NOVEL NEXT 62 - In Part 2 of the Fight the Horses Do Cannibalism
The central horse sunk its teeth into the skull of the one near the rim of the slope.
As Archmund watched in horror, it tore at the flesh wildly, madly, hungrily. Even meat and bone were black, not just the skin and fur, and though he'd seen the blackened flesh of the Seven-Fingered Starbeast, it disturbed him still, that these mockeries of life, these false horses, were as black in flesh as they were in heart.
And yet —
The rimward horse collapsed, this time for good, no longer capable of reviving itself.
The horse near the wall sensed an opportunity, and bit into the rear of the central horse.
The center horse kicked as it also ate, bucking the wallward horse back. The wallward horse shook, stumbled, clung on with its teeth — but one more kick, and it was shaken loose.
A brief scuffle, almost too fast to follow by the eye. The center horse kicked the wallward horse up, just a bit, and then it tore at its throat with teeth far too sharp for any herbivore. Black blood gushed from the wound as it stumbled forward, teetered at the edge of the ramp — and tumbled down, in a crumpled heap at the bottom of the pit, its black body fading invisibly into the darkness below, where the light of Gemstone Armor slowly dimmed.
Horses truly were stupid creatures.
The last horse standing finished its meal in peace. It didn't eat so much as inhale; the dark form of its slain comrade had started to lose shape, turning to the primordial dark miasma.
"Amalgamation," Rory said grimly.
"How much worse?" Archmund asked.
"Hard to say."
"I already killed three," Archmund said. "Would it be that bad?"
"Those three dissolved," Rory said. "I think it's weaker if they have to suck it from the air. But that one…"
The last horse standing drank of its fallen comrades, and then it turned away and began the slow descent down to the bottom of the pit where the Dungeon lay.
"Is it going back? Is it over?" Xander said.
Archmund tracked the horse with his eyes. He readied his Ruby Tetrahedron, channeled what magic he felt he could spare, and fired a Heat Wave.
The horse's armor glowed bright red, then orange, and it neighed in pain — but it broke into a gallop and kept running, its head steady, unthrashing, even as its armor glowed around it.
"It's stronger," Rory said.
"Probably has a thicker hide," Archmund said. "Or can't feel heat anymore."
"Is it going away?" Xander said.
Down below, the other fallen horse still glowed red with its burning armor. And then that red dot was eclipsed by a brighter yellow one.
"I think we're about to have bigger problems," Archmund said.
"Yeah," Rory said. "Move back from the ledge."
Archmund did.
Not a moment too soon.
Rory spun his quarterstaff in a circle in front of him, rotating it so fast it looked like a disc, flashing with bright red light. There was a sharp twang as something hit his staff, knocked to their right.
Archmund glanced at it. An arrow, lodged into the dirt. What he could see of its tip glowed bright red. The scent of burning earth and fall, like smoky leaves mixed with maple sweetness, wafted from the ground.
"Fuck!"
"Still don't know what that means, still sounds like you swore," Rory said tersely. He kept his staff swirling before him.
Archmund drew his Gemstone Rapier, opening the door in his soul to let his magic to flow through it. It sparked to life, with the faintest glimmers of pyrite gold. He walked forward, just enough so he could see down into the pit and the ramp.
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The glowing dots of the heated armor were gone.
There was one beast down below. Not the two bloblike dots of armor, but a glowing line with a slight darkness in the middle. Kind of like Darth Maul's lightsaber. He literally could not think of a better comparison.
"Get back," Rory said. "Can you see anything?"
That was another thing he'd have to do when he got a chance. Figure out if he could make his Gems grant night vision. Because this was a major tactical disadvantage.
Before he could reply, Archmund jerked his Gemstone Rapier forward and swung it with slick precision. The sharp sound of metal meeting metal, and another arrow fell to the ground near his feet.
Obviously it wasn't a double-bladed sword. More likely a bow, made from repurposed superheated metal, with a piece in the center formed of darkness.
He listened for the sound of distant gallops.
Nothing.
"What's going on?" Xander said. He was holding his Rapier before him as well, and it glowed brightly, far brighter than Archmund. Instead of noble gold it looked like a rod of glowing piss. His legs were shaking, and yet Archmund found himself admiring it. He was clearly terrified, but he was still standing up tall and able to defend himself.
But still. Maybe it had been reckless to let him come along. There wasn't any opportunity to rescue his brother, yet.
Another arrow flew towards him, and Rory knocked it away.
"It's not coming up," Rory said.
"It's learned tactics," Archmund said. "Why would it bother coming up here when it could stay down there and snipe us from afar?"
"Why indeed," Rory said, giving Archmund a lingering glance.
Archmund sighed.
He fired an Infrared Lance towards the distant glowing line of light. Probably a bow, if he thought about it, and it was incredible how easily he manipulated so many different magical Gems at once. One of the gifts of mastery and Attunement.
For a moment, the glowing line of light looked orange instead of red. The Monster had blocked, capturing the energy.
And then his arm moved without the conscious demands of his mind, and he knocked another arrow away.
"We're going to have to go down there, aren't we?"
"Looks like it," Rory nodded.
Archmund stepped back. Rory could stand guard.
He needed to give Xander a chance to leave.
"You should go back to the colosseum," he said to the commoner boy. "This… it's not your fight."
"It is," he said. "My brother's down there, still."
Archmund didn't know how to break it to Xander that at this point, his brother was likely dead.
"Even if he's… with the Goddess, now," Xander said. "I need to know there was nothing I could've done."
Archmund felt tongue-tied.
"What was that thing you said, Granavale? That it's our duty to live, fight, and die in service of the people of Omnio? Was that just to make it look better?"
Xander spat the words with real venom.
"It's your fucking funeral, man," Archmund said. Again, he said 'fuck' in English. "Omnio gains jack shit if you die the same day you swear to defend it. I fucking get it, okay? I think I might have a subconscious death wish myself. I didn't want to force that on you."
"My brother didn't sign up for this any more than I did."
"Calm down, boys," Rory said, and his staff gleamed ever so slightly brighter. "Look, if you die, it'll be as a true hero of the realm. But hopefully it won't come to that."
"I don't know if we can defend you," Archmund said.
Xander brandished his Rapier. "You fought me. I can do that blocking thing too."
Yes, but he was untrained, unpracticed. Yes, but he had the most basic form of blocking, not projectile blocking. Yes, but he quite possibly lacked the stamina.
These and a hundred other objections flew through Archmund's mind.
"We'll be honored to have you, though," Rory said, and his voice infused even Archmund with faith.
He suspected this was a subtle and manipulative mind-magic, but it was what he needed right now. It wasn't his life he was risking.
If Xander wanted to die still, even after all the chances Archmund had given him to not… well, at some point it was no longer his fault.
So they began the descent.
The descent, all told, was less devastatingly dangerous than he feared. Archmund kept waiting for the devastating and horrific twist, where the Monster would evolve further and shoot even more arrows, or if it would break from its position and charge them, sending them tumbling down the slopes themselves, but it never came.
The three of them exchanged only short, clipped statements. Sharing the barest information, focusing mainly on descending safely and slowly, attentive to any shifts from far below. But even through only short bursts of conversation, they built the outlines of a plan.
The Monster's accuracy was scary-good, though. Even though the sun had almost dipped completely below the horizon and the only light came from the camp below, it was able to track them. The faint light of their gear disrupted the otherwise inky blackness.
As they got closer, the arrows had cooled down. When they'd started, they'd been orange, veering on yellow. But now they were a hearth-like red, like the last coals in a fireplace.
They made it all the way down the slope, deflecting the red-hot arrows of the Monster along the way. Until the only thing that stood between them and the Dungeon's entrance was the Monster itself, surrounded by the wreckage and detritus of the camp.
This close, the red glow of the Monster's bow illuminated its face and form.
It was a centaur, wrapped in black leather armor. While its back half was the same black Monstrous horse they'd slain en masse, its body was that of a man, with pale and drained skin, and a beard that had gone unkempt for ages, and air that fell down to its shoulder in matted locks. It, too, could have been mistaken for one of Archmund's ancestors.
"I don't like this very much," Rory said.
Xander had shat himself. Or maybe the fallen guards had. Regardless, something smelled like putrid feces.
"Move," Archmund said to Xander. "Find your brother!"
Xander scrambled away, leaving Rory and Archmund to face the Centaur alone.
The time for words and planning was over.
Archmund drew his Gemstone Sword in his right hand and Gemstone Rapier in his left, and charged towards the Centaur.