stared each other down, and the Descendants began muttering to one another.

“This is your last chance, cur,” warned the master. “Cease your pathetic drivel, or so help me I’ll—”

“Or you’ll do what? You control me no longer!”

“Then perish, my wayward son. Windspear!” The master’s spell drilled a concentrated spiral of wind through the air, piercing Shaw’s heart. The former Descendant fell to his knees.

“SHAW!” screamed the anguished Nana.

All hell broke loose.