Liron summoned his blade into his free hand, stabbing and slashing at the arms holding him. No technique behind his attacks. He had become a servant of his instincts, flailing his sword around. Its edge remained sharp, cutting into the arms and hands, but it lacked any true intention, none succeeding to sever a limb.
They flew above the dead city, far away from Shae and her battle. But they lost momentum, closing in towards the ground. The Tombbearer had recovered from the surprise spell, trying to catch Liron's arm. It grasped his torso again, fueling his fears. The thought alone of being buried in its back could have made him cry. His drive to life was strong, demanding him to thrash around harder. But his reasoning mind persisted, a faint whisper begging him to use his spells.
He brought his blade down, coating it in embers. As expected, the Tombbearer caught him by his wrist, stopping the blade from hitting it. Liron dismissed his Conduit outer rims, the smoke gushing out. It met the embers, exploding in a violent flash. The Fides shuddered underneath the spell, the arms holding Liron scorched black. Its inhuman strength failed upon being kissed by Liron's flames, losing grip on its target.
The two were separated, hurled in different directions. Liron saw four arms being taken off by blast and the Tombbearer vanishing in a dust cloud as it slammed into a roof. He tried his best to slow him down, but his mind railed from the horror he had escaped. His tiny explosions came too late, and his speed was only slowed but not stopped.
As his opponent, he crashed into a house, belting through its wall. Nothing but dust and rot remained of the furniture that had once stood here. The few exceptions that had endured died through Liron's hand. A stone table gave away, breaking apart as he collided into it. It did rob him of his acceleration, ensuring he only got flung into the edge of a door frame.
Liron ruminated on the taste of blood and dust on his mouth, his other senses sluggish and refusing to answer his call immediately. A part of him wanted to lie there, embracing the slumber that scratched at the edges of his consciousness. Knowing what would follow this sleep, Liron began moving. He regretted his decision.
No spot had gone empty-handed, all blessed with a dull ache. His back throbbed, the crash through the wall, table, and against the door frame having touched it. Luck had taken his side again, or his spine would have snapped like a twig.
The headaches he thought defeated returned, mocking him for his naivety. Liron held onto the door frame, cracks having spread throughout it, and heaved himself upwards. How often had he struggled to stand up again? One could think he would become proficient in the act. But he felt like he had to do it for the first time, his experience bearing no skill.
Liron shook his head, dust trickling off his hair. He looked through the wall, his vision spinning. For a moment he thought it doubled all he saw, as two Tombbearers climbed over the roofs towards him. As they reached the hole he had caused, he came to realize his sight had regained its abilities already. Two Fides stared at him, squeezing themselves into the house.
Adenius had taken him seriously then, sending more than one of his creatures after him. Liron felt no gratitude for such a compliment. He stumbled through the door frame, shooting knives at the things. They held up their arms, shielding their faces. As the blade pierced their flesh, Liron recognized them both to be unharmed before the spell. Three Tombbearers then. Lovely.
But this meant these two hadn't danced with Liron.
Before they could lower their arms, Liron let the daggers disperse in smoke, hurling another blade after them, soaked in embers. The explosion hit them hard, burning them as their brethren. The force behind the spell took Liron off his legs, flinging through the door frame.
He jerked around midair, hugging his knees to fit through the window at the other side of the floor. For once, he avoided acquainting himself with the structure of the house, but the neighboring building awaited him with open arms.
Liron blasted himself upwards, reaching the house's roof. He kept himself as a ball, rolling over it. As he came to halt, he had recovered most of his former strength, his limbs working as before. But so had the Tombbearer. The two freshly scorched ones climbed over the house he had fled out of, heading towards him. The third one flanked him, aiming to cut him off from fleeing.
The three had lost a few arms through Liron's spell, not moving with the same speed they were accustomed to. Liron grinned, knowing one spell and he would be safe in the air. These beasts only cared for him, but they might change strategy. While Liron would prove impossible to secure, Zonis and the agents wouldn't. For all the respect he had for them, Bran, for example, was no nimble cat. The fides would bury him inside their backs.
These three had to die. But how?
After all the fighting, Liron ran low on new approaches to kill his enemies. Perhaps he didn't need a new one. Perhaps an old one could serve him yet again.
Liron blasted himself upwards, staying close enough for the Tombbearers to reach him. He wanted nothing more than escape to the cave's ceiling, bringing as much distance between them as possible. He had not forgotten the deadly grip of these hands. Without Shae's interference, Liron would have died. Once they had grasped him, there would be no escape. But desperate times called for courage and not cowardice. Summoning whatever guts he had, Liron darted over the roofs with only a few feet separating them.
The Fides fell for the lure, running after him. They had lost their former speed but not their control. No misplaced hand or slip-up. They leaped from house to house, never falling behind. As he guided them, he caught glimpses of Shae above. She fought the remaining Zruns, two already littering the streets below. The last two kept their ground, darting around her, avoiding her spells. If she unleashed her true might, they would have perished as the others, but Shae saved her strength. It put Liron and the rest at risk, but they would need all they had for what awaited them beyond this skirmish.
Liron found the bloodied walls he was looking for. The insects had pulled the corpses inside, devouring their prey. He would have loved to allow them their meals, but he needed their help once more. Ignorant to what lurked in the shadows, the Tombearer hurried after him, following him as Liron descended into the streets.
Spreading his smoke into tiny clouds, he ignited them in bright flashes, causing the feasting creatures to screech. Their voices were inhuman, belonging to things best left alone. As the Tombbearers reached him, their arms coming for their target, the insects emerged from the houses, and violence ensued.
Unlike with the Zruns, the beasts found no easy prey. The centipede from before tried its luck, rushing one Fides. The Tombbearer knew no fear nor shock. Without hesitation, it turned to face the insect, seizing it with its hands. Its strength overpowered the centipede, binding it in place. It screeched as the Fides pulled it off the ground. And it yelped as the Tombbeared ripped it apart. Green blood splashed against the Fides as it discarded the torn remnants, facing the next foe daring to attack.
Liron gulped, stumbling backwards. He knew his enemies to be powerful but not to this extent. If the original Tombbeared had aimed to take his life, he would have died as soon as these hands had reached him. But the Fides were not the only foe to fear.
Liron had declared himself as a threat, too, by disturbing the feasting insects. And without Zonis, no one could calm them. A spider leaped at Liron, aiming to bite out his throat with its mandibles. He dodged the ambush, coming to see the sorry state of the beast. The spider had died a long time ago, its corpse rotting away.
Its light-brown skin was littered with purulent boils. Half its eyes missed, torn out. Silk poured out of its mouth, constantly producing more despite its death. Its long legs trembled, once hooked spears used to drag prey into its nest now broken weapons left to rust. The spider's abdomen wavered as something moved inside of it. Whatever had infected the beast wasn't the one holding the puppet's strings. No, the perpetrator did not hide.
Barely a fourth of the spider's size, yet the wasp struggled not to control its servant. It had attached itself to the spider's abdomen. Its stinger had taken roots inside the insect's guts. Liron had heard tales of such creatures. Nordland did not offer plenty of opportunity for insects, but the ones that did survive in the cold were bastards to be aware of. Sannara had created similar monsters. Beasts that require a host in which to lay their eggs into, using them as a mother for their brood.
The wasp had a slender body, perfect for flight. Its wings were clapped to its back, as it had no use for them. A lance protruded out of its mouth, which it waved at Liron, promising him to use it on him. While never having seen one himself, he knew this thing to be a bloodsucker. Beyond its lance, its long, thin arms ended in several daggers, mimicking a hand. It plunged two into the spider's body, allowing more precise control. The other four grabbed into the spider's mouth, pulling out the silk, weaving it with absolute precision. This beast had mastered its hosts like Emma had her lute. And like her, it intended to share its mastery with Liron.