The Forsaken Hero

The world around me twisted into a chaotic whirlwind as the Shadow Demon closed in, its claws gleaming with deadly intent. My thoughts jumbled together, panic crippling my ability to think, let alone cast a spell.

”Xiviyah!” Soltair’s shout hovered on the edges of my fear, and I looked up as he and Trithe rushed behind the demon, but I knew in my heart it was too late.

”Fyren!” My voice trembled as I called out, desperation filling my words.

The clash unleashed a shockwave of ash and shadow, but my Adaptive Resistance protected me from its heat and toxins. Fyren strained, muscles bulging as he held back the demon’s overwhelming strength.

I staggered back, my heart pounding with fear. It seemed impossible to defeat something this powerful. The demon’s soul pushed the boundary between the seventh and eighth levels, surpassing even Soltair’s might.

”Xiviyah!” Fyren grunted, ”Focus!”

His words jolted me from the grips of fear, bringing me back to reality. No, this wasn’t impossible. Otherwise, Fyren would already be dead. We just had to stall long enough for the demon to cripple its own soul.

”Fortunate Parry!”

The spell manifested as a shimmering barrier around Fyren, resolving just as the demon launched another attack. Even though the demon’s face remained a featureless void, I sensed a hint of disdain as it tore into the protective aura, expecting it to shatter.

But upon entering the field, the demon’s claws veered off course, embedding themselves into the earth beside Fyren. The force of the blow sent razor-sharp winds cutting through the ground, leaving deep furrows in its wake.

The Shadow Demon staggered, thrown off balance by the sudden misdirection, allowing Fyren to strike upward with his sword. The creature’s immense size placed its torso above his reach, so Fyren simply seared through the demon’s thick legs. Twisting shadows hissed as Fyren’s power flowed into the wound, filling the air with ash.

Regaining its footing, the Shadow Demon reared back, its three arms weaving a magical technique. Shadows swirled around its form, coalescing in its claws. As they descended, space itself tore behind them, leaving jagged black fissures in the air.

Fyren met the attack head-on, channeling as much power as he could into his sword. Another shockwave tore through the hollow, ripping at my clothes and hair. Fyren let out a muffled cry as he was sent flying, blood arcing through the air after him.

”Fyren!” I screamed, rushing to his side.

He tumbled across the ground, eventually coming to rest face-up. Blood streamed down his face where a rock had struck him, but my eyes were fixed on a horrific wound on his chest. The Fortunate Parry had prevented the demon’s claws from bisecting him completely, but it had exposed his severed ribs and the organs below. A noxious, shadowy taint gnawed at the torn flesh, a residue from the Shadow Demon’s claws.

In a flash of light, Soltair descended from the sky, landing between me and the demon. He spared me a single glance before pointing his sword at the monster. ”We’ll keep it at bay,” he promised solemnly.

I gripped Fyren’s hand in both of mine, pulling it to my chest. ”Hang on,” I pleaded. He groaned, his eyelids fluttering, his breathing rough and shallow. Blood pulsed from the wounds in his chest, spraying into the air with each heartbeat. It soaked my hands, but I refused to let go.

”Restoration!” I cried, Soul Casting the Life Spell.

The green light rose and fell, but the wound hardly responded. Whenever the spell moved in to mend the cut, the shadows slid beneath the healing power, preventing it from reaching the torn flesh. Fyren groaned, weakly coughing up a mouthful of blood. His eyes turned hazy and his twitched feebly in mind, rapidly losing its strength.

No. That wasn’t possible. Driven by desperation, I tried again and again, pouring my mana into his fading body. ”Please,” I whispered hoarsely, squeezing his hand. ”Let me heal you...”

”Xiviyah.” The word reverberated in my mind, startling me out of my panic. I recognized that voice.

My voice broke as I bowed my head. ”Fate, Please. Tell me what to do.”

Her presence disappeared without a response, leaving me alone once more. But her calming influence brought me clarity of mind. She wouldn’t have spoken if it were hopeless.

Taking a deep breath, I gripped Fyren’s hand tighter, wincing as each pulse of blood sprayed out of his chest. The shadows clung to him, seeming to buzz mockingly. Wait. They actually were vibrating. Or...spinning?

Inspiration struck, and I opened the Eyes of Fate, closely observing the shadows. No, they weren’t shadows, but masses of runes. Coiling, chaotic, black runes. Their familiarity sent shivers down my tail, and I offered my goddess a quick prayer of gratitude.

”Link Ability!”

Two magic circles appeared, and our souls brushed together. I gasped as the chaotic violence of his mana threatened to overwhelm me, but endured it until the spell resolved. Soon, his trembling soul pulsed with the power of Adaptive Resistance, and the shadow evaporated like mist. Immediately, I cast another Restoration.

This time, the horrific wound began to heal, albeit slowly. I continued to pour mana into the spell until Fyren coughed, spitting out a mouthful of blood. His breathing deepened, and the agonized expression on his face softened.

”Xiviyah,” he murmured, weakly raising a hand.

”I’m here,” I answered quickly.

He whispered something else, and I leaned down to hear, ”Why are you crying?”

His words caught me by surprise, and I raised a bloodstained hand to feel the warmth trickling down my cheeks. ”I-I...I’m glad you’re alright.”

He nodded faintly and rested his head on the ground, closing his eyes. As he slipped into unconsciousness, I wiped away my tears with my sleeve and stood up.

The battle raged on. Somehow, Soltair had pushed the demon further away, allowing him to use his abilities more freely. However, despite their relentless efforts and a barrage of seventh-level magical techniques, Soltair and Trithe were still struggling. The Demon’s power was overwhelming. Each attack left craters in the ground or tore through the air, leaving shattered space in its wake. The duo panted with exhaustion, desperately trying to hold their ground against the relentless assault.

”Soltair!” I called, running toward them.

Waves of light, fire, and shadows radiated from their battle, but I relied on my Adaptive Resistance to protect me until I got within a few hundred feet, where their powers became too dangerous. Normally, casting a spell at this range was impossible, as the required amount of mana grew exponentially with distance, but Soul Casting reduced the drain significantly, making it possible, if barely.

Unable to get any closer, I gritted my teeth and drew on my mana, casting several buff spells in quick succession to strengthen their defenses and weapons. Then, with the magic providing them some respite, I attempted to cast Link Ability, but found my mastery of Soul Casting still lacking. So, reluctantly, I summoned my staff and took the time to cast it externally, expending most of my remaining mana and projecting the spell onto Soltair and Trithe.

The moment my spells linked with their souls, the tide of battle shifted dramatically. Much of the Demon’s power stemmed from its curses, which enshrouded its claws and drained the strength of its opponents. Even the most potent sun magic became fodder for the creature’s darkness.

The suicidal combustion of the Demon’s soul had boosted it to the upper echelons of the seventh level, allowing it to overpower even Soltair in direct clashes. But with Adaptive Resistance joining the fray, Soltair and Trithe began to push back, shrugging off even the most ferocious attacks. Without the venomous curses sapping their strength, the Shadow Demon’s claws paled in comparison to the high-tier magical weapons and techniques of the duo.

As it descended to the sixth, then the fifth level, the sun and fire magic began to penetrate its defenses. Soltair and Trithe launched an all-out assault, and the Sun Purge continued to spread, corrupting its shadowy flesh. Trithe managed to sever one of its arms. With an additional limb lost, the Demon fought desperately, but it found itself trapped between the two formidable warriors.

”And now you die,” Soltair declared

A triumphant smile spread across his features, all hints of exhaustion gone. He leaped into the air and raised his sword, releasing an enormous wave of mana. The demon reared back and swiped at him, but Soltair’s mana acted as a shield, knocking it down. His sword plunged his blade into the demon’s featureless head. Streams of sunlight invaded the monster, intertwining with the shadows and tearing it apart from the inside. The Demon threw back its head in a soundless roar before bursting into ribbons of black mist. The mist imploded, drawn in by some unseen force.

A corpse fell from the dissipating fog. Its body appeared twisted and dehydrated, as if life itself had been drained from its flesh. Black, web-like veins marred its sickly skin, and its mouth was frozen in a final, tormented scream. The corpse clutched the silver mirror tightly in its fist, refusing to let go even in death.

”How’s Fyren?” Soltair asked, wiping the blood and sweat from his face.

I sat down hard beside Fyren, feeling utterly drained. Every fiber of my being ached, from the tip of my horns to the end of my tail.

”Alive,” I mumbled, gently massaging my scalp.

Soltair nodded, then he and Trithe gathered the surviving bandits, who were unconscious. Fyren slept peacefully, his hands folded on his chest. I gazed at his face for a long moment, unable to banish the what-ifs from my mind. What if I hadn’t realized it was a curse? What if I had been a second too late? What if he hadn’t intervened to protect me from the Demon?

I had wrestled with my own hypothetical scenarios for so long, but it was a new experience to feel that way about someone else. Shaking my head, I crossed my legs and leaned back on my hands. What-ifs had no place in my life.

What is meant to be, will be.