The Forsaken Hero

R’lissea stirred, her eyelids fluttering as I called her name, but didn’t rouse. Gingerly, I pulled her hands away and gasped. Beginning at her side and up and across her back was a deep laceration. Selena’s Resurgence had staunched the blood flow, but had disappeared before knitting her flesh back over her bone.

”Oracle, I found another. The fire apostle and water hero. They’re already on their feet and seem to be fine,” Zephyriss said.

I nodded, whispering the words of a healing spell. It wasn’t much, but R’lisesa’s breathing eased, and some of the color returned to her face. I caressed her cheek, idly moving a ribbon of blood-crusted hair away.

”You’re going to be fine,” I whispered, letting Zephyriss take her from me. As much as I wanted to hold her until she awoke, I simply wasn’t strong enough to carry her. Rising, I got back on fable and said, ”If Gayron and Korra are fine, we have to find Luke and Selena. And what happened to the ship?”

”Oh, that?” Zephyriss lay R’lissea on my wolf, tying her behind me with a spell. ”No mortal craft could have handled the strain of bearing so much power at once. I suspect it disintegrated in mid-air, or at least a part of it did.”

”That explains how I fell,” I muttered, rubbing my horn. ”But my magic was reinforcing it. The ship couldn’t have been entirely destroyed.”

”Then it must have been blown far away, and perhaps crash landed. I’ll set some more demons tracking it down. The Life Mage was on it, correct?”

”And Victor, too,” I mumbled, pressing a hand to my horn. There were so many casualties, so many lost to account for.

”I’ll find her,” Zephyriss promised.

”No, please... we have to find Luke. Victor wasn’t hurt or exhausted; he can protect her.” I hope, I added silently.

She nodded, and we set off again. I struggled to remember where Luke had been before the explosion, but my memories were all jumbled. The last thing I remember was him retreating when Emlica showed up, but where had he gone to? What direction? Had he managed to get far enough away from the epicenter?

”He’s that way,” Zephyriss said, pointing toward the crater. ”His soul is weak, my lady. Very weak. But it’s there.”

My grip tightened on Fable’s fur. Was Luke down there? In the lava and the glass? The thought sent a shiver down my spine, and a lump formed in my throat.

Fable bounded toward the crater, slowing as we approached the rim. The walls had cooled to dark obsidian, but the lake continued to bubble, as viscous as before. Thick currents of mana rolled across the sky, residual from the countless powerful attacks thrown about the region. My magic wavered as we entered, the chaotic swells of rogue literally humming in my ears. It was effectively the same as a mana storm’s after effects, and only because Adaptive Resistance could consume it did I maintain hold of my spells.

”That must be what stripped my wards away,” I whispered.

”At first, probably, though the rest disappeared when you lost consciousness,” Zephyriss said.

I nodded and winced, pushing my tired soul a little harder, beginning to absorb what mana Adaptive Resistance dispersed. My efficiency had reached over fifty percent, and soon, I could breath easy again, no longer in danger of burning my soul.

Zephyriss guided us down a treacherous slope of cooled obsidian, the glassy rock threatening to give way beneath us with each step. Fable’s claws dug deep into the surface, gripping it like it was soft clay, his powerful muscles working to keep us stable despite the steep incline. The heat rose in waves from below, shimmering in the air as we descended toward a jutting outcropping that overlooked the magma lake. The storm demon zipped ahead, vanishing behind the dark spire.

Fable gathered himself and leaped onto the outcropping. I gasped, peering over the edge at the churning lava below. Zephyriss rose from the other side, holding Luke unceremoniously in her arms. His armor was in tatters, his skin boiled and black through the rents. Dried trails of blood ran across his face, baked by the extreme heat. The only sign he even lived was the faint flickering of his soul.

And yet, even though he didn’t seem to breath, a long, narrow blade was clasped in his hand, his fingers gripping it even in unconsciousness. The hilt and crossguard were pitch black, darker than any curse or shadow, while the blade was translucent like glass, glowing a faint, violet color--the same as his eyes.

”Luke...” I whispered as the demon lay him in my arms.

”He lives, but barely. I sense the arbiter’s stench on him,” Zephyriss said, turning her nose up.

”But how...? I don’t understand.” My fingers trembled as I touched his cheek, pulling his hair away from his face, and I gasped, recoiling. ”Sunpurge?”

Through the scorched flesh and dried blood, a network of faint white scars spiderwebbed across his entire body. The threads were fine and delicate, seared across his skin even where his armor had protected him, and the flesh around it was pink and healthy. The scars pulsed with each beat of his heart, as if trying to burn themselves deeper into his flesh.

”How could this be?” I cried, looking up at Zephyriss. ”He wasn’t anywhere near the arbiter, and the cannon shot unattributed mana!”

”Avoiding it would have been simple, should he have wanted to,” she replied.

”What is that supposed to mean?”

She gestured to his other hand, hanging limp at his side. His fingers were clenched in a fist, a delicate gold chain dangling between them. In the horror of the moment, I hadn’t even noticed.

I gently pried his hand open, but dropped it just as quickly, my hand flying to my mouth, smothering a gasp. There, clutched against his palm so tightly it imprinted his flesh, was a golden amulet shaped like an angel. With a shaking hand, I took it from him, staring at it in disbelief.

”He...but why? How?” I shook myself, pocketing the amulet in my ring and returning my attention to Luke.

My mana rose as I rested my hand on his chest and cast a healing spell. Green light crawled over his body, weaving between the sunpurge and sinking into the blackened, blistering tissue. It loosened and sloughed off as new skin rose beneath it, yet the sunpurge remained. His entire body twitched as I caressed his face, and the sword finally fell from his hand. The blade pierced the ground far too easily, sliding halfway to the hilt before friction brought it to a stop.

”Was this the blade he wielded before?” Zephyriss asked, bending over it curiously.

I shrugged, hardly noticing it, as I gathered my mana for another spell. ”I don’t know, but...no, it can’t be. His blade is made of his mana. He’s never had a proper sword, I don’t think.”

”Well, he has one now,” she said, reaching out and taking it by the hilt. Lifting it into the air, she examined the blade, and her brow furrowed. ”Emperor’s take me, what in the hells is this blade?”

I closed my eyes and summoned six magic circles and breathed, ”Requiem.”

The golden and green of my magic wove together, settling over the network of sunpurge scars. Luke’s body convulsed beneath my touch, a tremor racking his frame as his soul recoiled from the intrusion. The scars began to recede, shrinking slowly. There were few things more painful than burning away sunpurge from one’s body, save perhaps purging corruption from the soul itself. Even knowing it was Luke...I bit down hard on my lip, nearly drawing blood as I whispered hollow comforts. At least he was unconscious while the spell did its cruel work. A small mercy.

When I was nearly finished, Fyren’s voice caused me to flinch, almost dropping the spell. He flew down the crater wall, hovering a few feet before me. He opened his mouth, but closed it again, waiting for my magic to wink out. I sagged as it did, leaning back and resting on my hands, fingers curled in Fable’s fur.

”You found him,” Fyren said, nodding at the apostle. It wasn’t a question.

”He...he charged at the inquisitor. Right before the canon fired,” I said, weariness dragging my voice to a whisper.

”I saw. He did it before I could.”

”But why?”

Fyren folded his arms, looking down at me with a serious expression. ”He wouldn’t have died. The arbiter, that is. As powerful as the cannon was, it lacked the force to kill him outright. But it did manage to strip away his wards and disrupt his soul. It would have only taken a few seconds for him to recover and renew his defenses. But that was a few seconds too late.”

”He did all that? Braved the cannon and his attack just to kill him?” I asked.

”I’d rather have done it myself. It would have been more permanent. Not to mention the fool failed to absorb almost half of his soul. But,” Fyren said, letting a small smile break through his scowl, ”He did it. The apostle finally got his wish.”